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Juliet was no longer moving. Not that he thought she could, with Penhurst’s arm across her chest, the knife at her jaw, and her hands loose at her sides. But, given the circumstances, she still kept her chin level, not sparing a glance at the blade. No, she was looking at him.

Adam’s teeth ground against each other as he clenched his jaw, the fear hitting him full force now that he had come face to face with Juliet in grave peril. His joints were locked as the fear threatened to overwhelm him. Even though this fear was different from the one Charlotte’s death had inflicted upon him, it was far costlier because, if he did something wrong now, he might watch Juliet die right in front of his eyes.

No.

No, he could not bear that.

So, he held still and watched her; his eyes moved over her face, noticing the mark high on her cheekbone from an earlier strike, and then they went to the knife, before returning to her face again. He had tried not to notice how possessively the bastard old man held his wife across her chest, but he could not help it.

It was impossible to ignore, after all.

The fury started as a slow burn in his gut. Oh, he was thoroughly going to enjoy shredding this vile old man to pieces.

“Are you all right, Juliet?” he asked, ignoring Penhurst’s panicked grunts and yells.

“Are you listening to me, you blasted cur?” Penhurst huffed and puffed, his cheeks red from his exertion. “Take a step, and I’ll cut her throat, right here!”

At that, Adam chuckled, the fear crystallizing into cold fury. “Hurt her and you die,” he replied, and Penhurst’s eyes flew wide at the total lack of fear in Adam’s voice.

“Close the door,” Penhurst said again, and the pleasant register he had used for the last two hours was entirely gone. He kept his eyes moving between Adam and the Runners. “Or the hand moves.”

Adam did not speak, but he was not going to follow the commands of an already dead man. Instead, he stood in the ruined doorway with his hands at his sides and his coat still on from the street, and he looked at Penhurst with a total lack of hurry that made Penhurst’s arm stiffen.

“You came a long way,” Penhurst said, “for a woman who walked into this house of her own accord.”

“Let her go,” Adam said, keeping his tone level and unhurried.

But Penhurst obviously did not think it too much of a threat, because he huffed out a mocking laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’ll call your men off, and I’ll walk out of here, and this will be settled between us privately. Or—” he pressed the blade fractionally closer.

Adam’s fury raged the closer he watched that cold edge press against her skin. It was her calmness, her even breaths, that made it possible for him to maintain his facade of leisurely calm as well.

“Or it won’t be settled privately,” Penhurst finished.

One of the Runners drew a short breath.

Adam glanced at Penhurst’s hand: at the blade, the angle of the wrist holding it, the forearm locked across her chest. Then he looked at Juliet’s right hand. She was keeping it loose at her side. Waiting.

He couldn’t let that trust she was obviously putting in him in this moment go to waste.

Adam moved one step to the left in a sudden movement that Penhurst’s eyes couldn’t completely track, the wrong direction, the decoy⁠—

In the fraction of a second that Penhurst’s attention shifted, Juliet drove her elbow back hard into his ribs. She dropped her whole weight straight down through her knees, and broke the hold by going below it.

But Adam was already running. He covered the distance in four strides as Penhurst’s arm swept the blade down and Juliet lurched away from him, chasing the space she had just vacated. The edge barely missed the mark, and then Adam’s hands closed around Penhurst’s wrist in a vice-like grip; the sound of the joint cracking carried through the room.

Penhurst dropped the knife with a loud, tearful keen, but Adam was not quite finished. This old fool had thought to threaten him with his wife’s life, so he was going to make sure to return the favor a hundredfold.

With a rage-filled grunt, his fist connected with Penhurst’s face at the full extension of his shoulder, the full weight of him committed to the blow, and the impact snapped Penhurst’s head back.

“Urgh—ow!” The sniveling old fool howled as he went down, catching the edge of the side table on the way, but the table went with him.

Adam had thought the old rat was down for good, but then he put one hand on the floor and started to lever himself up. What a persistent bastard, Adam thought.

He reached down and took him by the lapel, pulling him six inches off the floor.

“Unhand me!” Penhurst struggled, his voice coming out sounding feeble and annoying.

Adam looked at him for one moment, and decided to do just that. He slammed the old man onto his back, and the second impact with the boards was sufficient, because Penhurst’s head rolled sideways and, this time, he stayed down.