“Vivy!” he called, voice low but fierce.
No answer. He reached the landing and followed the sound—down the corridor and toward her chamber. The door was half open. Dash shoved it wider and stopped. A man stood behind Vivy, one arm locked around her shoulders, the other holding a knife at her throat. The blade glinted in the morning light—too close and too steady to put him at ease.
Vivy’s face was pale but composed, her hands lifted slightly as if trying not to jostle the steel. Her gaze met Dash’s with a fierce, pleading warning. The man’s gaze snapped to Dash. Recognition flashed, followed by something like triumph. “Lord Ravenwood,” he said, voice shaking just enough to show fear beneath all that boldness. “How very… unfortunate.”
Dash kept his voice even and his body perfectly still. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage. I do not believe we have been introduced.”
“Mr. Halford.” Vivy’s breath hitched. “Papa’s secretary,” she managed, voice strained. “He—he came from behind the screen. I did not hear him.”
Halford’s grip tightened. The blade nicked Vivy’s skin, barely but more than enough to make him go cold with fear. A thread of red appeared at the base of Vivy’s throat. Dash’s world narrowed to that single drop of blood. He forced himself to remain calm. He stared at Halford and said in an even tone, “Let her go.”
Halford’s harsh laugh sent chills over Dash. “I cannot. It is too late for her. She knows too much.”
Vivy swallowed, carefully. “Please,” she said, her voice trembling now. “Mr. Halford, you do not have to do this. Whatever you think you must do…”
“Silence,” Halford hissed, pressing the knife closer. “You should not have snooped and you certainly never should have told him. You were warned.”
Dash locked his gaze on Halford’s hands. He took note of the angle of his wrist, the tension in his arm, and the distance between them. He measured it the way he would measure a shot, and he did not allow himself to look at Vivy’s eyes again. Because if he did, he would lose the discipline required to save her. “Halford,” Dash said softly, “you are making a mistake.”
Halford lifted a brow. “Am I?” He smiled coldly. “I know what you are now and what you did for the Crown.” His voice quivered with a strange kind of fury. “She has what I need.”
Dash’s mouth tightened. “You will not leave this room if you harm her.”
“If all goes well…your threats will mean nothing.” Halford’s laugh turned shrill.
Vivy began to plead... “Mr. Halford, I do not even understand…”
“You understand enough,” he snarled. “Enough to ruin everything.”
Dash took one slow step forward. Halford jerked the blade closer against Vivy’s throat. “Another step and I cut.”
Dash stopped at once, hands loose at his sides, posture deceptively relaxed. “Good,” Dash said quietly. “Then listen to me. You and I both know you cannot outrun what is coming. But you can still choose how it ends.”
Halford’s breathing grew ragged. “There is no choosing. The moment she read those names?—”
Dash moved. It was not a lunge fueled by rage. It was a calculated strike, precise and brutal. Dash surged forward in the same instant Halford’s attention flickered. Dash snapped his hand up and gripped Halford’s wrist that held the knife and twisted hard.
Halford shouted, jerking Vivy backward. Dash slammed into him, shoulder first, driving him off balance. Vivy stumbled forward, free of the blade, and Dash caught her by the waist with one arm while he wrenched Halford’s wrist with the other. He set her to the side so he could handle Halford without her suffering any more injuries. The knife clattered to the floor. Halford threw a wild punch. Dash ducked it and drove his fist into Halford’s jaw—once and then a second time.
Halford reeled, but desperation made him slippery. He shoved Dash hard, grabbed at the window latch as if to flee that way, but then spun toward the door. Dash caught his coat to try to stop him. Halford tore free as his coat ripped and he bolted down the corridor.
Dash started after him, but Vivy caught his sleeve, breathless. “Dash…stop.”
He halted, because her voice was shaking and because he could not afford to leave her alone, not now, not when blood still marked her throat. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Dash demanded, turning to her.
Vivy lifted trembling fingers to the cut, then shook her head. “No. Just…here.”
Dash’s chest heaved once, hard. He forced himself to breathe. Then Vivy’s hand tightened around something she had clutched instinctively. The papers… She held them out to him with shaking hands. “I…I grabbed them from the hiding place when he stepped toward me. I thought he was going to kill me.”
Cold admiration and fear collided in Dash’s chest. He took the documents quickly, sliding them into his inner pocket. “You did well,” he said, voice rough. He did not want to think about how close she had come to dying.
Vivy’s eyes shone with anger and shock. “He was in my father’s study,” she whispered. “He knew. He…he slipped that note into my reticule.”
Dash’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
She swallowed. “What do we do now?”
Dash looked at the door, listening for footsteps. The house still felt quiet…too quiet. Halford’s escape meant danger was too close. The ticking clock had just begun to shout.
