Chapter Twenty-Seven
A sharp rap on the ceiling above him startled Phillip from a light sleep. Apparently, he’d nodded off sometime after Hillsdale and Hugh had taken Bell back upstairs. Phillip shot up off the cot and glanced around. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? There was no telling, but it was morning. The light coming from under the door at the top of the stairs told him so. He lit the lantern and set it near the staircase.
He glanced back over at the cot. Sophie was sleeping. He didn’t want to wake her. Why ruin her slumber just to be confronted with the stark reality that they were still prisoners in a cellar, and no one was coming to help them?
He turned in a circle. He needed to make a plan. All he had to defend them with was one small knife. Hugh and Hillsdale both had pistols. But Phillip would have to make do. He would just—
Wait. He stopped. His arms falling to his sides. Last night, before Hugh and Hillsdale had come down, and again, just now, had been the first time since the battle that he’d slept without nightmares and waking in a cold sweat. He turned to stare at Sophie in awe. A smile covered his face. She truly brought light with her wherever she went. She shined it into the deepest, darkest place. Making love to her had been the best experience of his life, and if anything happened to her today—after he’d refused to escape when they’d had the chance—he would never forgive himself.
Phillip’s revery was short-lived as voices and footsteps sounded from above. He held his breath to listen.
“You are a complete numbskull,” came a shrill woman’s voice.
Phillip cocked his head to the side. Who was that? There was no help for it. He gently woke Sophie. Sophie rubbed her eyes and sat up, groggily listening after Phillip silently pointed up, then cupped his ear.
“If you won’t get on with it, I will,” the woman said next. “Give me the pistol. I’ll put a shot in Grayson’s skull and one in Bellingham’s to match.”
“Is that your stepmother?” Phillip asked Sophie in a whisper.
“Yes,” Sophie said, nodding, her eyes wide. She was already standing. “Wait. You don’t think… Valentina is the Jackal?”
“Appears so,” Phillip replied, blowing air into his cheeks.
Sophie shuddered. “I always knew Valentina disliked me, but I never thought she’d agree to my murder.”
Phillip stepped over to Sophie and made fast work of the buttons. “I’m not certain she realizes you’re here.”
Sophie looked up at him, her brow knitted. “What?”
“I’m not sure they told her.” Phillip reached down under the cot and grabbed his knife.
“But why—?”
Sophie cut her remark short when Phillip put a finger to his lips. The lock was being opened. He turned quickly to Sophie and whispered, “Hide. Hide in the shadows behind me. Against the back wall.” He gestured to the far end of the room. “Don’t come out. No matter what happens, Sophie. Promise me.”
Sophie nodded. She hurried into the shadows just as the door to the cellar opened and the glow of another lantern filtered down the staircase. Sunlight streamed in too. Phillip tucked the knife into the top of his breeches. Then he took a deep breath. One way or other, this would be over soon.
Footsteps clomped down the stairs one after another until Hugh, Hillsdale, and a beautiful woman—whom Phillip could only assume was Sophie’s stepmother—stood in front of him.
Hugh was busily looking around the room, obviously searching for Sophie. “Where’s—?”
A sharp elbow to the gut from Hillsdale silenced the younger man. That was interesting. Apparently, Hillsdale didn’t want Valentina to know Sophie was here. But that was probably a good sign. Perhaps it meant they didn’t intend to kill her. Phillip could almost breathe a sigh of relief. But nothing would be certain until this ended.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Phillip quickly said, bowing to Valentina to keep Hugh from saying more.
Valentina arched a black brow and stared at him, cocking her head to one side. “So, you’re the one who’s caused so much trouble. The missing duke.”
“One and the same,” Phillip replied. “And you are?”
Valentina lifted her hand that had been hidden in her purple skirts to reveal a pistol, which she leveled at Phillip. She gave him a bright, wicked smile. “I’m Valentina Payton, Your Grace. And I’m here to kill you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the darkness behind Phillip, Sophie was shaking so badly she was certain all the room’s occupants could hear her teeth chattering. She was cold. So cold. Her hands were numb, and her feet felt like anvils. She watched the scene unfolding in front of her as if it were a dream—no, a nightmare. Whatever it was, it was completely unbelievable. She wanted to wake up. Valentina, her stepmother, was standing in the light of the two lanterns, aiming a pistol squarely at Phillip’s chest. How was this happening?
Valentina had always been rude, selfish, and condescending, but capable of murder? Sophie’s mind refused to believe the truth, even though it was standing in front of her wearing a purple gown and holding a pistol.
She’d suspected Valentina had known something, of course. Sophie had even considered that Valentina knew Malcolm had been murdered, but seeing her with an actual weapon and hearing her say she intended to kill Phillip… When had the entire world gone mad? Valentina, apparently, was a murderer. Oh, God. What if Papa…? No. There was no way Papa knew about this. No way Papa had anything to do with this. This was Valentina’s doing alone. Her father might be a weak fool, but he was no killer.
