Connor squelched the instinct to duck as she waved the pistol in his direction. “I am his. He made me his and I will always be his. You, I will kill for daring to think otherwise.”
Her fingers curled around the grip. The barrel came up…
“Piper!”
Chapter 33
I used to believe in happy endings. Now I know they’re true.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, September 1895
Real fear flashed across Rutledge’s face and he scrambled to the side. Connor wouldn’t have sworn to it, but he thought he saw Piper give him a second’s respite before she jerked the barrel of the gun skyward and pulled the trigger.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Connor yelled as the duke’s henchmen all held their guns to the ready. One wrong move and they’d have a shootout the likes of which he’d only read about in penny novels on their hands. “Temple!”
Temple swore under his breath and lowered his gun with a sigh. “Mr. Cavendish! If you please.”
“Scotland Yard. Surrender your weapons, gentlemen!”
The leader of the men approaching from down the street flashed his badge and a raised an arm. At the flick of his wrist, the lawmen hastened their advance at a run. At the same time, the assembled crowd parted for the troop of uniformed bobbies.
Turning as one, Rutledge’s hired thugs reacted with varying degrees of surprise and rebellion. But, now vastly outnumbered, forfeited their weapons without fight or argument, all claiming they had no intention of shooting anyone. Some insisted they didn’t even know the duke.
“You have enough?” Temple questioned the nattily-dressed commander.
“I’ve got your affidavit and testimony to kidnapping and coercion,” Cavendish confirmed, making notes in a small notebook. “I believe I overheard enough to add a confession to those charges to his record.”
“Oi, ye weren’t close enough to hear anything,” one of Rutledge’s men protested as he was shackled.
“Careful or I’ll charge you with the same,” the lawman told him. He turned to furious duke as Rutledge rose, dusting himself off. “Lord Ambrose Waldegrave, you are under arrest.”
“Me? She threatened to kill me,” Rutledge accused, glaring at the lawman with all his hauteur. “I demand you arrest her.”
“Correction, Itriedto kill you,” Piper clarified and waved the pistol dramatically toward his nether regions, drawing the attention of everyone around them to follow its path. “Seems it frightened you enough to cause a small accident, Duke. You might want to cover yourself lest your fragile reputation takes a far more disastrous turn.”
Rutledge’s face scrunched into crimson folds. He appeared near apoplexy. Unfortunately, Connor didn’t think they’d get that lucky, but Piper pointing out the aftermath of the duke’s loosened bladder would effectively mar the man’s reputation beyond redemption. Only the suggestion of impotence would have been more effective and satisfying.
The duke strained against the men holding his arms. “You are more trouble than your brother ever was. You will pay for this.”
Connor doubted it. However, even if Rutledge did take another crack at vengeance, nothing could redeem his reputation now. Within days, the news would travel and exacerbate. By the time the gossip reached London, the duke would have cowered before a mere wisp of a lass, begged for mercy, and pissed himself as a result of morbid fear. He’d be a laughingstock, if he dared show his face.
“We’ll take it from here, my lady.” Cavendish said as he stepped between them to defuse the situation. Wetting the tip of his pen with his tongue, the lawman ignored him and flipped the page on his notebook. “I believe I overheard a confession of rape to add to the other charges.”
“The prince shall hear about this.” As low as he’d been brought, Rutledge remained angry and defiant as two bobbies attempted to shackle his wrists. “Unhand me. I am the Duke of Rutledge!”
“It’s over,” Connor said to him. “Ye’ve lost.”
Hatred darkened the duke’s eyes. “A Rutledge never loses. Never surrenders.”
Connor clasped Piper’s hand and drew her away from the crowd. Wincing at the sight of the revolver still in her hand, he gingerly reached for it.
“Don’t fuss. My finger wasn’t on the trigger.” She handed over the pistol. “Did you know you’re not supposed to rest your finger on it? They seem to find it worrisome.”
Connor groaned and hauled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Lessons, first thing.”
“Not first thing,” she corrected.
“Nay?” He lifted an inquiring brow.
