“A very sound deduction,” Lincoln said. “Or was it information you already had? Regardless, you’re wrong about one thing. It isn’t Wiltshire who influences the other members of the committee. It’s their secretaries. We hold immense power over the right sort of man, and so many of these earls and viscounts are the right sort of men. Born to wealth, given a respect they know deep down they don’t quite deserve. They’re desperate to prove themselves worthy. Easy to persuade that by this vote, or that declaration, they are showing their true quality.”
Charles loosed a chuckle. The sound was so sweet to her ears, she stopped tugging the hay bale closer to the edge. It was a sound she wished she could bottle and keep with her always.
“And as a respected assistant to Lord Wiltshire, your voice is listened to by the other secretaries.” Charles huffed. “And all the while you pad your income with bribes from the company that you’ve directed to receive the British citizens’ hard-earned pounds.”
“It is a lovely arrangement, is it not? And that bitch Lydia Moore was threatening to ruin it. There is a moralist streak in out parliament. That bloody Society for the Suppression of Vice that MP Wilberforce created is always sticking their nose ‘round. If Wiltshire had been discovered as a seducer who turned his back on the woman he impregnated, he would have been subtly rebuked with the removal of his committee positions. I couldn’t have that.” Lincoln took a step closer to Charles. “Now tell me. Did Wiltshire tell you and your friends this, or did you only now gain that knowledge?”
Cassie bit her lip. Lincoln no longer stood directly underneath. Well, she’d just have to push the bale harder.
“Does it matter?” Charles asked.
“Galeazzo, the man who runs Teobaldo, he’s not a tolerant man.” Lincoln sniffed. “If Wiltshire told you and your men about him, and he finds out, well then he and his men would pay everyone involved a visit to express his displeasure.”
“Including you.”
“Including me,” Lincoln said. “I have a lovely villa outside Genoa I wish to retire to, and I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder every moment waiting to see if he comes for me. I need to know how much I need to clean up before I leave.”
“Is that what the attacks on Miss Cassandra Moore were? Cleaning up?” Charles jerked on his bonds, and the cart creaked.
“As soon as she asked about Wiltshire and Lady Stockton’s ball five years ago, I knew what she was about.” Lincoln sneered. “I followed you and her from Rhodes’s estate back to that agency of yours. I had to stop her from uncovering the truth.”
Charles chuckled. “You failed in that. She knows everything.”
Cassie scuttled behind the bale. This was it. Her fingers dug into the hay. A hay bale to the head might not kill him, but hopefully it would knock him senseless long enough for her to free Charles and take his gun.
Her muscles bunched for action, yet she hesitated. Everything that could go wrong ran through her mind. But she knew Charles wasn’t going to talk his way out of this. Lincoln would kill him as soon as he learned what he wanted. If she wanted to save Charles, she needed to act.
Taking a deep breath, she put her shoulder to the bale and shoved it over the edge.
There was a crash, a yelp, and a curse.
She peered over the loft. Right into the narrowed eyes of Mr. Lincoln. The bale of hay lay inches from his feet.
He raised his gun towards her, and she scuttled back, out of view.
“Get down here,” he said the same moment Charles shouted, “Run, Cassie!”
She pressed her palms flat into the hay-strewn wood and closed her eyes. Her one chance to save Charles. To kill the man who’d taken Lydia’s life. And she’d wasted it.
“Don’t make me climb up there after you.” Lincoln’s voice shook with anger. “You’ve given me more trouble as it is.”
There were sounds of scrabbling, of wood creaking. “Cassie,” Charles cried, “get out of here!”
“If you don’t come down now, I’ll shoot him.” Lincoln’s voice was hard. Even. She believed him.
“The other agents are coming.” She pushed to her feet and inched to the ledge. “I sent for them before I came in here. You have very little time to escape.” She looked past her sister’s killer, past his gun, and stared at Charles.
His eyes burned with anger. With fear. For her.
“You say you have money, a villa out of this country.” She swallowed. “If you leave now, you might have a chance. Especially if you have a captive.”
“Cassie,” Charles warned, his voice low.
She looked at Lincoln. He aimed his gun at her, but they both knew he was too far for an accurate shot. He would waste time hunting her down. Time he didn’t have. “Take me with you to ensure safe passage. The agency men won’t attack if you’re holding a gun on me. And I won’t leave with you unless Charles is alive.”
Charles twisted his hands furiously, straining at his bonds. “Don’t listen to her. Take me.”
Lincoln pressed his lips together tightly. He glanced back at Charles, at her, back at Charles. “Fine,” he spit out. “I’ll hook up this gig here. We’ll leave.”
