“I knew you were going to be troublesome,” he snarled, stalking toward her, pistol aimed at her heart.
“Isabella?”
The voice echoing through the school was familiar. Beloved.
“Benedict!” she called out. “Be careful! He has a gun!”
The man smacked her across the face. “Shut your mouth.”
Pain exploded, but all she cared about was Benedict. “Do not come in here!” she cried out, pressing a hand to her throbbing cheek.
The man hauled her against him, pressing the barrel of his pistol to her temple and incapacitating her with an arm wrapped around her neck.
“If you go, I will kill her,” he yelled.
“No, Benedict,” she managed past the man’s choking grip on her throat. “Leave me here.”
But Benedict did not heed her. He stood on the threshold, wielding a menacing-looking pistol of his own. His gaze flicked over Isabella briefly, assessing, his jaw tense.
“Release her,” he demanded of her captor.
“Not a chance,” the man sneered. “Remain where you are or I will shoot her.”
Terror clawed at her. Her heart pounded so fast, her mouth dry, her hands, clutching at the man’s arm in an effort to keep him from choking her, shook. “He will shoot me regardless of what you do,” she told Benedict. “Please, you must go. Save yourself.”
“I would never leave you here,” he returned calmly, before addressing her captor once more. “As the leader of the Special League, I believe I may be of far more use to you than Miss Hilgrove could ever be.”
The man whistled. “Well, if it is not the high and mighty Duke of Westmorland. I knew she was your whore, all along. Looks as if my luck has gotten better.”
“Yes, it has,” Benedict agreed evenly. “I will make a bargain with you. Release Miss Hilgrove. Let her go, and I will go with you, wherever you wish to take me. I will answer all your questions, tell you anything you want. All you have to do is promise me that Miss Hilgrove can go free.”
“No, Benedict,” she denied, scratching at the man’s arm, frantic now. “He will kill you!”
“I expect he will.” Benedict was calm. Unemotional. “I will happily trade my life for yours.”
I would give my life for hers, he had said of his sister.That is the truest definition of love, is it not?
He was making the same offer for her.
But no. Benedict did not love her. He had never spoken the words…
“No!” she cried out, attempting to get away from the man, to no avail. He was far stronger than she was. And the barrel of his pistol remained a cold and hard presence, jabbing viciously into her temple.
“Fair enough,” her captor said. “Lower your weapon and kick it to me, and then I will let her go.”
“I want your word that the lady goes free,” Benedict said, solemn.
“No,” she said again, tears blurring her eyes. She would not allow him to trade his life for hers. “No, you must not!”
“You have my word as a gentleman,” said the man.
He had no word as a gentleman, Isabella was sure. “Do not trust him, Benedict!”
But Benedict was already slowly lowering his pistol to the floor. He stood, leaving the pistol at his feet.
“Kick it to me,” instructed her captor.
Benedict gave the gleaming pistol a nudge with the toe of his shoe, sending it skittering across the smooth surface of the hardwood floor.
