Page 136 of The Boxing Baroness

“I don’t need it—I can tell the truth without it.” Gustav’s face was a canvas of impotent rage.

“You could,” Sin agreed. “But who would listen? Besides, you must know that even with this letter, your cause is hopeless at best and dangerous at worst.”

“Those fools in the Riksdag should know what they are getting!” he shouted, the veins pulsing beneath the thin skin of his temples.

“Give me the letter.”

Gustav scowled but reached into his coat and slapped the letter into Sin’s palm. “There, Your Grace. Now all of you can get out of my home.”

“Not quite. The miniature, too, please.”

The king cut loose with a stream of angry Swedish.

“I never got a chance to ask Strickland,” Sin said, “but how is it that you and he came to be working together?”

Gustav clenched his jaw and Sin thought he might tell him to go to hell. Instead, he said, “I met him at a country house not far from here—he’d come to play cards.” His eyes narrowed as he looked across the room, to what was left of Dominic. “I didn’t know it then, but he’d gotten on Beauvais’s bad side somehow. I daresay he tried to take more than his share.” He shrugged. “He needed money and was willing to do anything to get it. He wasn’t much to work with, but he was all I had.” He glared from Sin, to Guy, and then took a step back at the cold, empty expression on Cecile’s face. “As for you. At least one of you has committed murder in my house,” he accused, jabbing a finger at her. “If you know what is—”

Guy stepped between them, glowering. “Watch your tone, Your Royal Highness.”

Gustav recoiled. “Where are my servants? Did you kill them, too?”

“Most of them are down in the kitchen—I told them it was a holiday and to indulge themselves. The last time I saw them, they were in your wine cellar,” Guy said. “But your men—those who were armed—are in your dungeon.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Since there are nine of them, they’re a bit cramped.”

Jo came to stand beside the king, moving in the eerily silent way she had. “They can stay in the cell until tomorrow, after we leave.” She gestured toward the open doorway, where a small cluster of scruffy men stood in the corridor. “Take His Royal Highness to his chambers and make sure he doesn’t leave them until after we’re gone.”

Gustav sputtered as an unsavory-looking fellow in greasy leathers, hefting a wicked cudgel, pushed into the room and seized him by the arm. The newcomer grinned down at the king, the expression more than a little terrifying. “I always wanted to see how the other half lived.”

“Now wait just a—”

Gustav’s captor slapped a hand over the king’s mouth and dragged the scuffling ex-monarch from the room.

Once they’d gone, Guy said, “We’re going to the kitchen to find something to eat.” He cut a quick but significant glance at Cecile, who was staring in horror at Strickland’s body, which had slid down the wall but was still mostly upright, half his head missing.

“Of course,” Sin said.

Guy carefully pried Cecile’s fingers from the rifle and handed it to one of Jo’s men before escorting the stunned woman from the room.

Jo marched over to one of the windows, grabbed the velvet drape, and gave it a yank that pulled down the rod, both drapes, and sizeable chunks of plaster.

She motioned to her remaining henchmen—and, Sin noticed, two henchwomen—and gestured to the two bodies. “You can use these to wrap them up. Take them out into the courtyard. The old man in the stables will know who in the village to summon to bury them.”

The men and women got to work without delay.

“You might have just rung for some old sheets instead of destroying the place,” Elliot said mildly.

Jo ignored him and jerked her chin to where Sonia still knelt beside Barnabas. “What about her?” she asked, her opal gaze cold as it flickered over the sobbing woman.

“That’s up to Marianne,” Sin said.

He saw a flash of pity on Marianne’s face as she looked at the older woman. “She’s a traitor and a spy, but I don’t have the desire to drag her back and see her punished. Barnabas loved her. He may have been a liar, a cheat, and a spy, but he did his best by me. I don’t care what she does—as long as she never returns to England.”

Sonia cut her a look that wasn’t nearly as grateful as it should have been as she followed the men who carried the velvet-wrapped bundles from the room.

Jo strolled over to the table, sat down in the king’s vacated chair, and began eating the remains of his dinner.

Sin snorted and turned to Elliot, who grinned. “She does whatever she wants, whenever she wants,” Elliot said, sounding almost . . . proud. He then dropped into Dominic’s chair, shoved away the plate of food, and dragged the platter of roasted fowl toward him. “I hope neither of you mind? I’m afraid we’ve been a little too busy to eat.”

“Help yourself,” Sin said. He pulled out a chair for Marianne and then sat beside her. “Tell us what has been going on since we last spoke.”