Ah. That hadn’t occurred to Poole. “But Lord Everly said he’d be here! Where’s he gone?”
“Christ, you’re dim, Poole. Miss Monmouth here must have sent a note to Lady Clifford, and her ladyship sent someone to the Turk’s Head to see to it Thelwall avoids St. Clement Dane’s Church tonight.” Tristan waved a desultory hand. “Bad luck, eh, Poole? A dead body, and no one to blame for his murder? No one, that is, but you andMiss Monmouth.”
“Her!Who’s going to believe she finished off Sharpe? She’s no bigger than a bedbug. How’s a little bit of a thing like ’er going to fell a grown man?”
Tristan smirked. “Think about it, Poole. I’m sure the answer will come to you.”
But itdidn’tcome to him. For all Poole’s viciousness, he wasn’t a deep thinker. He looked from Tristan to Sophia with a puzzled expression.
“For God’s sake, Poole. Do I have to explain everything to you? Very well, then. Let me be more specific. If Miss Monmouth were to invite you to join her for a quick tumble amongst the tombstones, would you refuse her?”
From the corner of his eye Tristan noticed Sophia flinch, but he could see the dawning understanding on Poole’s face, and he forced himself to go on. “I don’t think there are many men alive whowouldrefuse her. I doubt Mr. Sharpe proved to bean exception.”
Poole licked his lips and leered down at Sophia. “She’s a tempting bit, isn’t she?”
Tristan’s hand ached to strike the leer right off Poole’s face. It closed into a fist of its own accord, but he forced himself to keep his arm by his side. “Very. Once she had him down, it would be the easiest thing in the world for her to slit his throat. It doesn’t take strength so much as cunning. One swipe when Sharpe least expects it, and thething is done.”
Tristan waited, his muscles tensed to pounce the moment Poole made a move, but the villain still hadn’t released Sophia.
“We’ll both claim to have witnessed Sharpe’s murder, of course. I doubt anyone will question the word of two Bow Street Runners, one of them an earl, particularly since Miss Monmouth has been seen following Sharpe all over London. But do as you will, Poole.” Tristan shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or the other what Poole decided. “Though if you think you have trouble with Lady Clifford now, imagine what she’ll do when she finds one of her precious girls has been murdered in St. Clement Dane’s churchyard. Ah, well. I’m sure you’ll come up with some explanation that will satisfy Daniel Brixton.”
Poole went pale at the veiled threat, and while he retained his hold on Sophia’s arm, he dropped the one he’d wrapped around her neck. “All right, Gray. Whatdo we do now?”
“Take her up for murder. What else?” Tristan was ready to snatch the dagger from Poole’s hand, but he held back, playing for an even greater advantage. “Wipe off your dagger in the dirt first. I’d rather not drag Miss Monmouth off to the magistrate for murdering Peter Sharpe while the man’s blood is still dripping from your blade.”
He’d hoped Poole would crouch down to clean the dagger in the dirt so he could pounce on him and smash his face into the ground, but Poole only shrugged, and wiped the blade across his pant leg.
“Come here, Miss Monmouth.” Tristan beckoned Sophia forward, his gaze holding hers. He didn’t dare do more than that until she was out of Poole’s reach, but he prayed she’d read his intent in his eyes. “I do apologize our time together had to come to such an unpleasant end. Speaking as a man who’s sampled your charms, I daresay I’m more upset about it than you are. You see, I wasn’t nearlydone with you.”
Poole snorted.
Sophia took a shaky step forward, toward Tristan. His fingers twitched subtly, urging her another step closer to him, away from Poole. “Come along, Miss Monmouth. No sense in delaying the inevitable.”
She took another step toward him, her green eyes dazed. Anotherstep, another…
“We haven’t got all night, Miss Monmouth.” Tristan stretched his hand out to her, his gaze steady on hers, but just as she stepped out of Poole’s reach, sudden doubt filled the man’s face. His eyes narrowed on Tristan, and whatever he saw there made him snatch at Sophia.
But Tristan was quicker. He grabbed her hand and jerked her forward with a wrench so powerful her feet left the ground, and he caught her in his arms and shoved her behind him. He heard her stumble, but there was no time for him to help her, or even to look back and reassure himself shewas all right.
Poole was already on him, fury in his face and his dagger raised to strike. It came toward Tristan in a blur, the blade turned outward, aimed rightat his throat.
Chapter Twenty-two
A burning pain shot up Sophia’s leg as she crashed onto her side on the ground behind Tristan. She lay there stunned, gagging and coughing, her hand flying up to clutch at her throat. It felt as if Poole’s punishing grip had crushed her windpipe, and a thin trickle of blood from his blade wetted her fingertips. She dragged in a desperate breath, then another, struggling to fight back the sharpedge of panic.
“Yer a bloody fool. I thought ye were smarter than to think with yer cock, Gray.” Poole’s menacing voice jerked her back to awareness, and she looked up to find Tristan had managed to throw Poole off, and they were now circling each other. “You’ve made a mistake tonight, my lord. The last one you’ll ever make.”
“You’ll hang for certain if you murder an earl, Poole, but then you’re going to hang anyway, aren’t you?” Tristan appeared calm, his tone faintly mocking, but his body was tensed as he waited for an opportunity to strike.
He was the bigger of the two men, but that advantage was more than offset by his lack of a weapon, and Poole knew it. He grinned at Tristan as he toyed with the dagger, tossing it lightly into the air, then catching it by the hilt again. “Not if I kill you. I’ve never heard of a dead man testifying in court, Gray.”
“Another murder won’t help you this time, Poole. Lady Clifford knows all about you and Peter Sharpe and Lord Everly, and you can be certain she’s told Kit Benjamin. Your neck is destined for a noose whether you kill me or not. Or perhaps she’ll simply turn you over to Daniel Brixton.” Tristan’s lips stretched in a bloodthirsty smile. “I’d rather face thenoose, myself.”
Poole’s face paled with fear. “Then I may as well kill you. I don’t have anything to lose, and I’ve never liked you much, Gray. Always so grand, thinking you’re better than the rest of us.”
Tristan laughed. “Better thanyou, certainly.”
This taunt had the intended effect. Poole let out a snarl of fury and lunged at Tristan. Sophia’s heart rushed into her throat as the dagger arced through the air. Anger made Poole clumsy, and Tristan dodged him easily, but it was only a matter of time before Poole struck again, and the next time, Tristan might not be so lucky. All it would take was one well-aimed blow, one slice with the blade, and itwould be over.
