“I knew about your plot, you know,” Drummond said to Felix. “You intended to use Jojo against me, but in the end, I used her against you. I have eyes and ears everywhere, you see. I knew I was being watched at home. I was being followed every day for weeks, even before we carried out the bombings at Praed Street and Charing Cross.”
Felix took another slow step closer. “So you used your sister. Forced her into your tangled web so you could remain at your club and maintain your façade of innocence.”
Drummond jammed the pistol into her temple with punishing force. “Not another step forward, Winchelsea. I needed someone who would not be watched. Someone no one would suspect. The press caught on, believed she was my mistress. It was an excellent cover. I could not have planned it all out better myself. Until you intervened.”
“You orchestrated the bomb that exploded at my home,” Felix said, his gaze flitting briefly to Johanna once more.
His gaze gave her comfort. Reassured her. She could do this. She must do this.
“And others,” Drummond confirmed with cold triumph. “There will be more. We will never stop until Ireland is free of tyranny.”
“There are other ways to achieve the ends you desire.” Felix’s eyes went to something over Drummond’s shoulder. He appeared to give an almost imperceptible nod. “But if it is victory you want over me, then leave Johanna out of this. I will lower my weapon if you promise to remove your gun from her temple.”
“No,” Johanna attempted to cry out her denial. But she was still gasping for air, her throat held in such a tight grip she could not manage to project.
It felt like the nightmare which had plagued her in the months following Pearl’s death. The dream where she could see Pearl about to be taken from her, and she tried so desperately to reach her, and yet she never could. Her body had been paralyzed, her voice frozen. She had wrenched herself from slumber so many nights, body covered in sweat, still trembling from the helplessness and the sheer anguish.
This moment was every bit like that nightmare, but worse.
Because it was real.
And Felix was before her, doing the unthinkable—lowering his pistol to the floor at his feet—all whilst keeping his hands on display, his eyes pinned to Drummond. Her brother would not hesitate to kill Felix. She knew it. This was what he had come here for.
Felix slowly stood, leaving his gun on the floor.
“Kick it toward me,” Drummond ordered.
She attempted to cry out again, but it only made her brother’s hold on her throat tighten.
Felix did as her brother asked, nudging the weapon with his shoe.
The pistol slid noisily across the floor, stopping halfway between where Felix stood and the chair where Drummond was holding Johanna captive. The pistol barrel left her temple, and it was pointed instead directly at Felix.
“Jojo, you did your job well,” Drummond said. “You must be better on your back than you are on the stage. Look at how willing the mighty duke is to sacrifice himself for you.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Hot tears of terror. She had to do something. To act before her brother shot Felix. But she was afraid that any wrong move on her part would make him pull the trigger.
“I love her,” Felix said simply.
Drummond released a bark of bitter laughter. “Love is a fiction invented by fools. But I am heartily glad you are a fool. It will make this far easier than I could have imagined.”
Suddenly, the report of a gunshot echoed through the room. Everything seemed to happen all at once. Drummond’s hold on her neck eased, and he slumped forward, the weight of his body slamming into her chair. Something warm and wet was all over her neck.
Felix cried out her name.
The gun fell from Drummond’s limp hand, hitting the floor with a clatter.
Felix was running toward her, arms outstretched, and he was safe, unharmed, she thought.Thank God.Everything slammed into her all at once: sensation, emotion, air forcing its way back into her lungs, fear—that constant companion—robbing her of her ability to speak.
She was hot. Cold. Terrified. Colors blurred. Shapes became indistinct. Other shouts rose up, more voices, more footsteps, as the room was flooded with a sea of men. She gasped for breath, her vision darkening around the edges. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest. Her lungs burned. Ringing sounded in her ears. It was as if she had lost control of her body. As if she were watching from somewhere else as she pitched forward, falling into nothing but darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
Felix held Johannain his arms, cradling her like a babe, as he carried her down the narrow stairs leading to the flat above the apothecary where Drummond McKenna had been secreting himself, using an alias, since his arrival in London. She was breathing,thank Christ, and she had not suffered any wounds he had been able to see in his frantic inspection of her person.
In the wake of the tense operations between himself, Drummond McKenna, and the Duke of Westmorland, his heart was still pounding. When he had arrived at the apothecary’s shop, it had been to a small gathering of Special League men. Arden had been adamant that Felix could not be the one to enter the flat and confront McKenna directly. Westmorland, who had recently inherited his dukedom and the latest addition to the League, had argued Felix was the best choice to go.
They had already learned from the apothecary belowstairs that there was a separate rear entrance to the upstairs flat, one accessed via the apothecary’s shop. Westmorland and some reinforcements had quietly approached the flat in covert fashion while Felix had been the one to confront McKenna.
