“Esme!” It was Finn’s voice bringing her back as the door to the parlor opened and Ripley, Ramsbury and Diana rushed in. Somehow, Willowby was already there, perhaps he’d climbed in the window as she attacked her cousin. He was binding Francis’s hands behind his back none too gently as blood poured from what appeared to be a badly broken nose.
Ripley rushed to untie Jane and knelt before her to look at her eye gently. “You little fool.” There was no heat to his tone. “Why didn’t you stay where you were?”
Jane didn’t answer but looked toward Esme. Ripley moved aside as she pulled from Finn’s arms and ran to her friend. They embraced.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as the full weight of what had happened hit her. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, love, no,” Jane whispered as she hugged her until she almost couldn’t breathe. “You’re free now. And I’m fine. Just fine.”
She looked over Esme’s shoulder toward Finn and Esme moved to do the same. He was watching her, expression wrought with the terror he hadn’t allowed himself to show during the whole exchange with her cousin.
“Good work, my lord,” Jane said. “I can see why she likes you.”
There was a flutter of a smile on his lips even though he was pale. He gave a quick half bow before he turned to Diana to speak quietly, Esme assumed to find out what would happen next with Francis, who was almost insensible as he was dragged from the room to whatever fate awaited him.
And as she hugged Jane close again, she had to wonder what her own fate would be after this night was over and she was forced to decide her next step.
There hadn’t been much to do after Willowby took the Marquess of Chilton away in irons, his bloody face one small consolation for the hell he’d caused. Finn had spoken to Diana, spoken to Sebastian, arranged for one of his carriages to take Jane and Ripley to the boxing instructor’s home once it was clear she was uninjured.
Diana had bandaged Esme’s injury—a flesh wound, nothing more—then brought in a few more agents. They were interviewing the few servants who hadn’t run when they saw their master’s games were up. Certainly there would be more to do to clean up the mess, but now Finn sat in his carriage, Esme tucked against his side, her bruised hands on her lap, and they rode silently back to his home.
“What did Diana say about Francis?” she asked at last.
He was actually glad she’d spoken. Her silence had worried him, left him wondering how scarred she was by tonight. He smoothed her hair gently and said, “They’ll lock him up in Newgate for now. She thinks the treason will see him hang.”
“Good,” Esme said softly. “He deserves to suffer and fear and ultimately die for what he did to my father. To me.” She let out a shaky sigh and rested a hand on his chest. “You did well.”
“It was horrible,” he said, and shivered as he was flooded with memories. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one scarred. “We knew he might put the gun on you, I tried to prepare myself, but when he did…when you attacked and it fired, I thought I’d die myself. Does your shoulder hurt?”
“It’s a mere sting,” she promised, and leaned up to kiss him. “I’m sure it will hurt more tomorrow, but it isn’t serious.”
“I’ve never before seen a woman I love hit by someone’s bullet. I think it was very serious.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
They were silent as the carriage turned into the drive. He helped her out, waved off assistance and they went together up to his chamber once again and through the antechamber to his bedroom.
She leaned against the door, watching as he went to the basin of water at his dressing table and wetted a cloth. “Come here,” he said. “Let me help you out of that dress and clean up your hands and shoulder.”
“I ruined Marianne’s gown,” she said with a shaky sigh as she did as she was told and turned her back so he could unbutton her. He’d done this so many times now, but this time he was more tender. He’d thought he could lose her. He would never again take this for granted.
“Marianne has plenty of dresses,” he reassured her, sucking in a breath as he peeled the bloody gown sleeve away and saw the hastily but expertly stitched wound. “The Duchess of Willowby is a revelation.”
“She confessed she’s a healer as she was stitching me, while you were talking to Sebastian.” Esme smiled. “She’s fascinating and also very kind. I’m so glad to know her.”
He nodded and gently wiped away the dried blood from around the wound wrapping, then did the same to her bloody and bruised knuckles. “Do your hands hurt?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve been in over a dozen fights since I became the Hellion and I’ve never hit someone so hard as I did Francis.”
“Well, he deserved it.” He glanced up at her. “Did it help?”
“To hit him? To give him a fraction of the pain that he caused me?” She sighed. “Somewhat. But in the end, my father is still dead. Everything that happened to me still happened. I’m still as lost about my future as I was before.”
He set the cloth aside and knelt before her. His dark eyes were filled with emotion. “I’d like to talk about that, if you’re up for it.”
He held his breath as he waited for her response. He could see her struggling with it. “I know we need to discuss it,” she said at last. “I know it weighs heavily on us both.”
“I want to repeat that I love you. I want to reiterate that I want my life to be with you.”
