“I guess there is no harm in telling you. In Paris, she overheard me speaking with a cousin about my plans to run Smythe Coal. I didn’t realize they had a young woman staying with them. She probably didn’t understand what she heard, but I couldn’t take that chance. I made it my business to walk in on her with my other cousin, while they engaged in an indiscretion. As she was all too aware if it were disclosed, she would fall from the heights of London’s social circles.”
In the midst of all this deviancy, he smiled, keeping a watchful gaze on her frightened face. “Sadly, you shall be the second in a tragic case of two families battling over mining rights. You will be thequid pro quoof the violent Lord Burnley, exacting vengeance for his sister’s brutal murder. First, he wooed you to get close to you, and naturally, he murdered you out of revenge.”
Adelia shuddered. It might actually be plausible except for the ridiculous use of the handkerchief. No one would believe Owen wanted to get caught for murder. Nor was it believable that both she and Sophia had each managed to grab their respective killer’s handkerchief at the last moment.
In trying so hard to leave a clue portraying Owen as the killer, Victor Beaumont was going to make it painfully clear the viscount wasn’t a murderer. She supposed she ought to be grateful for that. Moreover, another similar strangling would probably free her brother from Newgate.
It seemed to her Victor Beaumont, in his deranged and prideful brain, actually wanted credit for both killings, precisely as he wanted credit for the success of her family’s mining company. He was far too vainglorious to kill her quietly and dump her body in the Thames, as would be the easiest method. If Owen were truly out for bloodthirsty revenge, that’s what he would do.
She thought pride might end up being Mr. Beaumont’s downfall, but she wouldn’t be there to see it. Unless…
“I suppose we could m…marry so you could take over the company easily without having to get the courts involved. The Chancery court takes years, I understand, to sort out such matters.”
He began to laugh. He laughed so hard tears streamed down his face. The longer he did it, the more frightened Adelia became. Finally, Mr. Beaumont collected himself and sighed.
“Coincidentally, my lady, that was the original plan. It would have been so much easier, as you say, and you and I would have made a splendid couple. I still would have had to get your brother out of the way by setting him up as a murderer. I couldn’t murder him directly, of course, as all eyes would have gone to me once I stepped in to run our company. This way, the law took care of him for me.”
Adelia should have realized sooner, but her father had trusted the man as had Thomas. She could only hope he would relent if she kept trying.
“Instead of more blood being on your hands, Mr. Beaumont, wouldn’t you rather come to an agreement with me?”
“It’s too late for that,” he said curtly. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Her mouth was so dry with fear, she couldn’t swallow or speak another word. He suddenly stooped low, and she watched with horror as he pulled out a rope from under the bed.
Panting with fear, she knew she couldn’t get past him in the tiny room. She could do nothing except shake her head in protest as he draped the rope around her neck, gently as if placing a shawl.
“You may get on your knees and pray, if you want, and confess any sins.”
Tilting her head, she couldn’t imagine why he was suggesting this.
He shrugged. “I am Catholic,” he admitted. “I assume you are Protestant, but I will afford you this mercy to your soul.”
Surely,hiswas the soul condemned to eternal damnation, not hers.
“Hurry,” he urged, “and keep your voice down while you do it.”
For the first time in her life, Adelia looked forward to breaking her silence. If it was to be her final act, then she would leave this world making as much noise as she possibly could. Licking her lips, she put forth the loudest scream she could imagine—bloodcurdling, if she had to describe it. She made even her good ear ring with its intensity.
Beaumont, coming out of his shock, stepped forward and backhanded her, knocking her to the floor.
*
Owen almost didn’trecognize the voice, never having heard Adelia being loud before. It didn’t matter, of course. He would have gone to the aid of any woman—or man, for that matter—who screamed with such terror.
He had raced up the tavern stairs a moment earlier, heart pounding as he headed toward the room in which Sophia had perished. On the landing, he’d heard the terrible scream.
Trying the door, it didn’t budge. Heaving his shoulder against it, once, twice. After taking a few steps back to increase the power of his charge, on the third attempt, he splintered it.
Bursting into the room, Owen took in the sight that chilled his blood. Adelia was on the floor, blood dripping from her mouth, and Victor Beaumont was on top of her, strangling her with a rope.
The world tilted. Roaring with rage, he rushed Beaumont, knocking him off her and sending him sprawling a few feet away. The brute began to scrabble on all fours to escape, but Owen easily put a booted foot to his ribs and kicked him over onto his back. As Beaumont lay dazed, he pounced. Holding the stocky scoundrel by the front of his jacket, Owen punched him in the face. Again and again.
Indeed, with a red haze of anger filling his eyes, and the satisfying sensation of his fist bludgeoning Beaumont’s skull, Owen couldn’t imagine stopping.
Then he heard Adelia whisper his name.
Turning to her, he saw her eyes were open, watching him, her lips slightly parted, drawing breath. All notion of beating Beaumont to death dissipated instantly.
