“Because I’ve never been your enemy.” A pause. “There’s no time to argue. Please trust me—I, too, wish to scupper the French plans.”
Trust.Charlotte had to make a split-second decision. And Wrexford’s life might well be teetering in the balance . . .
“Milady?”
She scrambled to her feet and broke into a run.
* * *
Black Mask raised his gaze, the lantern catching the malicious gleam flashing from within the silk’s eyeholes. He hesitated, then a thump sounded as his pistol hit the floor and skidded across the stones to within inches of Wrexford’s boots.
“Now you,” said Wrexford, turning his gaze to Black Mask’s henchman.
The man tossed his weapons aside.
“Who are you?” demanded the earl.
An amused laugh from Black Mask, who answered with an obscenity.
“Kit,” called Wrexford. “Go alert Griffin and his men that we have a pair of murderers to hand over.”
“Not a chance that I’m leaving you alone with these bloodthirsty criminals,” replied Sheffield, coming to stand beside the earl. “Give the signal for Magpie. He can run and fetch them.”
Wrexford hesitated, loath to draw Charlotte into the fray even though it made logical sense.
“Who are you?” he repeated, giving himself a moment to consider the suggestion.
Black Mask let out a grunt and winced. “Might I stand?” he asked, raising his hands in surrender.
“Slowly,” said Wrexford after glancing at the henchman. On catching sight of a satchel lying beside one of the other bodies, he added, “Fetch that bag, Kit.”
Sheffield moved just as Black Mask straightened from his crouch—and lashed out a kick that shattered the lantern’s glass globe and sent it skittering into a pile of wood shavings.
Whoosh!A giant flame shot up, fueled by the spilled oil.
Wrexford shied back, blinded for an instant by the sudden blast of light.
Black Mask kicked over the table, sending an open can of pine spirits into the fire. Smoke billowed up from the burning wood.
Another heavy thud reverberated off the walls.
The earl spotted Sheffield through the wildly flickering light and shadows. The spinning table had knocked him down.
“Kit!” he cried in warning, seeing the henchman draw a knife from his boot.
Sheffield had fumbled his pistol as he fell and was just pushing up to his knees.
The blade flashed as the henchman started forward.
Wrexford pivoted to take aim, but in the same instant, another shot rang out.
A scream ripped free from the henchman’s throat as the knife in his hand flew up in the air and spun away to the far corner of the room.
Bloody hell, had Charlotte . . .
As the earl whipped around to spot the unknown shooter, Black Mask and the henchman both bolted for the rear window, where they smashed through the mullions and started to scramble out into the night.
Wrexford turned back in a flash but couldn’t bring himself to shoot a fleeing man in the back.
