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“But I would really rather . . .”

“I’m sure your father would agree with me,” he said. There was a scuffle of shoes against the stone tile, and when he spoke again, all trace of politeness was gone. “This way, Miss Doyle.”

The door opened, and Jonas pressed himself against the wall as the door came toward him. He needed only for Miss Allerton to put enough space between herself and Forwood for a few seconds. In this close confinement, he could hardly miss. The door slammed shut, exposing him fully and giving him his first view of the Midnight Master.

Lord Forwood was standing with one arm trapping Miss Allerton against his chest, his hand pressed firmly over her mouth. In his other hand, he held a pistol, and the muzzle was digging into her side.

“Well now, it appears we have a visitor.” The hood of the baron’s black cloak had fallen back to reveal the hatred in his expression. “Lord Langton. Not wholly unexpected, I must say, but rather unpleasant nonetheless.”

“Let her go, Forwood.” Jonas kept his eyes on the baron.

“Not likely, old fellow. In fact, she will be leaving with me as soon as you move away from the door.” His eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t worry you too much. After all, what’s the innkeeper’s daughter to you?”

If there was one thing Jonas knew clearly, it was that until she was free, Forwood must never know the true answer to that question. He must change the subject. Keep him talking. Somehow encourage him to lower his guard.

“Did you orchestrate the wrecking of the Alouette all those years ago?” he asked.

“Ah, so that’s what this is all about, is it?” The corners of the baron’s lips went up, but it was no smile. “Bit of a botched job, that one, but the price raised from the cargo was worth the casualties.”

“A botched job? Worth the casualties?” Forwood was goading him. On a logical level, Jonas recognized it, but that knowledge did little to assuage his mounting rage. “Is that what you call the deaths of so many innocents?”

“Your father was no innocent,” he scoffed. “He was bent on impeding the success of the Lamhurst Gang. He had to be stopped.”

Jonas forced himself to breath. “And those on board ship?”

“It was a long time ago, Langton. No one cares anymore.”

“I care, Forwood.”

He snorted. “You must be a very poor poker player, Langton. Showing your cards midgame, like that. Have you not yet learned that caring is a weakness? A flaw so large it causes you to lose every time. Look at us now! Caring what happens to this wench will affect your decisions; it will force your hand. You’re going to let me walk out of this room unhindered. But do I care what happens to her?” He yanked Miss Allerton’s head back so hard she yelped beneath his palm. “Not one jot.”

Heaven help them. The man was evil incarnate. The only pinprick of hope in this nightmarish situation was that the baron was still ignorant of the fact that Alexander was standing ready in the passageway.

“Very well,” Jonas said. “Release the innkeeper’s daughter, and you can go.”

The baron gave a hollow laugh. “Caring and idiotic. What a tragic combination. Miss Doyle stays with me until you put down your weapon.”

It had been a forlorn hope but one worth trying regardless of Forwood’s insults. Now, however, it appeared there was only one way through the current impasse, and it would involve huge risk. For the first time since she’d entered the room, he allowed himself to look at Miss Allerton. By the candle’s small glow, he saw the fear in her eyes, but he also noted her balled fists. His heart swelled; she had not given up either.

“What proof do I have that you will release her?”

Attempting a sardonic smile, Forwood shrugged. “I am a gentleman; you are a gentleman.”

Jonas considered reviewing the definition of a gentleman with the despicable baron but knew it would be to no avail. Trusting that his friend was close enough to gather what was happening within the office, Jonas slowly lowered his pistol to the chair beside him. “I am putting down my gun,” he said, verbalizing the action for Alexander’s benefit. “Let Miss Doyle go.”

“Well now, that was far less complicated than I thought it would be,” Forwood said. He raised his gun from Miss Allerton’s side to point it at Jonas. “You, Langton, are going to be remarkably easy to eliminate.”

Miss Allerton started to struggle. Pulling and twisting, she kicked at the baron’s shins and rammed her elbows into his ribs.

“Now!” Jonas yelled.

The office door flew open. Forwood pivoted, swinging Miss Allerton around with him so she faced the open doorway. A stranger holding a raised gun crouched in the passageway. Jonas reached for his pistol, and the room exploded with gunfire and broken glass. The candle blew out, and the acrid smell of spent gunpowder filled the air.

Alexander rushed into the room, holding aloft a lantern. Shards of glass lay littered across the desk and floor from the now-broken window. Bloodstains were splattered around the room, and two bodies lay heaped on the wooden floor, almost completely covered by the baron’s cloak. Lunging forward, Jonas grabbed the heavy fabric and tore it aside. Opposite him, the man who’d been at the door was heaving Forwood’s lifeless body off Miss Allerton. Coming to the stranger’s aid, Alexander set the lantern on the desk and grasped Forwood’s legs.

Panic seized Jonas. Miss Allerton had yet to move—and there was so much blood. “Miss Allerton?” he reached for her. She stirred, and he breathed again. “Are you hurt?”

She moaned softly and rolled over. “Reynard?” she whispered.