“Where…” her throat burned, each syllable scraping painfully as it left her lips, “Where am I?”
Boots appeared in her line of sight, the leather scuffed and caked with mud. Above, a strange silhouette crouched before her.
“R-Rutledge…?”
He looked nothing like the intolerable but dashing rake she once remembered. His hair hung in greasy, unkempt strands, his face gaunt and shadowed, and his clothes bore the grime of weeks—perhaps months—of neglect. But it was the cold gleam of the pistol pressed to her temple that sent terror spiking through her veins.
“Whereareyou? Why, your watery grave, of course,” he hissed, his lips curling into a cruel, humorless smile. “The now-deposed lord. Stripped of my title, my estate, every damned possession I once had seized by the Crown. And the club—the one I built with my very own hands, the pride of my ambition—about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder... Your fate now lies in thatveryRutledge’shands. Or, I suppose it would be more fitting if you simply referred to me asRoderick Hammondfrom now.” His fingers trembled slightly on the gun, his knuckles white as he glared at her unerringly.
The cold bite of the metal to her skin made her wince while fear created a cage around her midsection. “Wh-what are you talking about?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Still you must patronize me!” Rutledge snarled, leaning closer as spittle flew from his lips. “You and that insufferable sister of yours!”
“I had everything—my wealth, my looks, women throwing themselves at my feet! Only for your damned Duke to get some crook from the underworld to use my guts as garters. They ripped my life apart! Used me like a puppet, dangled me on a string! Do you know what it’s like to beg for your own survival?” His voice cracked with bitter laughter. “I had to marry your sister—or face the workhouse, or rot in a pauper’s grave!Me!Theprodigyof Rutledge!”
Alice swallowed hard, forcing the terror from her voice as best she could. “Y-you seduced her,” she whispered, her tone wavering but resolute. “It was only fair that you do what was right—”
The blow came fast. Rutledge’s backhand struck her with brutal force, sending pain flaring across her cheek and ringing through her ears. She gasped, her head snapping to the side as her vision blurred.
“Fair?” he barked, his voice dripping with scorn. “Fair? Do you know how many bastards I’ve already fathered? Do you think one more mattered to me?” He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “I should have taken her—your sweet little cotton-headed sister… But no. Your life,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, “your life will be just as satisfying forall parties involved.”
All parties involved?
He yanked her roughly to her feet, not allowing her to think—his grip bruising as he forced her to stand. “The boats won’t be coming for a while,” he sneered, his breath hot against her cheek. “But it doesn’t matter. No one will ever suspect that this is where you fall.”
The cold, unyielding circle of the gun’s barrel pressed between her eyes, its icy touch paralyzing. The ominous click of the hammer being pulled back filled the air, and fear gripped her stomach like a vice. Rutledge’s finger was on the trigger when she abruptly blurted, “Did Eliza put you up to this?”
Rutledge paused, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “Your bitter little cousin?” He let out a grating laugh. “Pah! How many enemies have you made in your short-lived life, Miss Alice Winslow? No. She did manage to contact me through her Baron’s connections about your Duke’s ball though. A resourceful thing, that one. I should have shot them there.” He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. “I admire that chit.She wants you gone almost as much as I—”
He pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
Alice flinched, her breath catching as the deafening crack she expected never came.
Cursing, he yanked the pistol away to inspect the barrel. “This damn bullet—”
A piercing whistle cut through the air just then. They both froze. Rutledge pivoted, instinctively raising the faulty weapon, and Alice took the moment to stagger back, her heart pounding wildly.
From the darkness, Edward appeared, running full tilt down the pier, his expression a thunderstorm of rage. “You bastard!”
Impulsively, Rutledge raised the pistol across the pier. Drawing the hammer, he took the shot—but Alice pushed into him and threw him off aim as the boisterous whip sent a bullet barrelling into the river.
“You bitch!” Faltering with the pistol, he made to swing it up at Edward again, but before he could react, Edward launched himself forward, his fist driving into Rutledge’s gut with a force that left the man doubled over, choking on a guttural groan. Undaunted, Rutledge rounded and lurched a third time, the butt of his gun passing a hair's breadth away from Edward’s temple.
Alice, now teetering at the edge of the pier, instinctively stepped back. Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as her heels hovered perilously over the water’s edge. She couldn’t run—her legs felt frozen, rooted to the planks beneath her.
Edward dodged Rutledge’s attacks with deadly determination as he rammed his fist into the former viscount’s midsection, and there came a sickening crack of bone snapping. Rutledgestaggered, but with a feral snarl, he drove his knee into Edward’s side, momentarily forcing him off balance. Seizing the opportunity, he twisted, his face contorted with bitter rage, and fired again—this time, the bullet found its mark.
The missile slammed into her shoulder and sent her careening backward.
“Edw—” Alice’s scream was lost in an icy abyss as her back broke the surface and the darkness dragged her under. Freezing water burned her lungs as she fought to surface but panic set in and her mouth was still open, taking water in.
She fought to survive with all her strength, thrashing to catch grip of anything, as the last of her breath bubbled from her. As the world beyond grew blurrier and more distant, a terrifying certainty took hold of her.
I am going to die.
From the corner of his eye, Edward saw Alice tip over, the swift arc somehow tortuously slow to his mind's eye. He plowed another blow to Rutledge’s face before Benedict shouted, “I got him! Go after her!” and launched himself into the fray.
