Chapter Thirty-Four

Thirty-four

P rudence gave the muzzle of her pistol a dainty blow before shoving it into the sash of her skirt. The butt of another pistol protruded beside it.

Sebastian marveled at the knotting of his gut, the slow, steady beat of desire in his groin. He supposed he'd have to have no pulse at all before his heart stopped shoving blood into all the wrong places whenever Prudence was near. She was angel fire and demon ice perched on MacKay's horse like a Highland princess, his own plaid draped carelessly over one shoulder. She had pulled her skirt between her legs and anchored it at her waist in makeshift breeches. Only the bandit's mask was absent, replaced by an incongruous pair of spectacles. She had come garbed not for a costume ball, but for a deadly masquerade where the players were no less dangerous for being known.

Her horse pawed the ground. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Halloo? Monsieur D'Artan, are you home?" Her cultured tones struck Sebastian like a blow.

He hooked his arms over the windowsill to keep from sliding back down. "Get the hell away from here, you daft lass, before you get yourself killed!"

"Quiet," D'Artan snarled, jerking him back by the hair. He had crossed the hut without a sound. An urbane smile replaced his sneer. "Good morning, Your Grace. So delighted you could drop in. Would you mind tossing your pistols on the ground and joining us?"

She smiled ingenuously. "But why, Viscount? I'm really a terrible shot."

In reply, D'Artan shoved the pocket pistol against Sebastian's temple and raked the hammer back. Prudence shrugged, refusing to meet Sebastian's furious gaze, and tossed her weapons down. She dismounted, landing on the balls of her feet with an arrogant bounce.

Sebastian felt D'Artan's nervous jerk as Prudence thrust open the door, sending it crashing against the wall. She swaggered in and sank onto a chair, then pulled a cheroot out of her plaid and leaned forward to light it with the flame of the lantern. D'Artan gaped at her as if she'd just escaped from Bedlam. Sebastian's eyes narrowed. Christ, the lass was magnificent! he thought. But what in the hell was she trying to do?

She wielded the cheroot between two eloquent fingers and propped her boots on the table. "Good morning, gentlemen. I believe we have some business to conduct."

D'Artan's grip on Sebastian's hair slowly eased. Sebastian could almost read his grandfather's methodical mind. D'Artan despised unknowns. If he was going to have to deal with a madwoman, he wanted it over and done with.

He slipped the pistol back into his apron pocket. "I've booked myself passage for France. I must have your father's formula before I go. I have all the components ready to test it. Give it to me. Now."

"I didn't dare write it down." She tapped her temple with one finger. "I keep it in here." She fished a silver flask from the plaid, uncorked it, and took a deep swig. Her eyes sparkled for an elusive instant, then cleared. She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You must remember that it's a dangerous formula. My father died for it."

D'Artan planted both palms on the table and leaned over her. "And I am willing to kill for it."

She took a long draw from the cheroot, betrayed by nothing but a slight pinkening of her cheeks. Pursing her lips, she deliberately blew a cloud of smoke in D'Artan's face.

He sputtered. Tears ran from his rheumy eyes. He jerked Prudence up by her plaid, twisting it tight at her throat.

A moment earlier, Sebastian would have sworn it impossible to stand. But before he realized it, he was lurching up and away from the window, his only desire to wrap his fingers around D'Artan's throat and squeeze the life out of him. A spear of agony shot through his shoulder. His head spun. Oddly enough, it was Prudence who caught him, her hands a gentle vise against his forearms. D'Artan hovered behind her, his eyes bright and wary.

"There now, darling," Prudence said soothingly, guiding him back to the wall. "You mustn't blame your grandfather for being a bit impatient. He's waited a long time for this. Sit in the window, won't you, and block the sun for me. Many of these components are delicate and very sensitive to sunlight." Her hair brushed his chin.

He closed his eyes, aching to draw her against him. "Don't give him the formula, Prudence. He'll only kill you once he's got it."

Her tinkling laugh would have made Tricia swoon with envy. "Of course he won't, you silly dear." She smiled at D'Artan over her shoulder. "Your grandfather is a respectable man."

Sunlight slanted across her hair, warming it to cinnamon. Her eyes glowed with a strange fervor.

D'Artan gestured to the table. "The revolution waits for no man. Shall we begin?"

Sebastian wanted to snatch her back, but it was too late. Prudence was already sauntering toward D'Artan, her shapely rump hugged by the taut curve of her skirt.

He eased his hip onto the windowsill. Balance was tricky if not impossible with his hands bound and his head still reeling from the effects of the opium. Sunlight warmed his back.

D'Artan fussed over his pots and vials with childish glee. "I have determined that your father's foolish accident was caused by using a mercury-based fulminate. I have taken the liberty of substituting silver for mercury."

"How very clever," Prudence murmured. She turned up the lantern to dispel the shadows. Her smoking cigar sat near its base. "There. Add just a touch of that ammonia, won't you?"

"Ah!" D'Artan complied, looking absurdly pleased with himself. "I had guessed as much." A cloud of steam rose from the table.

Prudence pointed. "Now dissolve your silver in your nitric acid."

He beamed. "Already done."

"Why, Viscount! I don't think you need me at all. You've figured it out all by yourself."

"I told you once that I was a bit of an amateur chemist."

"And a professional bastard," Sebastian murmured.

D'Artan smirked at him. "You'd know more about that occupation, wouldn't you? You've been practicing it since birth."

Turning back to the table, D'Artan mixed his ingredients with fussy precision. Prudence smothered a yawn. D'Artan looked up, his face expectant and feverish in the lantern light.

Prudence stretched and took a few steps toward Sebastian. "One final ingredient, Viscount."

D'Artan hovered over the bench, his eyes glazed, his hands twitching in their impatience.

She gestured toward the flask on the table. An angelic smile curved her lips. "A hooker of brandy."

A hooker of brandy .

The husky words resonated through Sebastian's mind as Prudence inched back toward the window. D'Artan jerked up the flask, fumbling in his excitement.

He lifted it to pour. A shaft of sunlight gilded the brandy to a glittering amber stream.

Such a waste of fine brandy .

Squire Blake's words thundered through Sebastian's brain as Prudence hurled herself at him, tumbling them both out the window just before the crofter's hut exploded in a roaring ball of flame.