“I will use it,” Graham said in a warning tone. “Do not think I wouldn’t.”
“You are going to kill a duke?” Lord Dodge said with incredulity. “You’d be strung up in court within a week, hanging from the gallows less than a day after that!”
“Unless there were no witnesses,” Graham said, turning his head to Lord and Lady Dodge.
Phoebe looked up from where she was cradling her cheek on the floor, realizing with horror just what he meant. Moving past the stinging in her cheek, she shifted to her knees and looked between her friends that she loved like family.
Lady Dodge who was hiding behind her husband with tears on her cheeks, the woman who had encouraged her that she deserved a better life. Lord Dodge who had tried to help her obtain a divorce in every way, even finding her a lawyer. Lastly, Francis, whom she loved more than anyone else in the world. She couldn’t see any of them hurt because of her.
“Graham, please,” she said, calling up to him with a soft tone. He angled his head toward her, showing he was listening. “I will come with you.”
Chapter 28
Francis couldn’t believe the words. He flicked his gaze toward Phoebe, seeing her on her knees on the floor, her hair mussed around her shoulders and her face flushed red with fear. He would have done anything to pull her into his arms and hide her from this mess, but it was not possible now.
Surely, she didn’t say that!
“No, Phoebe,” he whispered, pleading with her. She flicked his gaze to him, then quickly returned it to Lord Ridlington. The brevity of that look hurt as much as the words. “You cannot go back to him.”
“I have to,” she said quickly before addressing her husband alone. “Please, Graham. Do not hurt them, and I promise to come with you now.”
Francis winced, covering his face at the words. She was going to exchange her life for theirs, just to keep them safe.
You deserve a better world than this, Phoebe.
“At last, she speaks some sense,” Baron Notley said, reaching for his daughter’s arm. He took hold of her, under the shoulder, and wrenched her to her feet. She staggered for a second, before reaching out, away from her father, and placing a hand on Graham’s shoulder. It was such a soft touch, that Francis expected Lord Ridlington to react in some way, but he didn’t. He continued to stare down the barrel of the pistol, straight at Francis.
“Lord Ridlington,” Baron Notley was pleading with him this time, though his voice was a lot harsher than his daughter’s. “You do not need to pull that trigger.”
“Need to and want to are two very different things,” Lord Ridlington said and lifted the pistol a little higher, so that it was no longer pointing at Francis’ chest, but at his face.
Francis lowered his hands from his face, staring back at Lord Ridlington. He tried to ignore the frightened whimpers of Diana a little distance behind him and the pleading desperation of Josiah. He glared back at the Viscount, certain that if Lord Ridlington dared to hurt him, the man would suffer for it.
“You have one shot before you would have to reload,” Francis said, muttering in anger. “How good an aim have you got?”
“At this distance, even I think I could hit you,” Lord Ridlington said, taking another step toward Francis.
“Graham, please!” Phoebe begged, stepping forward again. Even Baron Notley let his daughter move forward this time.
“I will not go to the gallows for murder, you fool,” Baron Notley said. “We have her back. Do not pull the trigger or you condemn us both to death.”
“He took my wife from me,” Lord Ridlington snapped, so angrily that spittle hung from his lips. Francis stared at him, unblinking, realizing what truly bothered the Viscount about this situation. It wasn’t that Phoebe herself had left him; it was the idea that another man had taken what he considered washispossession. Francis’ gaze turned to Phoebe, knowing with horror how awful it was for the Viscount to think of her as a ‘possession’.
“I left,” Phoebe said, pulling on the Viscount’s arm. “Francis didn’t take me, I left!”
Francis flinched, hearing the mistake that she had made. As did the Viscount, who snapped his gaze toward her.
“You called him Francis,” he said, shaking his head. “Not Your Grace, not the Duke of Hayward, butFrancis.”Phoebe reared back slightly, away from his anger, yet she collided with her father. The Baron shoved her in the back, holding her in place. Lord Ridlington snapped his gaze to Francis. “You really did make her your whore, didn’t you?”
“I did not,” Francis insisted.
“Graham, please!” she begged. That pistol was getting closer and closer to Francis’ face. Even Francis knew the inaccuracy of the pistol or the shooter would be offset by this close distance. He felt the muscles in his neck twitch out of fear.
I cannot die like this.
He started looking around, desperately seeking a way out of this mess, for all of them, but no ideas were occurring to him.
“I’ll come with you,” Phoebe said, stepping forward again and addressing Lord Ridlington. “I’ll come now, and I’ll be a proper wife, and I promise…I will not leave you again.”
