“I’m Miss Fontaine’s brother. Just got into Town and thought I’d come by first thing, see how she’s faring before I head off to the inn.” He attempted a bland expression accompanied by a polite smile.
“Now might not be the best time. I reckon she’s entertaining Mr. Trenton at the moment. Just saw him go up.”
Adrian did his best to feign outrage. “There’s a manwith her?”
“Not unusual for a woman in her line of work,” the old woman said, her voice critical. A soft knock fell on a door upstairs, and Adrian pushed his way past her, jostling her with his shoulder. “Mind your manners, will you.”
Muttering a hasty apology, he started up the stairs, the scrape of his boots against each step masked by the creaking of hinges as somebody opened a door.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” Miss Fontaine’s hushed voice was filled with concern. A rustling sound followed, then the snick of a door being closed.
Adrian flew up the remaining stairs, the unforeseen delay and the lack of assistance he’d received causing concern to fester deep in his gut. There would be no escape for the man he was after. Trapped in Miss Fontaine’s apartment, the scoundrel would not have a chance to flee. But what of Miss Fontaine’s safety?
He could only pray she wouldn’t be harmed as he found her door and thrust his shoulder against it as hard as he could.
Wood splintered and buckled, granting Adrian entrance. Miss Fontaine shrieked. The man who stood before her whirled, a menacing gleam in his bright blue eyes.
“Mr. Croft,” he sneered. “I ought to have known.”
Adrian stepped toward him. “Looks like there’s been a miracle, Mr. Lawrence, for it does indeed seem as though you can walk.”
33
Benjamin stared at Mr. Croft, his every instinct on high alert as the truth came crashing down around him. He’d been found out. Genevieve had betrayed him. She and Croft would both have to die in order for him to live.
His pulse spiked on that thought, his only concern the lack of a plan. Acting on impulse would likely be messy, but at least he had one advantage – the fact that everyone knew him to be a cripple.
Which meant there was one way out: kill the pair, then pin Genevieve’s murder on Croft. Questions would be asked, most notably pertaining to how Benjamin could have managed to get to her lodgings without his servants assisting. He’d work that out later.
For now, however…
He leapt behind Genevieve, his arm curling around her slimneck while he went for the double-barreled flintlock pistol he kept in his jacket pocket. The choked gasp she produced when he pushed the barrel against her temple turned into a croak when he pulled her flush up against his chest.
“Put the weapon down,” Croft growled.
“So you can have the upper hand?”
Croft took a step forward, arms spread wide. “Let the woman go, Lawrence. Killing her will accomplish nothing.”
He was wrong about that. Killing her meant he’d have one less opponent.
“It was stupid of me to trust a whore,” he hissed in Genevieve’s ear as he pulled back the hammer.
A muffled protest was all he allowed her before he squeezed the trigger.
Blood and bone exploded around him and Genevieve’s body went limp. He released her while shifting position, training his pistol on his next target as Genevieve hit the floor, the gentle thud she produced a bit underwhelming, all things considered.
“Surprised?” he asked when he met Croft’s glare. The man had likely believed he would spare the woman he’d bedded, or at the very least hesitate somewhat before he killed her. Doing so would have sealed his own fate, however, so he hadn’t waited and he wouldn’t do so now either.
He pulled back the hammer once more, the action cut short by a sharp piercing pain to his chest. Air seized in his throat and his knees went weak. Hedropped his gaze to the dagger protruding from his chest.
Croft had thrown it too quickly for him to react. Hell, he’d not even seen the damn thing in his hand and could only wonder at where it had come from. It must have been hidden inside the sleeve of his jacket.
Benjamin drew a ragged breath. His fingers tightened around the flintlock’s handle, gripping it even as he staggered sideways, his other hand curling around the hilt of the dagger. He had to get the blasted thing out, but he also had to kill Croft.
“You’ll rot in hell for what you’ve done.” Croft’s words were like a grim promise, spoken with no small amount of loathing.
Benjamin stumbled backward. His shoulder struck a wall and his legs grew increasingly weak, sliding out beneath him until they lost the strength to keep him upright. He landed on the floor, his throat working to suck air into his straining lungs, the spot where the dagger pierced him like hot coals pushing inside him.
