Henry rose slowly, dust clinging to his coat, fists clenched. James saw the movement too late. Henry flung a handful of plaster dust into James’s eyes.
By the time James cleared his vision, Henry had twisted behind him, one arm locked across his chest, trapping James’s pistol wrist against his hip. The weapon was useless. Cold steel pressed beneath his jaw.
James froze. Henry gripped the weapon with trembling rage, the blade of the knife scraping against James’s throat as Henry’s breath rasped against his ear.
He searched for words that might stay Henry’s hand, but every thought returned to Kate. If this was to be his end, at least he knew what it meant to belong to her. He had spent weeks trying to protect her by keeping his distance, only to bind his life to hers in secret just days before. He had sworn a vow to love and cherish her, and he would hold that promise like a shield until his very last breath.
Death might take the life they planned, but it could not erase the truth of what they had chosen together, what they had become to each other. Loving Kate had never been the danger. It had been his saving grace.
A click cut through the silence.
Kate stood several paces away, her left hand still trailing frayed rope, aiming a pistol at Henry. The loosened table cover stirred behind her.
“I suggest you set down the knife,” Kate said, her voice strained but resolute.
“You think she can shoot me?” Henry sneered.
James met Kate’s eyes. Her hands trembled, but her gaze did not. Pride cut through his fear, fierce and certain. “I know she can.”
“Kill me, and nothing changes,” Henry scoffed. “Arcadia does not end with me.”
Movement stirred in the hallway. The knife bit harder into James’s neck. He hissed. Kate shifted to get a clear shot. Her grip wavered once before she steadied it. He gave her a small nod.
A breath passed. Then two.
A flash split the dim room, followed by a deafening report that shattered the air. The recoil jolted Kate backward. Henry staggered, his hand flying to his shoulder as he dropped tothe floor with a groan. Blood seeped through his fingers as he clutched the wound.
Footsteps pounded in the corridor. James raised the pistol.
Thomas Whitlock appeared in the doorway. Behind him, Alex and Hugh crowded into view, Nicholas and Westmarch close on their heels.
“Do not shoot,” Thomas said, keeping his weapon lowered. “I am here for my brother.” He crossed the room, kicked the knife out of Henry’s reach, and trained his pistol on him.
James stared at him as one thing became clear. “You’re Bow Street?”
“A Runner,” Thomas said. “And not your enemy. The rest can wait.”
Henry blinked up at James, shock and pain lining his face. “Your wife. Shot me.” Then his eyes rolled back, and he slumped unconscious.
Thomas crouched briefly, two fingers pressed to Henry’s wrist. “He’ll live,” he said, his voice flat.
No one moved. It was not over. Not truly. But Kate was alive, and for one breath, that was all his heart could hold.
James moved toward her. His hands shook as he freed the last of the rope from her wrists. Then he gathered her into his arms. His heart, wild and fractured all night, steadied for the first time since her scream. Behind him, the room remained in stunned silence.
Until Nicholas spoke.
“I beg your pardon, did he say yourwife?”
Chapter 26
Kate
Kate buried her face deeper into James’s shoulder as the carriage rocked back and forth over the cobblestones. She wished they could ask the coachman to continue past her family’s town house. She was exhausted and had no desire to answer all of her family’s questions tonight, but she and James had vanished from the ball at the same time. It had the makings of a scandal, and an explanation was unavoidable. Some questions could wait until morning. Tonight, they had one secret to share, and Kate hoped it would ease her family’s fears.
Yet the truth of the evening’s events would remain a mystery to everyone who had not been part of it. There would be no mention of the Arcadian Circle. No mention of the dead man who had not been dead at all. Their families would receive a gentler version of the evening, and for now, it had to be enough.
She let out a long-suffering sigh as the carriage came to a halt, lights blazing from every window. James was watching her, and she met his gaze willingly. She must be a spectacle. Her hair was windblown, her gown dirty, and her hem tattered, butthe look he gave her held a fierce devotion, unquestioning and unwavering.
