“He drank the tea,” she said. The bouquet of roses tumbled from her grasp, a riot of blood-red on the wooden floor.
“Felicity,” Mantis said.
He wanted to cross the room and take her into his arms but the banshee in his grasp and the pounding on the door prevented him from comforting her the way he wanted to…
The way heneeded to.
Because holding her would comfort him as well—possibly even more.
“Felicity, sweetheart,” Mantis addressed her, sounding much calmer than he felt. Was she in shock? “Greystone and Spencer are outside. Can you unlock the door for them?”His father had locked them inside—with the woman trying to kill them.
Felicity nodded and then, moving as though she was in a trance, crossed to the door. Another glance at his father and Mantis turned his head away and gagged.
Had Crestwood known the tea would kill him?
The poison in the hot beverage had been far stronger than what had been used to lace the whiskey. Furthermore, the whiskey’s flavor had hidden it.
But the tea—it hadn’t tasted like tea at all, but of almonds… Bitter almonds.
He’d stopped after that one small sip, despite Louisa urging him to drink more.
Spencer, Greystone, Westerley, and Chaswick, as well as a few faces he recognized as Blackheart’s loyal men, filed into the room like a second wave of soldiers arriving at the end of a battle.
Mantis welcomed a return to reality.
“I’ve got her.” Spencer had locked his hands around Louisa’s wrists and was dragging her to her feet. “Your head is bleeding.”
Westerley was draping one of the priest’s garbs over his father’s body while Chaswick examined the tea. “I’ll send for Blackheart,” Chase said to no one in particular. “Might need this for evidence.”
Mantis dabbed at the side of his head, relieved at not finding a hole where his ear was supposed to be, and then stared at the blood covering his fingers.
“She shot you!” Felicity was at his side now, roused to life by the appearance of the other gentlemen—gentlemen who were more than friends, men who were his family.
“No.” Mantis held out one hand, checked by her beauty and the pristine gown she was wearing.
She was a vision in her wedding gown…
“I don’t want my blood on your dress. It’s… beautiful… You are,” he stumbled as his thoughts caught up with him. She was too good for him. “We’ve kept our guests waiting too long already.”
She was shaking but hugged her arms across her chest and studied him.
“You need to see a doctor first.”
Mantis held a handkerchief against his ear. “Not until after I’ve made you my wife.”
Priorities
Felicity choked on a sob at the conviction in his voice. “Oh, Axel.”This man.“I don’t care about my dress.” She lowered herself to where he knelt on the floor and, ignoring his ridiculous protests about ruining her gown, wrapped her arms around his sturdy, dependable,preciousshoulders.
No one had protected him from his father’s words, but she would do her best to heal the resulting wounds… in every way that she could.
Beginning with this—holding him—and being held.
“I’m so sorry, Axel, my love. I’m so very sorry.” She felt his tremor all along her body and tightened her arms around him.
“Sorry to intrude upon such a tender moment,” Lord Greystone interrupted, “but allow me a moment to look at that ear.”
Felicity drew back. “Please.” The handkerchief was more red than white. “And he drank some of the poison—” She met Mantis’ tired gaze. “A sip.” He nodded.
