Charity sat up in bed, rubbing her wrists, face pale as a gravestone. A nurse hovered next to her, hands twisted in her apron, eyes wide with horror.
Directly in front of him, Clara Whitmore clutched a flintlock pocket pistol—six inches of deadly force—aimed directly at Juliet’s heart.
Juliet didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But he did.
Without hesitation, Henry veered around Clara and stepped between them. His entire body became a barrier, his arms lifted, palms out. Not because he feared confrontation, but because a head-on attack might get someone killed—and as such, he kept his voice low and deliberate. “Clara, stop this madness.”
She blinked, her expression distant, dazed. Like a cracked porcelain doll with the pieces barely holding together. “Henry?” The gun held firm, but her voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”
Every muscle in him screamed to rush her. But one glance at the pistol told him it wouldn’t take much. A twitch. A gasp. One wrong word. He needed to buy time, to reach her heart before she pulled that trigger. “The real question is—what areyoudoing?”
“Don’t you know?” Confusion flickered over her face. “Everything I do is for us.”
He saw it now. Through the cracks in her resolve, the trembling beneath her icy poise. This wasn’t villainy. It was delusion. And that made her even more dangerous.
“Put the gun down,” he said softly, “and explain it to me.”
For a second—just a second—her grip slackened.
But then, as if snapping back into place, she straightened. “Of course you shall have your explanation. I would give you anything you ask, for we are lifelong friends, are we not?” Her voice turned almost wistful. “The simple truth is you have spent so much time doting on your sister that you had no time for me. So, she had to go. It was never personal—not really. She’s a sweet enough girl. I merely needed her out of the way.”
It was a struggle, but he kept his tone even. “So you deliberately tried to frighten her away?”
“I needed to. I knew she wouldn’t leave of her own accord. Always clinging to you. Needing this. Wanting that. So—” Her eyes glimmered. “I enlisted Woodley to help me scare her off.”
“But how? Why? No man would willingly … ahh. You must have paid him well.”
“Hardly. Didn’t cost me a thing.” She chuckled, the gun wavering in her hand. “Remember when I went off to visit my cousins in Cornwall shortly after finishing school? They rubbed shoulders with the local gentry, so I spent a fair amount of time at the home of Squire Eldon, who happened to employ a hallboy named William Wood—or as you know him, Woodley. Some time later, my cousin wrote to me of a scandal involving smugglers. Many were arrested, and all blamed your illustrious footman for ratting them out. It seems he used to be one of them. I simply used that information to persuade him to help me pocket items from Charity’s room, set up trip lines, and the like—or I’d let those angry smugglers know his location. His unique skill set proved invaluable—he even had experience in hiding his footprints.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “And the poison? Was that Woodley too?”
“Heavens no! The man’s too thick for something that delicate. That was me. I simply uncorked Juliet’s precious little tonicand added a hefty dose of laudanum and ether before Woodley brought it in. Simple. Neat. Traceable—to Juliet.”
“And devastating,” he said under his breath.
But apparently loud enough for Clara to hear, for the gleam in her eyes turned to ice. “She needed to go too. She’s like a leech, always near you, yetIam the one who is supposed to be at your side! Not your sister, and certainly not that trollop behind you.”
It took every ounce of will not to let anger betray him. This particular knot required a deft touch. A slow, careful unraveling. Not brute force.
Behind her, Parker slipped in, silent as a ghost. He crept towards Clara. Just a little longer.
“You are right, Clara,” Henry murmured. “We are friends. And that’s exactly how I know you do not want to hurt anyone.”
Her focus skittered to the pistol, her brow folding as if she couldn’t understand how in the world her fingers came to be curled around such a weapon. “I don’t mean to harm you.”
“Then don’t.” He took half a step closer. Every heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. Calm and steady—not power or cowardice, but control. He pressed on. “You do not want to do this.”
A tremor ran down her arms. “You don’t understand. Those women have ruined everything. I had a plan—a future—for us! They stole it from me.”
One more breath. One more inch. Parker nearly there. Slowly, he shook his head. “No one stole anything, my old friend.”
Unnatural red splotches blossomed on her cheeks. “Do not tell me I am wrong!”
She raised the pistol higher.
This was it. The moment. He didn’t move. One step, one startle, and she might fire. But if he kept her talking a breath more, a heartbeat longer …
So he held his ground, gambling on his resolve for a win. “I am not saying you are wrong, just—”
