In fact, when he looked back up at Calder this time, there was a firm decisiveness in his bland face that Calder had never noted before. “In that case,” Baskin said slowly, as he raised the pistol and took fresh aim at Calder’s heart, “I suppose I’ll just kill you now.”
Calder’s heart sank then, for he realized the truth. He’d underestimated the young man entirely. Baskin had never meant to drag Deirdre through a prolonged and public annulment scandal. How much more efficient to simply turn her into a widow.
He’d fallen right into the trap, allowing his concern for Meggie and Deirdre to cloud his perceptions. He’d
moved closer and closer as well, making it very nearly a sure shot, no matter how ill-practiced the gunman!
He watched helplessly as Baskin cocked back the hammer and tightened his grip on the trigger. His only comfort was that Deirdre lay in the darkness where she could help Meggie, now that he’d been so stupid as to allow himself to be removed from the game.
The barrel of the pistol gleamed darkly sinister in the lamplight, the black hole seeming to grow as Calder watched Baskin’s ink-stained fingers tighten slowly.
“No!”
A cry, a fluttering blue whirlwind, a sharp
crack!
—
And Deirdre lay on the ground between them, gasping and pressing her hands to the blossoming red patch on her side.
Deirdre!
Calder lunged toward her fallen figure, but Baskin reached into his shirt and pulled forth the dueling pistol that matched the first. “Get back from her, you beast!” Baskin waved the second pistol wildly. “This is all your fault! Look what you made me do!”
Calder would have ignored the wild pistol threats if they hadn’t included Meggie. His daughter lay curled up on the ground, her eyes wide and horrified as she stared at the blood coming from Deirdre.
Baskin knelt at Deirdre’s side and awkwardly patted her face. “My love, my heart—what have I done? Speak to me!”
Deirdre grasped his hand in one of her bloody ones. “Baskin, it’s over,” she gasped. “You must let us go. I need a physician. Just put the pistol down and let us go.”
Baskin twitched. “No! I need you with me! I—” He stood, pulling Deirdre awkwardly to her feet. She cried out, but when Calder moved toward her, Baskin trained the pistol on Meggie once more.
“Even trade, Brookhaven,” Baskin called out wildly, his voice breaking. “Take your sniveling brat then.” He backed away, toward the phaeton, his arm holding
Deirdre tightly. She went with him, barely able to stand, but cast a look over her shoulder at Calder.
He stood there, unable to help her, unable to leave Meggie alone, torn into agonized bits as he watched Baskin drive away at high speed, reckless in the night, Deirdre nearly unconscious at his side.
Then he ran to Meggie. It took several moments to wrench loose the knots that held her tied, but then she was free and in his arms. He held his little girl tightly, his cheek on her hair, her skinny little knees poking sharply into his side. She clung to him for a long moment, sniffling as her scrappy bravado faded away.
Then she pulled her head back to gaze at him. “Papa, is Dee going to die?”
He didn’t have an answer for her. Sickening worry had taken the place of a regular heartbeat. All he could do was to swing Meggie up to ride on his shoulders, grab up the lantern Baskin had left behind and take to the road. Baskin had headed farther into the Heath. Though it killed him to do it, Calder took the other direction.
There had been a few places of commerce and spirits edging the Heath down this road. He needed to get Meggie to safety and he needed help to search for Deirdre.
God, Deirdre! Hang on! Please hang on!
BACK AT BROOK House, Sophie paced the floors, her long legs scissoring endlessly over the same piece of carpet.
Fortescue had not returned. Neither had any of the rest of the devoted Brookhaven staff. Only Patricia
remained, for she’d been meant to tend both Sophie and Deirdre in their time of need.
Except Deirdre wasn’t here. She’d gone to her room, only to disappear. Sophie had paled, thinking about what the climb down the tree in the dark must have been like, but since there was no broken body next to the trunk, it seemed Deirdre had made it safely down.
To go where?
Sophie knew where she would be—following Lord Brookhaven to Hampstead Heath to find Meggie—which only made the worry worse within her.
Patricia brought her another pot of tea, but Sophie only waved it away. “Patricia, I think you ought to go out and find the staff. They should all go to Hampstead Heath to search.”
Patricia, as she had several times in the last hour, stood firm. “His lordship told me to stay here with you, miss. I’ll not leave you alone with madmen running about!”
“Madmen? What madmen?”
Both women whirled at the deep voice to see Graham standing at the door, his evening clothes showing the signs of a night well-spent.
He stepped into the room, concern on his face. “What the hell is going on? I was on my way past when I saw all the windows lit up. I walked right in. Where’s that intimidating butler? Where’s Brookhaven?”
Sophie was so glad to see him that if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might have been appalled. She barely kept herself in check, for she’d have liked nothing better than to dampen his broad shoulder with her worries.
She clenched her twined hands together instead. “Little Lady Margaret’s been kidnapped. Brookhaven and Deirdre have gone to Hampstead Heath to find her.
The rest of the staff is still out searching London, for the ransom note came after they’d set out.”
Graham blinked. “Brookhaven and
Deirdre?
”
Sophie grimaced. “Brookhaven didn’t know she was following him.”
He rubbed his face. “I should hope not.” He looked about the silent house for a moment. “What now then?”
“Now we find Lord Brookhaven,” said a reedy voice at the door. Mr. Stickley, the solicitor, stood there clad in a wrinkled coat and untied shirt. “For the whole thing’s a deadly trap.”
After he’d briskly related what he knew, Sophie was only more confused. “A sacred place? In Hampstead Heath?” She turned to Graham. “What is he talking about?”
Graham worked his jaw, thinking. “There’s nothing
on
Hampstead Heath. It’s just a wild place, a picnic spot. There’s no church there, not even a chapel.”
Stickley nodded. “I concur. If I’d recognized a location I would have gone there instead, but the Heath is miles of nothing.”
“Pardon me, sir …” Patricia stepped into the conversation. “Did he say a church exactly?”
Stickley’s brows rose. “No, not exactly. But if he wants to marry her once he’s made her a widow—”
Patricia held up a hand. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be right back—” She was gone in a flutter of dark skirts and flapping apron, only to return in moments, breathing hard. She pushed some sheets of paper into Sophie’s hands. “I took these—yesterday—from the grate—” She blushed. “I didn’t think they were wanted—and I needed some readin’—don’t want to dirty his lordship’s books—”
Sophie flattened the wrinkled sheets. “It’s Baskin’s poem.” She glanced up at Graham. “The one he gave her.” He gazed back somberly. He felt as she did, she knew, that they ought to have seen Baskin’s madness and desperation sooner. Comforted a little, she looked back down at the script in her hands.
“There’s a bit right there,” Patricia said, leaning in and pointing. “‘Sacred places,’ he says.”
“‘I shall steal you away to sacred places,’” Sophie read aloud. “‘And upon Bodicea’s breast I will sing my love for the moon to hear me.’”
“Oh, my God,” breathed Graham. “Bodicea’s Barrow.”
Stickley blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course. That makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”
Sophie twitched. “Translate!”
Graham shook his head. “No time! I’ll tell you all in my carriage. Come along, now! You, too, Patricia. If Brookhaven’s been attacked, we might need many warm bodies for the search.”
Each jolt of the racing phaeton ripped at Deirdre’s side like a fiery knife. She was terrified of the speed in the dark, terrified of this crazed new Baskin and terrified at how much blood seeped from her with every passing moment.
She pressed her hand hard to the hole in her body, praying that Baskin would be thrown from the speeding carriage and land on his head.
“Don’t worry, my goddess! I’ll get you there in time!”
Get her where? “Baskin, I need a physician. I’m badly hurt.”
“Our love will heal you, you’ll see! I’m proof of that!”
She leaned away from him, her thoughts whirling and useless. She didn’t even know where they were. She’d never been to Hampstead Heath in her life, for Tessa thought it common, preferring the elite crowds at Hyde Park.
The darkness was so complete that she didn’t know how Baskin could see the road before them with only the jouncing carriage lanterns to guide them.
Then the wheel hit something that wasn’t road and
Deirdre got her wish. Unfortunately, she was also flung from the carriage, landing hard on the grassy bank.
Her breath left her lungs and her head swam, but she struggled to rise and run away, into the dark, anywhere where the madman who’d shot her couldn’t find her!
Then hands came out of the dark. “There you are, my dear. Come, it isn’t much farther now.”
He pulled at her. She sagged back, unwilling to leave the frail safety of the road in his company. “I’m injured, you idiot! I’m shot and now I’m quite sure I’ve broken my ankle!”
His hands traveled down her. She pushed at them, but he was only trying to feel her ankle. “Nonsense, my pet. It is only a bit twisted. Here, I’ll help you.”
He dragged her unwilling to her feet. Where did he get such unfailing strength? Did he burn within with madness, like one of Calder’s relentless steam engines?
He looped her arm over his shoulders and more or less dragged her off, stopping to pick up one of the fallen carriage lanterns that still burned dimly.
She had to try, although she didn’t think he’d listen. “Baskin, I need to tell you. I love my husband.”
He only laughed. “There’s no need to pretend now. You’re well away from him. I didn’t manage to kill him for you, but he’ll never find us now.” He smiled at her, a childish, blissful smile. “I know you’re only trying to save me from him, my brave love.”
She shoved at him. “I don’t love you, Baskin! I never did!”
His smile disappeared. “Stop. Don’t say it anymore.”
His grip slipped and she took advantage of the moment to pull away, though she staggered weakly. A wave
of dizziness struck her. When had it grown so cold? She pressed a hand to her head.
“I … I don’t love you, Baskin. You’re nothing to me. Less than nothing. For God’s sake, man, if I’d wanted you I could have married you anytime before I became engaged to Brookhaven!”
He shook his head. “No. You were forced to wed him. I’ve seen your aunt bully you. She made you do it.”
Deirdre laughed shortly. “You cretin,
I
proposed to
him!
” She wiped the back of her hand across her brow. “I’ve loved that stubborn idiot for years. It broke my heart when I thought he’d marry my cousin.”
Something in her voice seemed to pierce his delusion at last. He gazed at her as if he’d never seen her before. “But … you saw how I loved you. You saw and you smiled to see it! What sort of monster are you, that you would toy with me so?”
It was insane that she should feel guilty at this moment, yet she did. “I thought … I didn’t think. I’m so sorry that I caused you pain. I didn’t mean to, but neither did I take care. Manipulating people—it’s all I know, all I’ve been taught.”
His breath caught, the pain audible in the sound. “You—you don’t love me, do you? I can see it now. God, what have I done? I’m ruined! I ruined my life for you and you gaze at me with nothing but pity—damn you, I don’t want pity! Love me, damn you—love me!”
He grabbed her and crushed her to him. The pain in her side made her gasp. The world went white, then gray, almost fading to black.
No. You must stay alert. You must not let him steal you away any farther
…
She came back to herself to find she was horizontal, her head cradled in Baskin’s lap, his hand in her hair,
stroking back the strands from her face. His touch was shaky, jerky. She opened her eyes to gaze into his whitened face.
“I’ve killed you. Oh God, I’ve ruined everything. I’ve killed you, and now Brookhaven will kill me, and rightly so. I deserve to die.”
Dimly she saw him raise the pistol.
No
. She meant to scream. She might have whispered. Either way, it did nothing to stop him.
The flash blinded her. Hot ash sprayed her face and the explosion made her ears ring.
Oh God. Her head swam. Weakness seeped through her bones. Willing herself to move, she could only roll away from Baskin’s limp form until her face smeared into the cold damp leaves on the ground.
The clean smell of wet earth finally replaced the stink of gunpowder as she counted her breaths. At ten, she pushed herself up on her hands, disregarding the sting of the cold ground on her abraded palms.
She did not look at Baskin. She did not want to see what she had wrought with her manipulations. She was not the only one who had done wrong here. She was not so pure as to take that on—yet she could not ease the hard regret that filled her belly.
Baskin had been disturbed and lonely and not very bright. She had used his adoration as a sop to her tweaked vanity. He was not a good man, not an honorable one, but he had been worth more than that to someone.
Of course, the fact remained that he thought their simultaneous deaths would be some sort of poetic, romantic end.
He truly was an idiot. Or perhaps he was merely so immersed in fantasy that he expected to be saved
magically at the last minute. Now the poor, deluded fellow was dead and no one would ever know.
You cannot take it back.
You can only take it onward.
Yes. She must find her way out of this wood, back to the road where someone could find her—eventually.
She pushed herself to her knees, then rose to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on a tree trunk. The dark was nearly complete. Baskin’s lantern had gone out when the shot was fired.
Broken, too, she could smell the kerosene. Another night, she might have been able to allow her eyes to get used to the light of the moon or the stars, but there was nothing but the blackness and a drizzling rain now.
Her clothing was soaked. She shuddered, her knees going weak. God, she hoped it was only water.