“What?” Exasperation gripped Florian with full force. “Bartholomew looks entirely different from the man he once was. How would you have proven he was one and the same when everyone thinks him dead?”
“I would have found a way,” Henry insisted.
They exited the Red Rose. “Unlikely, considering how good he has always been at deception.” Climbing into the waiting carriage, Florian paused while Henry and Huntley followed him inside before adding, “He would have dismissed all accusations and made you look a fool, Henry. Especially since his new persona is that of an upstanding citizen.”
“He is liked and respected,” Henry agreed. “More than that, he is needed. I know several people who’ve welcomed his investments in recent months.”
“I don’t suppose you were able to find the source of his wealth?” Florian asked.
Henry shook his head. “I would have told you if I had.”
“Which validates my argument,” Florian told him. “As Mortedge, Bartholomew was reborn. There was nothing we could pin on him, no means to take him down once and for all.”
“Until now,” Huntley pointed out with a glower.
Florian nodded. “Precisely.” He clenched his fists and turned a stiff gaze out the window. The carriage started forward with a brisk lurch, carrying them all toward Bedford Square and the town house where England’s most renowned criminal now resided, unbeknownst to his wealthy neighbors.
Time was a curious concept. Even when Juliette had been confined to a bed and ought to have felt it drag on, the days had flown by because Florian had been there. Now, with a nearby clock telling her only one hour had passed since she had arrived in this room, it felt like she had been there for an eternity.
To her surprise, she had not been restrained in any way, most likely because Bartholomew did not think she stood much of a chance against him and his men. Which was probably true. But if Florian came for her—whenhe came for her—she wanted to be ready to help.
So she strolled around the room searching for something to use as a weapon. To her disappointment, the room did not contain a single sharp object. Not even a misplaced pencil. The infernal clock ticked the monotonous passing of seconds. Juliette eyed a vase. If she broke it, perhaps she could claim it an accident while hiding away one of the shards? She shook her head. It was much too obvious a ploy.
Tick-tock, tick-tock...If only the damn thing would stop! She glared at it, at the gold casing, the mother-of-pearl dial and all the little Roman numerals neatly placed upon it. Gradually, like a dream invading reality, an idea began to take shape. Juliette blinked. Yes. This could work. Maybe. She went to the clock and made a quick study of it, then carefully opened the glass door.
Voices approaching the room made her hasten her movements. Swiftly, she closed the front of the clock back up and hurried across the floor, dropping into an armchair just as the door to the room swung open. Bartholomew strolled in as casually as if he were having guests over for tea. He was followed by three welcome faces, Raphe, Lowell and Florian, with the same men who’d kidnapped her bringing up the rear. Both were holding pistols at the ready.
“You see,” Bartholomew purred as he came toward her. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her to her feet. “Your ladylove is perfectly fine, Florian.” He flung his arm around Juliette’s waist and pulled her close. “For now.”
Florian bristled. “Get your filthy hands off her.” He spoke between clenched teeth while Raphe and Lowell accompanied his words with venomous scowls.
Bartholomew clucked his tongue. “Where are your manners?” He squeezed Juliette until revulsion snaked through her. “You see she is unharmed and yet you choose to insult me. In my own home, no less.”
“Let her go.” Florian’s voice had cooled to a tone far more threatening than his previous one. “I am the one you want to punish. Me. Not her.”
“And what better way to do so than through her?” Bartholomew moved, as did Florian. “Ah, ah, ah! Stay right where you are lest one of my men there produces a twitch and accidentally fires his weapon.”
Something sharp made contact with Juliette’s neck. A blade, the fine edge of it grazing her skin. Instinctively she sucked in a breath. Her gaze met Florian’s and held it. If she died here today it would be with his dear face filling her vision.
“Bartholomew,” Florian warned, hands raised in surrender. “Put the knife down. Please.”
“Or what?” Bartholomew paused for a second. “You came here unarmed, expecting to what, convince me to show compassion when you would grant me no such thing? Or have you forgotten that you are the reason why I had to go into hiding? I lost thousands of pounds in my business while having to pretend I was dead. All because you couldn’t keep your bloody mouth shut!” The blade pressed harder against Juliette. “You just had to thwart me.”
“Do not pretend you did not deserve it,” Florian countered. “I know better than anyone what you are capable of. If anyone deserves revenge, it is I, not you.”
“As if you have the bollocks for it.” Sneering, Bartholomew tightened his grip on Juliette. His men moved around, their weapons aimed only at Raphe and Lowell.
Intuitive realization dawned on Juliette. No matter what happened, Bartholomew would not harm Florian. He might cause him grief and misery by killing her, Lowell and Raphe, but Florian was his son. In spite of everything, he would not be able to take his life.
The relief this knowledge gave her was profound. It meant not only that the man she loved would live, but that she had one less person to worry about. Biding her time, she eyed Bartholomew’s men. Their eyes were fixed on their targets, ready to fire if Raphe or Lowell made any sudden movements. But if she distracted them...
Florian took a step forward. Juliette felt a sharp sting as the blade pressed even closer. It must have broken her skin. She tried to focus on where it made contact and deliberately turned her body more fully toward Bartholomew. “Regarding your earlier suggestion,” she whispered, all the while moving her critical veins out of harm’s way, “I accept.”
The blade lost contact with her neck entirely as Bartholomew met her gaze. “Be more specific.”
“Kill me and you could hang. In truth this time.” Distracting him as she spoke, she positioned herself just so... “Bed me and you will exact your revenge without risking your neck.”
Greedy lust, abhorrent in it proclivity, captured his every feature. A grin spread wide across his face while laughter spilled from his mouth. Juliette struggled to hide her disgust while pulling a long piece of spindly metal out from under her sleeve. Gripping it, she listened while Bartholomew claimed she was his, bragging of how he would take great pleasure in making her a party to his every deviance.
