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His gaze locked with Roxina’s over Desmond’s shoulder, and what glimmered in her dark brown pools gave him hope—made his soul soar.

Honeybrook spoke, his tone arctic and firm. “Ladies, move away, toward the house. Slowly.”

“The first one that takes a step gets a lead ball.” The taller of Desmond’s henchmen spat on the ground, tightening his fingers on his pistol’s grip.

Turning toward him, Desmond snarled, “Hold your tongue, Carver. I give the orders.”

A heartbeat later, and without hesitation, Desmond raised his pistol and aimed it directly at Roxina’s head.

No!

Shelby barely had time to react before chaos erupted.

A blur of enraged fur hurtled through the air—Dash.

In the scuffle, Desmond’s weapon discharged, shattering the garden’s tranquility.

The women screamed.

Men cursed.

Someone shouted on the street, followed by a man’s hoarse bellow in the mews. Several feminine shrieks carried into the garden.

Desmond dropped his now useless pistol, but another volley cracked the air, followed immediately by a third blast.

The scar-faced hireling at Desmond’s side jerked as a lead ball struck his forehead. His pistol tumbled from his grasp, clattering to the ground just before he crumpled lifelessly beside it, his vacant eyes fixed on the blue spring sky.

A crack shot, Robyn never missed his target.

A howl of outrage tore from Desmond’s throat as Dash lunged, the dog’s powerful jaws clamping onto his forearm. Stumbling, he fought to shake the beast off, his shrieks wild with fury.

He kicked and twisted, struggling to stay upright.

“Damn your black souls to the abyss!” he growled, sounding as if the devil possessed him. “You wretched, treacherous curs—I’ll flay the flesh from your bones and feed it to the crows! Filthy, meddling swine! I’ll see you rot in hell before I let you best me! By Lucifer’s own hand, I’ll carve out your hearts and piss on your graves!”

He yanked a gleaming blade from his belt.

“Dash!” Roxina cried.

Shelby held his hand up in warning. “Stay back, Roxina.”

She bolted forward, nevertheless.

Shelby lunged, trying to grab her.

An evil grin splitting his face, Desmond did the same.

Oh, God.

Honeybrook fired his pistol.

Desmond jerked backward, a lead ball embedded in his forehead. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, the blade slipping from his hand as blood pooled beneath him.

Dash pranced away, panting but seemingly unharmed.

Only one ruffian remained.

After a hasty glance at his dead compatriots, the poltroon whipped around and sprinted toward the gate, intent on escaping.