She’d just copied theNew Artillery CannonandGlenfinnan Missioninformation when approaching footfalls thudded outside the study, Phoebe froze. Fear coated her spine. She glanced at the clock. She’d already been in the study for an entire hour! Could the Bolingbrokes have simply driven to the ball then return? One of Falcon's codes played in her head.Know where the exits are at all times.
Blast!The fact that there was just one made her heart stop cold. Phoebe dashed back to the desk, shoved the original documents back into the drawer and pushed it shut. She’d taken two steps away from the desk with the intention of hiding when the only door to the study swung open.
CHAPTER 14
Phoebe stared at General Bolingbroke currently blocking her exit. He stood in the doorway dressed in pristine evening elegance. All the blood rushed from her head so fast, she feared she might faint. His porcine eyes were frigid and calm as they eyed her up and down. He had the look of a man whose attempts to appear civil couldn’t quite belie the distasteful way his mouth turned up or the hostility in his eyes.
“Who are you and what in damnation are you doing in here?” he asked in an eerily quiet tone.
Even though Falcon’s voice replayed in her head—Never look guilty—Phoebe couldn’t command her rigid body to relax. But thankfully the vizard offered her a degree of anonymity, unless he worked out who she was in spite of it.
The general’s eyes narrowed at her as he stepped into the study and, without making a sound, closed the door behind him. His body appeared as taut as a noose dangling a dying man. Somehow the chances of her surviving seemed slimmer with the door closed and with him eying her with a rancorous stare. She’d much rather he yelled for a footman to come and throw her out. But this was what she’d trained for.
“Apologies, Sir Henry. I was waiting.” Phoebe was surprised at her calm tone. She’d made her voice overtly nasal and squeaky hoping to continue with the disguise.
The general took a few steps towards her, his eyes slowly roving the length of her.
“You are not one of the downstairs maids. And you’re not Wetherbee either, she is much rounder. Who are you?” His inquiry was placid and cold.
“Apologies, but I’ll remain anonymous for now,” she said.
“Who are you waiting for?” he asked.
Several questions rushed into Phoebe’s head, but one held her attention. What was the penalty for high treason?
Death by hanging.
She needed something that would shock him so much he wouldn’t question.
“Montgomery,” she said.
“Montgomery?” His right hand reached up to twirl the side of his mustache.
She hoped the valet, Montgomery, and the maid he was sweet on, Reddington, would forgive her for this blunder.
The general’s gaze traversed Phoebe’s body and his lips twisted into a lascivious sneer. Her skin prickled with a revolting unclean disquietude.
“Then you must be Reddington. Well, has my early return impeded your late-night rendezvous with Montgomery, my dear? You must blame Lady Bolingbroke. I could stand her insufferable company no longer.”
He took two more steps towards her. His face and neck flushed with pleasure, filling Phoebe with disgust. He was so near now the horrid scent of sweat and male perfume made toxic acid rise up from her stomach.
Phoebe gave a slight shrug of her shoulders feigning calm and took two steps back, as the chill of alarm lifted the hairs onher body. Old images of Ross rushed into her head with the force of a guillotine cutting off her breath.
The general chuckled, wetting his lips. “I hadn’t figured you for a hussy. You are always such a shy little thing. I am now immensely pleased I left ahead of time. I’d much rather avail myself of your pleasurable company than my wife’s. Perhaps I can take Montgomery’s place for tonight’s rendezvous, my dear?”
He took the final step towards her, grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked it towards him. Pain riveted through her scalp as every single muscle in her body went rigid with mind-numbing terror. But rage born of self-preservation broke through like a battering ram. Her eyes fell on the silver candelabrum. Phoebe snatched it up with both hands and swung it with all her strength against the general’s skull.
From the look on his face, he hadn’t expected the first blow. She dealt two more. Their dull thuds made her stomach roil.
“Filthy whore …” The general groaned, crumpling to the floor.
Phoebe put the candelabrum on the desk. She had to quiet the groans before he raised the alarm. She grabbed the jeweled comb from her hair and pulled it apart, snipping out the hidden pin with the spider’s poison.The venom of the brown widow causes temporary paralysis; it’s to be used only in emergencies.
This qualifies as an emergency, Falcon. Steadying her tremulous breath, Phoebe pushed the pin into the pulsating vein at the general’s neck.
Seconds later the general’s groans quieted. Of all the thoughts bombarding her, one stood out.
Run.
