Chapter 19

Killian regained consciousness in a slow, painful ascent. He ran through an internal assessment. Screaming headache. Arms and legs tied to the chair in which he sat.

Bloody freezing!

He kept his eyes closed and listened for any kind of sound. But there was nothing save the rush of his own breath.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He saw little besides earthen walls, a flickering lamp, and a dirt floor. He could still smell the horses and manure, but a damp scent of earth pervaded. He must be in a cellar or some kind of tunnel.

‘Alfred, are you there?' Killian's voice was a harsh rasp. It seemed odd to be calling for his captor, but he would rather face a threat than wait for it to sneak up behind him. At least Hannah wasn't with him. She was out of danger. For the time being. His biggest worry about dying was no longer being able to protect Hannah. Killian would gladly sacrifice his life if it meant keeping her safe.

‘You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a pickle.' Hannah's voice was unmistakable in the quiet room.

No!

He twisted his neck and could make out the shimmer of her gown as she carefully walked closer. She kept her eyes roving the space behind him.

‘You must leave, Hannah. Now. He could come back any minute.' Killian jerked on the ropes holding him hostage. He willed her to leave before Alfred's return.

‘Then hold still so I can cut you free faster. I told you not to confront him alone. Insufferable man.' Ignoring his entreaty, she hunkered down beside him. Her dagger was already out and ready. When she placed her hand on his ankle, the weapon strapped there dug into his skin. She pulled up his pant leg.

‘Hey! That's my dagger. From the first night we met.'

‘I know. By all means, take it. There's no time, Hannah. Go now. Please.'

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I will take it. Later. When you come to my room at midnight. Now hold still. I'm not leaving without you.' She began cutting the rope holding his leg to the chair.

‘I rather think neither of you shall be leaving. More's the pity.' The deep voice echoing in the dark spaces didn't belong to Alfred. But it was Alfred who came into the circle of light. His pistol was trained on Hannah.

‘Drop your knife, Miss Simmons. Now.' Alfred's voice was flat. He blinked rapidly, and his hand shook.

Killian strained his muscles, desperate to be free from his constraints. Desperate to protect Hannah. Desperate to do anything other than sit helplessly while someone threatened his love.

Not again. I cannot endure this again.

He would go mad. If he couldn't get free and use his body to shield hers, he would lose his sanity right along with his useless life.

The heavy thunk of Hannah's dagger hitting the floor reverberated through Killian like a thunderclap.

‘Leave her alone, Alfred. She has nothing to do with this.' Killian had created some give in the rope with his struggles. He pulled harder.

‘That's simply not true.' The same voice from before echoed in the darkness.

Lord Cavendale stepped into the dim light and joined his son.

‘No!' The raw pain shocked Killian.

Lord Cavendale smiled, a chilling expression that didn't reach his eyes. The man had been nothing but kind to Killian. Blinded by his own grief and guilt, Killian had imagined Lord Cavendale to hold the same qualities as the father he lost. He had been so very wrong.

Lord Cavendale's icy tone matched his glare. ‘Actually, a resounding yes, Lieutenant General. You are as wrong about this whore as you were about me. She is working for the Queen. Some kind of rogue detective, if my informants can be trusted… which I assure you, they can. And you, Lieutenant General, on a mission from the prime minister. My idiot son here seems to have gathered the notice of some very important people indeed.'

Alfred glanced at his father. His eye ticked. ‘I told you I caught him, Father. See? Everything is going to be fine.'

‘If you are involved, nothing ever seems to be fine. Dead maids, blackmail, and now this. Your failures are ever-increasing.'

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, tugging hard on the strands before smacking himself. ‘I already told you, the maid was an accident. The greedy cow must have drunk too much of the tea. She was only supposed to have a few sips, not the whole damn cup.'

‘You poisoned her?' Killian asked.

‘No.' Alfred shook his head. ‘No! It was just to make her sleep. To get her in the casket and across the channel. But I've handled it. Haven't I?' He turned to Lord Cavendale. ‘Haven't I?' Spittle flew from his mouth. ‘You think I can't manage things, but I've sorted this. I caught the great Lieutenant General Robert Killian; does that not prove my worth?' His eyes darted from Killian to Hannah, his gun wildly following his gaze. ‘And let's not forget, Father, you aren't so perfect yourself. Who missed his shot when we were on our picnic? A perfect opportunity, and you couldn't hit either of them.'

Before Killian or Hannah could react, the older gentleman pulled his own weapon. ‘The only mistake I ever made was to sire you.' He shot Alfred in the back of the head. Blood sprayed across the earthen floor as Alfred collapsed to the ground.

‘Fuck!' Killian said right before Hannah muttered her own curse.

Lord Cavendale toed the body with his boot before exhaling heavily. ‘It's a shame, really. Alfred was never very bright. Always a disappointment. Our hopes rested in Patrick, but… you know how that ended, Lieutenant General Killian. Don't you?' Lord Cavendale turned to face Killian. His eyes glittered with concentrated rage, and the same madness Killian had seen in Alfred moments before he smashed a gun into Killian's temple.

Hannah's hand disappeared into her skirt. Before she could pull out what was certainly her pistol, Lord Cavendale lunged forward, grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her close to him, spinning her so her back was pressed against his chest.

Killian's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Hannah reach behind her, grabbing the back of Lord Cavendale's neck in both hands. She bent forward, using her bottom to push him off balance as she pulled his head down, over her shoulder. She bent further, gravity aiding her as he flipped over her back and slammed onto the dirt floor. She began tearing at her skirts, no doubt trying to find her weapon-filled pocket. Cavendale snagged her ankle, pulling hard. Hannah fell to the ground in a heap of bronze silk. Before he could crawl on top of her, she kicked out, her heeled slipper cutting a gash into Cavendale's cheek. The man changed tactics. Instead of attacking her, he stood and scrambled back to Killian.

Killian felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his temple at the same time Hannah pulled her weapon free of her skirts, aiming it at Cavendale and cocking the pistol.

‘You might be an excellent shot, my dear, but I don't think your chances are quite as good as mine at hitting the mark.' Cavendale's raspy laugh wasn't nearly as chilling as watching the blood drain from Hannah's face.

‘Do it, Hannah. Shoot him. He'll kill us either way.' Killian knew Cavendale would likely shoot him before Hannah's bullet reached its target, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except saving her.

‘Drop the gun, Miss Simmons. Or I will shoot him.'

Hannah bit her lip. She looked from Killian to the mad man standing behind him. Killian knew the moment she gave up. A tear streaked down her cheek as she dropped her gun.

Realisation washed over Killian like sunlight emerging from a cloud. She loved him. In this moment, he wished she didn't. He wished she would sacrifice him to save herself.

‘Full of surprises, aren't you, Miss Simmons? I must say, your disguise as a dowdy wallflower was convincing. Kick the weapon out of the way.'

Hannah followed his orders. Cavendale moved quickly for a man of his advanced years. He kept his gun trained on Killian as he drew closer to Hannah. ‘Women are far too delicate creatures for such violence, my dear.'

Killian's stomach clenched, and he pulled harder on the ropes. Hannah spit into Cavendale's face. Lord Cavendale slapped her hard across her cheek. The crack of his hand meeting her flesh echoed through Killian's body. She careened across the floor, falling in a heap next to Alfred's still form.

Roaring in rage, Killian struggled harder. The bindings cut deeper into his skin. Hot blood flowed from the lacerations on his wrists. The sticky fluid made the ropes slippery.

Lord Cavendale strode over to Hannah, kicking her hard in the side. She curled in on herself and whimpered.

‘Touch her again and I swear you will die screaming.' Killian was reduced to empty threats and the whisper of madness as he continued to tug at the ropes, his wrist slipping more with each pull.

‘Exactly how will you manage that while tied to your chair? Doomed to watch her die, just as you watched my Patrick die. Useless. Impotent. Completely powerless. When I end your miserable life, it will be a mercy you don't deserve.' Lord Cavendale kicked Hannah again. She cried out, writhing on the floor, her arm crashing into Alfred's dead body with a dull thump.

Lord Cavendale turned to Killian. ‘Alfred got himself involved in something much grander than his poor little mind could fathom. He was supposed to bring me that letter from the secret society he was so excited to join, but the idiot couldn't find it. He was never very bright. Took after his mother, I'm afraid.'

Hannah turned her head and looked at Killian. In the dim light, her expression was shrouded, but he could see her hand reaching for Alfred.

Not for Alfred. For his gun. Wickedly smart woman!

‘Is the society involved in what happened to Sarah Bright? We know there are multiple victims. Who is behind this?' Killian prayed he could keep the man talking. Every second Cavendale focused on Killian was another second Hannah could use.

Lord Cavendale laughed. A chilling sound in the dark room. ‘You know nothing about the society's true motives, Lieutenant General. But never mind. I should thank you. You've given me the perfect solution to my problem.'

‘Exactly what problem is that?' Killian kept his face impassive while he worked the ropes at his wrist.

Almost there…

‘Alfred, of course. He was becoming an embarrassing liability. But now…' Cavendale's gaze drifted to Hannah. ‘Alfred must have stumbled upon the two of you in a lover's quarrel.'

Hannah froze as Cavendale knelt and brushed his hand over her cheek.

‘Stay away from her!' Killian wrenched harder, ignoring the pain of rope tearing against his skin.

‘Dear Miss Simmons was hoping to blackmail you into marriage. While she's certainly a lovely distraction, an illegitimate daughter grasping for a man so far out of her reach is no match for a duke.' Cavendale's gaze stayed locked on Hannah. ‘In your rage, you killed her.' His hand drifted down to Hannah's throat.

‘Get your hands off her, you filthy piece of shit!' Killian screamed.

Cavendale's fingers made indentations in her skin as he squeezed. Hannah tried to pull away, but Cavendale put the gun to her temple. ‘Ah-ah. Miss Simmons. Don't move. Where was I? Oh, that's right. Lieutenant General Killian kills you. But not before Alfred valiantly tries to save your life. He fails, of course.' Cavendale tightened his grip. Hannah wheezed desperately. The insane lord kept talking. ‘But he mortally wounded you, Lieutenant General. And for his trouble, you shot him.' Cavendale glanced back at Killian. ‘I haven't ever killed anyone. Well, besides Alfred just now. It's fun, isn't it?' He returned his gaze to Hannah, dropping his gun to strangle her with both hands.

Killian wrenched his left arm free. He pulled Hannah's dagger from his ankle holster. The sudden movement drew Cavendale's attention. Realising the threat, he let go of Hannah, scrambling for his pistol and aiming at Killian.

Killian flung the blade through the air.

The gunshot exploded.

But it wasn't Cavendale's gun.

The man flew backward and landed heavily on the floor. Half of his head was gone.

Killian barely noticed the knife hilt buried directly in Cavendale's chest. He only saw Hannah.

She held Alfred's smoking pistol in a steady hand. Blood was sprayed over her face. She wiped at it, smudging the gore against her cheek. Her hair was in disarray, and her dress was ruined. He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

She slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, wincing as she cradled her ribs.

‘Are you alright?' Killian needed to reach her. To hold her in his arms. He used his free hand to work frantically at the knot holding his right wrist to the chair.

‘I've been better.' Hannah's voice was ragged. She stood up slowly. Stepping over Lord Cavendale's body, she paused to reach down, grab the dagger, and pull it from the dead man's chest with a swift jerk and a hissing breath.

Wiping the blade on her skirt, she walked over to Killian. Carefully lowering herself to her knees, she continued cutting the tie binding his ankle. ‘I told you I would get my knife back. You have a steady aim, even with your left hand. It would have saved me.'

Killian stopped trying to untie his wrist. He brushed a tangle of hair away from her face and lifted her chin with his finger. ‘But not me. He would have shot me before he fell. You saved my life.'

‘Of course, I did.' Hannah's amber eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. ‘I love you, Robert Killian. I'm so very glad you aren't dead.' She reached for him, crushing her mouth against his.

For a moment, the world distilled to Hannah's soft lips, her sweet warmth, her salty tears, and the scent of orange and vanilla.

He pulled away to look at her. ‘You say the sweetest things.'

The next few hours were a flurry of surreptitious activity. It seemed prudent to keep as much hidden from the guests as possible. With the help of Drake and Lady Philippa, they were able to move both bodies into a cold room in the kitchen cellar. They created a story of murder/suicide for the public. It would not look good for the family, but it was better than the truth. After Hannah cleaned up and carefully re-donned her grey gown, it was decided she and Lady Philippa would break the news to Ivy.

Hannah dreaded the moment. As horrific as the evening was, telling Ivy both her brother and father were dead seemed impossibly cruel. But Hannah would not shy away from it. It was her duty. Even in a situation such as this, taking a life was never clean. Innocent people were always hurt.

Hannah asked Millie to join them in Hannah's room. Ivy would need support, and Hannah doubted she would accept any comfort from Hannah once the truth was shared.

Lady Philippa was vehemently opposed to giving any details. It was troubling enough Cavendale knew about Hannah's work with the Queen. They didn't need to create any more suspicion when Ivy could be told the same story as the rest of the beau monde. But Hannah insisted. She would share as much as she could without betraying their relationship with the Queen. Ivy deserved to hear the truth.

Ivy sat pale and silent through Hannah's retelling of the evening.

‘Are you sure Alfred was responsible for killing a maid?'

Hannah nodded. ‘He admitted it to us. It was accidental. He only meant to drug her, but…'

‘Why would he drug a maid?'

‘It would seem he had improper intentions with the young lady.' Philippa gave enough information to let Ivy form her own conclusions. They would not be the correct conclusions, but neither would they be wrong.

When Hannah told her about Lord Cavendale shooting Alfred, Ivy shuddered as if she felt the bullet that ended her brother's life.

‘Father killed Alfred?' Ivy's pale skin drew tight around her lips. Millie sat next to Ivy on Hannah's bed and gripped her hand.

‘Yes. I'm so sorry, Ivy.' Hannah bit her cheek, refusing to let the emotions surface.

Ivy's pale gaze flitted from Hannah to Philippa, finally landing on Millie. ‘I should say I can't believe he would do it, but…' Her face crumpled, and she leaned into her friend. Millie wrapped strong arms around Ivy as she dissolved into quiet sobs. It was several minutes before she was able to speak again. ‘And Father, he's dead too?'

Hannah nodded.

‘How did he die? Lord Cavendale?' Millie asked.

It was the question Hannah most dreaded.

She swallowed. Straightening her shoulders, Hannah blew out a shaky breath. This was the moment she destroyed her shiny new friendship with Ivy and Millie. But she would not lie to them.

‘I shot him. He was going to kill us. I had no other choice. I'm so sorry, Ivy.' Her voice broke despite her best efforts, and a tear tracked a hot path down her cheek. Not for the death of Lord Cavendale. But for the pain his loss brought to her friend.

Ivy pulled away from Millie. ‘You shot him? Not Lord Killian?' Her icy-blue eyes were red-rimmed and widened in shock.

‘Yes. Well, Lord Killian was tied to a chair, and your father was not in his right mind. I…' Words failed Hannah. How could she justify murdering her friend's father? Even if the man was a monster?

Ivy leapt from the bed, and Hannah ignored her instinct to protect herself from the inevitable attack. Whatever Ivy did, Hannah would take it. She deserved it.

Ivy flung herself at Hannah, hugging her so tight, Hannah's ribs screamed in protest. ‘Thank you,' Ivy whispered the words. Hannah froze, too astonished at first to return the hug. When she finally did, Ivy's thin body shuddered against her.

Ivy pulled away. Her nose was red, and her eyes were swollen but she held her head high.

‘I think I shall go to my room, now. I need some privacy.' Ivy reached a hand to Millie. ‘Walk me there?'

Millie nodded but lingered a moment after Ivy left. Her sharp gaze raked over Hannah. ‘I won't share stories that aren't mine to divulge, but I will say some losses are actually gains. A lucky shot, Hannah? I had no idea you were so well-versed in the use of a pistol.'

Hannah tipped up her chin and shrugged.

Millie's dimple emerged, and she winked before following after Ivy.

‘That was interesting,' Philippa remarked. ‘Those two are far more than they seem. I like them. And I don't usually like anyone.' She stood, brushing out her skirts. ‘I shall also take my leave. I must send a message to the Queen. She will want to know about your cover being blown.'

Hannah wasn't ready to contemplate what that meant.

Philippa approached Hannah, running her fingers over the bruise on Hannah's cheek. ‘I'm very glad you are safe.' She sniffed, then stepped back. ‘Another mission accomplished, though not as neatly as we hoped. It's nearing midnight. I'm sure you'll want to be alone.' She raised an annoyingly perfect eyebrow at Hannah. ‘Or at least, not with me. Give my regards to Lieutenant General Killian.' She stretched her mouth in a Cheshire grin before floating out the door.