The sight of Johanna, her eyes wide with terror, helpless at her brother’s mercy, had hit him like a blow. He had not been prepared. With the Home Office, his duties had not entailed field work. He had scarcely ever wielded a gun against another man before this night, though he was an expert marksman and more than familiar with firearms.
Her eyes fluttered open as he reached the lower floor corridor, which was lit by a lone gas lamp. “Felix?”
“I am here, darling,” he said, part of him not feeling safe until they were free of this building.
Until they were as far away from Drummond McKenna’s lifeless body as his feet could carry them. The bastard was dead, and thank the Lord for that. Westmorland’s approach from the rear had been stealthy and silent. His timing had been impeccable. As had his aim.
The moment McKenna had turned the pistol upon Felix, Westmorland had taken his shot. His bullet had lodged in McKenna’s skull before the man had known what hit him. His eyes had gone lifeless in the seconds before the pistol had fallen from his limp fingers and he had slumped forward, his dead weight falling upon Johanna.
Felix wished he could kill the bastard all over again for the ruthless force he had exerted upon her. The pressure he had been applying to Johanna’s throat had been so strong that she had lost consciousness because of it. The combination of shock and her inability to breathe had led her to swoon.
He had endured the fright of his life watching her eyes flutter closed and seeing her pitch to the floor as he rushed forward in a vain attempt to catch her. At first, he had been afraid she had been hit by a bullet from either McKenna’s gun or that Westmorland’s shot had traveled straight through McKenna to lodge in Johanna. But the lack of blood had suggested she had simply been in shock and deprived of air.
He would give her the air she needed now.
By God, he would give her anything she wanted.
Everything she wanted. All his love, all of himself, every single bloody thing she needed.
Forever.
Just as long as she would let him.
Gratitude was pouring over him in great waves, along with relief. They were both safe. McKenna was dead. And Johanna would forever be free from her brother’s tyranny. She would never again have to fear him or be forced into doing his bidding against her will.
“Felix?” she rasped again as he reached the street and his waiting carriage.
To hell with anything and anyone else. There was no way he was taking her anywhere other than to beneath his own roof this night. He needed to know she was safe. To have her near. After what they had just gone through together… But he could not forget the contempt she held him in, the anger she had for him.
He stopped, halfway to his carriage, gathering his wits and his breath. “Johanna, are you hurt?”
“No,” she said slowly. “I…Felix, what happened? You were not injured, were you?”
“No,” he reassured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It is all over now, thank God. McKenna can never hurt you or anyone else again.”
Arden approached him then, patting him on the back. “Well done, Winchelsea. Your fearlessness is to be commended. I cannot help but to think the Home Office would have you back without hesitation after the bravery you’ve exhibited tonight.”
“My time with the Home Office is done,” Felix said, and he meant those words. The only responsibility he wanted, from this moment forward, was as a father and a husband.
But first he had to convince the woman in his arms to marry him.
Arden inclined his head. “Understood. If you will excuse me, I need to send word to the Criminal Investigation Department.”
“I can walk, Felix,” Johanna protested as Arden walked away.
“I do not want to let you go,” he said with brutal honesty.
He had been so certain, with McKenna’s pistol pressed to her temple, that he would lose her forever. It was as if he had to continue touching her to assure himself she was real.
Once he had her inside the carriage, he settled her on the squab. He seated himself opposite her as the vehicle swayed into motion, but decided it was not good enough. Instead, he joined her and hauled her into his lap.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, not protesting his commandeering of her person. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. They held each other tightly, with the embrace of two people who had just stared death in the face and survived. The frantic cling of two people who had almost lost each other.
He buried his face in her rose-scented hair, overwhelmed by the rush of emotion.
It was not one of his fits he was suffering, but something else. Something different. Their hearts were beating against each other, visceral reminders of all they had just been through. Of how fragile were the bonds of life.
How precious.
