The cruel, mocking words were the last straw. “You despicable bastard!” she shrieked, growing angrier when he laughed. But he didn’t laugh long. Raising her hand toward the muscular chest she had been stroking only minutes before, she pulled the trigger. “We’ll see who laughs last, Jaime Potts,” she said, her voice now deadly calm. “I should have known better than to trust a blackmailing coward. I’ll take care of Lady Emily myself. And Frederick. Nobody crosses me with impunity.”
Casting a last look around the bedroom, she collected her reticule and hat, then stopped in the kitchen long enough to reload the pistol before slipping out of the cottage.
Where was Emily likely to be?
Fay circled Broadbanks Hall, keeping her horse in the trees so she wouldn’t be seen. Her luck was in. Emily was riding away from the stables. Alone.
Smiling, Fay followed, surprised to see the girl stop in the exact place where Randolph had died. Dear Randolph. So eager to take what should have been his brother’s. So drunk that he didn’t realize he was far from the first. He had wanted her badly and had even begged her to marry him, but she had known his passion was only part of his lifelong campaign to destroy his brother. What he hadn’t known was that Drew had already repudiated her. Randolph had been stupid about many things. Had he actually believed that she would give up Broadbanks after waiting her entire life to become its mistress?
Tethering her horse to the same tree she had used the night she’d pushed the wastrel over the cliff, she waited until Emily’s back was turned, then calmly left the cover of the forest. A dead stick cracked under her foot. Emily jumped, whipping around to freeze a scant yard from the edge.
Needing to inflict as much pain as possible before the denouement, Fay stopped a dozen feet away. “Good morning, Lady Emily.” She smiled. “What a lovely day to die.”
Emily gasped as Fay drew out the pistol and aimed.
* * * *
Jaime lay where he had fallen, unable to staunch the blood that flowed from the bullet hole. Taunting her had been stupid, he admitted grimly. She was mad. He should never have taunted a madwoman.
And now he would pay with his life.
A whisper of sound echoed from the other room. “Ben?” he called as loudly as he could, but the word barely made it past his lips. Groaning, he slowly mustered the strength to try again, but the first effort had been enough.
“Cor!” exclaimed the orphan he’d taken in to help around the place. “What ’appened?”
“Find Lord Thurston,” he gasped. “Tell him . . .” The spots swirling before his eyes merged into a sheet of black.
* * * *
Drew was leading his horse from the stables when a panic-eyed child collided with him.
“Lor’ Thurston?” the boy gasped.
He nodded. “And who are you?”
“Ben. Jaime needs help. ’E’s bleedin’ somethin’ awful.”
“Jaime Potts?”
Ben managed to nod. The boy was all but unconscious – hardly surprising if he had run the two miles from the Potts farm.
“Where’s Jaime now?” he demanded.
“In bed.”
“Ted! Find Dr. McClarren and take him to Jaime Potts’s cottage at once,” he shouted to a groom. “Let’s go.” Mounting his horse, he jerked Ben up in front of him and galloped down the drive. “What happened?”
Ben was cringing in fright. “I dunno. ’E said ta get you, then blinked out.”
“Did he fall?”
The boy’s head shook. “Looked like ’e was shot.”
Shot? Drew’s head swirled. Who would shoot a tenant farmer? On the other hand, the man had suddenly come into considerable money. Had he run afoul of the local smuggling gang or double-crossed a partner in crime?
Five minutes later, he reached the cottage and turned his horse over to Ben.
Jaime’s blood soaked the quilt. But he still lived. Though weak, a pulse throbbed in his neck. The bullet had entered just below the rib cage on the left side, exiting the back. But it had somehow missed everything vital. Drew found a towel and set about trying to stop the bleeding. Every move revived memories of Emily’s near-fatal fall. Thank God Charles had fetched McClarren back from London. Dr. Harvey would never do in this crisis.
As he shifted Jaime to reach the man’s back, Jaime’s eyes cracked open.
“Who shot you, Potts?”
“Fay.”
The voice was so weak that he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Fay Raeburn?”
Jaime nodded.
“Why?”
“I refused to kill somebody.”
His hands tightened, pulling a groan from Jaime’s throat. “Start at the beginning, Potts. And take your time. I don’t think this wound is fatal.” McClarren wouldn’t bleed the man. And perhaps Cherlynn could suggest further remedies to assure a full return to health.
Relief relaxed Jaime’s muscles. Anger and a need for revenge strengthened his voice.
“Started last spring when I was walkin’ home from the Blue Parrot. I come to the edge of the trees up on the cliffs and saw you and Lord Randolph knockin’ each other about.”
“You saw us? Why the devil didn’t you tell me sooner?” But his anger died when Jaime cringed, the motion forcing another yelp of pain from his mouth. “Sorry, Potts. Tell it your way.”
“I thought it was a unfair fight since I knew your brother was three sheets to the wind, but before I could step out and stop it, he knocked you into a rock. Then he grabbed hold and tugged you toward the cliff. I was startin’ after him when Fay slipped out of the woods. I figured he wouldn’t toss you over with a witness, so I left. But I looked back once to make sure everything was all right. That’s when I seen her rush up and shove Lord Randolph over the edge.”
“My God!” In all his agonizing over that night, he had never once considered that Fay had murdered Randolph. But now that Potts had jogged his memory, he realized that the fight had been considerably farther from the edge than where he had awakened. He had actually been staggering toward the cliff when he went down.
“I stayed long enough to make sure she didn’t do the same to you, then I left. She’s a chancy one to cross. So was your brother, beggin’ your pardon. His death lightened a lot of hearts.”
“Then you didn’t know that Fay claimed it was I who pushed Randolph over?”
“Bitch!” muttered Jaime. “I’m sorry, my lord. It weren’t none of my business, so I forgot it. Until I fell into debt. Then I went to Lord Raeburn to see if he would loan me a bit.”
“The truth, Potts.” He stared into the man’s eyes.
Jaime winced. “So I put the black on Raeburn. I’d a come to you, but I didn’t know you had cause to wish her elsewhere, and she
did
save your life. I figured Raeburn might want to keep Fay’s actions quiet. Only he weren’t inclined to pay. Went off in a huff to have it out with Fay. A few minutes later, she brung me the money. Well, I weren’t about to question nothin’, especially when she paid me more than I’d asked.”
“Why would she do that?”
Jaime closed his eyes, wheezing in pain for several minutes. “She made me work for her, claimin’ all the money was for that. It didn’t seem like much, just keepin’ a eye on Lady Emily. She said she wanted to know how the girl’s recovery was comin’.”
“That’s all?” he asked derisively. “You’ve gone through at least two hundred pounds in the last fortnight. Quite generous pay for watching an invalid. You aren’t stupid enough to think Fay’s requests were legitimate.”
“Okay, that weren’t everything. I was also servicin’ her,” he added belligerently. “She’s a lusty wench.”
“Thank you. That’s all I need to jilt her.”
Jaime stared. “Good man. But you’d best find her soon. The chit’s gone mad. She shot me when I refused to kill Lady Emily. I think she’s goin’ after her ’erself.”
Drew’s heart stopped. “Thank you, Potts. I’ll take care of her.” Sounds outside proved to be McClarren.
“Do everything possible for him, George,” Drew urged as he let the doctor in. “He’s a valued tenant.”
Where was Cherlynn? Galloping back to the house gave fear time to ripen into terror. He hadn’t seen her since Anne’s betrothal party the night before. Fay had tried to destroy Emily’s reputation, but she’d been so heavy-handed about it that even the normally obtuse Vicar Rumfrey had seen through her efforts and warned him. Drew had already hinted to Lady Travis and others that he would never wed a scheming liar. The support for severing his connection to Fay had allowed him to sleep easier than he had in months.
Now he felt worse than in his blackest hours of believing himself a killer. Cherlynn was in deadly danger, and he didn’t even know where she was. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. It was his fault that she was in danger. He hadn’t told Charles to stay with her because he’d been afraid that any hint of the truth would drive them from Broadbanks. He should at least have assigned his groom to accompany her whenever she left the Hall.
Please let her be inside!
“Lady Emily left some time ago,” Hardwick informed him when he reached the house. Drew was turning back to his horse when a footman spoke up.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but I seen her riding away from the stables just now.”
“Thank you, Will.” His heart was back in his throat. Fay was somewhere in the area. Had she seen Cherlynn leave?
Voices in the drawing room erupted in laughter – Charles, Frederick, Anne, and Lady Clifford. If Fay had truly run mad, he would need help. “My apologies for intruding, Anne,” he said, stopping in the doorway, “but a small problem has arisen. May I borrow the gentlemen for a moment?”
Charles raised a brow, but excused himself, as did Frederick. They joined him in the morning room.
“I fear that your cousin may have lost her reason.” Drew addressed Frederick.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he replied calmly.
Charles raised both brows.
“Insanity runs in the female line of our mothers’ family,” he admitted. “My mother ran mad some months ago.” He turned to Drew. “What is she doing?”
“She has a gun. After shooting one of my tenants, she vowed to kill Lady Emily.”
“Where is she?” growled Charles, already heading for the door. “Damn that horse! We should have been gone by now.”
Drew cringed as a wave of guilt engulfed him.
“How is the tenant?” asked Frederick, following.
“He’ll live.”
They strode toward the stables while he related what he’d learned about Emily’s whereabouts. Conflicting stories awaited them. One groom claimed he’d seen her ride toward the village. Another thought she had headed for the Roman folly.
Drew bit his lip. She had no reason to go to the village, having spoken to everyone last night. Nor was she likely to spend this day enjoying the view. They both knew that Charles would not compromise on leaving in the morning. He would walk if that’s what it took. But she might have learned something new about Randolph.
“The cliffs,” he said, then thanked the grooms. Mounting his horse, he led the way to the shortcut.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cherlynn gasped as Fay aimed the pistol straight at her heart. This was not how she had expected to spend her day.
Fay’s blatant lies at the party had earned the wrath of the local gossips. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that Fay would retaliate. Cherlynn had planned to use that desire to bait her trap. The cliffs had seemed a perfect site for the confrontation, allowing Drew to catch Fay in the act. Cherlynn had come out here hoping for inspiration on how to lure Fay into attacking, but hadn’t counted on Fay following her. Nor had she expected to face a gun. Now she was on her own with no weapons and no witnesses.
Light glittered in Fay’s eyes, a fanatical light that could only mean madness, but the gun remained steady, without the slightest tremor. Was this really what fate had in store? Perhaps Emily’s death was ordained so nothing could prevent it. Perhaps Cherlynn’s reason for being here had been to pull Drew from his depression and awaken his determination to conduct himself like an honorable gentleman. Would she and Emily both perish, or would she return to 1998?
Poor Drew. He faced another emotional blow. Emily might have saved him from Fay’s clutches, but he would not live happily ever after. Would he flee into the army as he had done before? At least she knew he would survive the war. When he returned, perhaps he could find someone congenial who would provide him an heir.
Defeatist! Haven’t you learned anything? You’ll never succeed if you don’t try!
Cherlynn’s eyes sharpened, driving away her mental fog. She had to at least try to survive. She frantically searched her memory for the tactics that hostage specialists used. There had been a nasty confrontation just a week before she’d left for England. One of the newspaper stories had explained the negotiator’s approach.
Keep the culprit talking. Convince him to reveal his reasoning so you can appeal to it. Play for time. The longer a perpetrator waits to act, the less likely he is to carry through.
Cherlynn carefully inhaled, then let the air out slowly to relax her muscles. Too much tension would paralyze her if an opportunity for action arose. Sparing one thought for Willard – he’d often predicted a sorry end for her; how smug he would be at his prescience – she focused on Fay and smiled.
“I can’t say I’m ready to depart this world, but if I must, this is indeed a lovely day for it. Are you going to shoot me?”
“Not unless I have to.” Fay seemed shaken by this calm response. Good. Keeping her off balance might give her enough time to think of an escape.
The gun jerked toward the edge. “All you have to do is walk a little. Three steps ought to do it. How tragic that you ventured too close.”
“Honestly, Fay,” she said with a snort. “No one will believe that! Charles knows I avoid cliffs. I’m terrified of heights. If you need to stage an accident, you’ll have to think of something else.”
Fay frowned. “No. This will have to do. There isn’t time to go elsewhere. I will describe how you panicked.”
“Perhaps that would work,” Cherlynn agreed, unwilling to push too hard. “But you’d best set it up over there. That clump of flowers could explain why I stepped too close.” In the guise of moving to a new location, she took three steps toward Fay.