Thank God Charles had been right! Blood pumping, David charged down the hall, pistol drawn. He had no intention of wasting time with small talk. This was war, and he meant to defeat his enemy at all costs.
He threw open the study door to find Effingham lazing casually with his feet up on his desk, a pistol pointed straight at him.
Blood pounded in David’s ears as he leveled his own gun at that loathsome toad.
“Welcome to my humble home, Lord Whitcomb. I’ve been expecting you.” Effingham glanced at Charles, the color leaving his cheeks. “But not you. Go home, Charles. This is none of your affair.”
So he was unnerved by being outnumbered. That was good to know.
“You’ve stolen my sister-in-law, you ass. If you think we’re still friends, you are sorely mistaken.” Charles pulled a pistol from his own coat and leveled it at Effingham, his hand wobbling.
This had gotten out of hand rather quickly. “Charles, I appreciate the show of support, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Effingham narrowed his eyes as he pointed his gun at Charles instead. “You idiot. You don’t even know how to use that thing. Drop it.”
Charles pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I do so.” And, Good God, he pulled the trigger.
They all froze at the click.
Nothing happened.
For the love of God, Charles, if you’re going to threaten a man with a gun, check that it’s loaded first!
His brother dropped the gun as if it had burned him and raised his arms in the air.
Effingham’s triumphant grin made Whitcomb’s stomach twist. “Lord Whitcomb, I would appreciate it if you would vacate the premises. or I’ll blow a hole in your stupid brother. And don’t bother coming back for Clarissa. She came willingly, and she’s mine by law. I have the papers right here.” He pushed them toward David with his free hand.
David didn’t dare take his eyes off Effingham. “I have no interest in your forgeries.”
“They aren’t forged. The curate at St. Albans will swear to everything written there. And you’ll see Clarissa’s signature at the bottom just beside mine. Take a moment and look. I promise not to shoot.”
Effingham unfolded the papers, and David couldn’t stop himself from glancing down. And there was Clarissa’s signature, unmistakable on the page. He’d watched her sign their own marriage license earlier that very day. He couldn’t help but smile at all the unnecessary flourishes and curlicues she added. But the sight of that signature now filled him with dread and outrage.
It was Laura all over again. He’d gone and fallen in love only to have his heart dashed on the rocks. At least Clarissa wassafe. She hadn’t fallen off a cliff to her death. If he never saw her again, at least he could take comfort in that.
The sound of breaking glass made them all look up, and then a woman’s scream pierced the night. “Help! Please, I need help!”
David’s heart stopped.Dear God! Clarissa!
Chapter 12
Clarissa refused to stay and be that vile toad’s wife. It was a fate worse than death. If she could only escape Jeffrey and get back to David, she was certain she could find a way to prove the marriage license false. It was a mistake to come with Jeffrey willingly. She should have known he would double-cross her.
Jeffrey might have tied her to the bedpost, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it. She twisted and squeezed and yanked until she got a hand free, then untied her other hand in a matter of moments. She ran to the door. It was locked, of course.
Pulling a hairpin from her bun, she wiggled it around in the keyhole, hoping against hope that she could unlock it. But she had no lock-picking expertise, especially in darkness, and after several minutes of finagling, she was forced to give up.
The window. Was there any way down? Or perhaps she could gain the attention of someone outside.
But the window refused to budge, no matter how she pulled on it. A thick layer of paint sealed the window shut. She had nothing to cut through the paint with, so she grabbed the coverlet from the bed, wrapped it around her arm, and shattered the glass. The noise was alarming, but the fresh, cool night air gave her renewed hope as she peered out of the hole she’d made.
Looking down, she balked at the dizzying, three-story drop. Forcing herself to focus on the building façade, she looked for a handhold or foothold—anything that she could cling toand use to climb down. The decorative stonework around the second-story windows only offered an inch or so of ledge, and that wasn’t enough to trust her life to.
This truly was turning into one of her gothic novels. If she wasn’t so terrified, she would laugh. What would Lady Lucinda fromThe Oath of Aldinodo? She would climb out and dangle from the balcony, risking life and limb to free herself. But Clarissa couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wouldn’t survive the drop if something went wrong in her escape attempt.
Curse it all! She was going to have to call out for help and pray that someone other than Jeffrey heard her plea.
Was that a coach parked across the way? Perhaps she could get the attention of the driver.
