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Authors: Vanessa Kelly

How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (31 page)

BOOK: How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy

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“Shut your gob,” he growled. “You'll not be distractin' me with that nonsense.”

“Good God,” she exclaimed. “Do you really think I would ask a complete strangerâone holding me hostageâsuch an indelicate request if it wasn't essential? And I distinctly remember Bridget telling you not to mistreat me. Not letting me use the necessary certainly counts as mistreatment in my book.”

Her outraged, loud tone provided good cover, and Will made it the six feet or so along the wall to the dresser without attracting notice. It was a massive piece of furniture, wide and high, and he was able to pull up into a crouch against it, out of the guard's line of sight. Now, he just needed to reach up and grab something suitably heavy, and do it without being seen.

That would take some doing.

He glanced over at Evie just as she slid him a quick, sideways look. As if she'd read his mind, she took a deep breath and redoubled her efforts.

“I suppose I shouldn't truly be surprised, though,” she said in a haughty voice. “A dirty Irish lout like you wouldn't have the first idea how to treat a lady. No wonder you couldn't hold down a decent day's work. I've seen dogs rooting through garbage with better manners than yours.”

Will sucked in a breath at the outraged snarl that came from the other end of the room. He knew he had only a few seconds to act.

As Evie's guard came to his feet in a lumbering rush, murder in his gaze, Will whipped up from his crouch to the front of the dresser. He grabbed a heavy milk pitcher and spun on his heel. As the guard jerked toward him in surprise, Will flung the pitcher across the table, directly at the man's face.

The pitcher hit the man square in the chin and shattered to pieces, dropping to the floor. Evie rolled from her chair and disappeared beneath the table. Once she was clear, Will threw himself across the slab of wood, sliding his full weight forward and crashing into the guard's midsection, cutting off his outraged bellow of surprise and pain. They both went down hard with Will on top.

The guard thrashed beneath him, but the blow to the chin had clearly thrown him off. There was a short, brutal struggle, but Will soon got a knee on the man's chest to hold him down. He grabbed his blooded head and smashed it once, then again on the flagstone floor. The guard let out a harsh groan as his eyes rolled back in his head. Then he went limp.

Will sat up, still straddling the man, and sucked in a huge, slow breath to steady his racing heart. Then he did a quick search, finding a nasty looking blade and a pistol. He shoved the pistol into the back of his waistband and came to his feet.

“Is he dead?” Evie croaked from under the table. She peered up at him, her bonnet tipped comically down over one eye and her spectacles precariously perched on the tip of her nose.

Will righted her chair, then reached down and grabbed her by the elbows, pulling her up and depositing her on the rush seat.

“I don't think so,” he said, as he used the knife to saw the rope binding her wrists. “But in any case, he won't be getting up anytime soon.”

He freed her hands, but when he raised her to her feet, she stumbled against him.

“They tied my feet, too,” she said. “I'd forgotten that for a moment.”

Will snorted. “You forgot?” He eased her back into the chair and then knelt to carefully cut through the knots around her ankles.

“I was so worried that beastly man was going to kill you,” she said, sounding a little teary. “I would die if anything happened to you.”

He looked up into her beautiful, anxious face and smiled. “No chance of that, my love,” he said as he gently pushed her spectacles back in place.

“I'm glad to hear it,” she said. “And I'm
very
glad to see you.” She threw herself at him, almost knocking him to the floor.

Will put down the knife and wrapped his arms around her. Her bonnet was mashed under his chin and they crouched uncomfortably on the cold flagstones, but he didn't give a damn. She was safe and with him, and that's all he bloody well cared about.

“Good God, Evie, you're going to be the death of me,” he said, struggling with a bizarre combination of immense gratitude and equally immense irritation, now that the crisis was over. “I told you to stay clear of St. Margaret's. Why don't you ever listen to me?”

She hugged him so fiercely he thought his ribs might crack. “I'm sorry. I promise I'll do everything you tell me from now on.”

That forced a grudging laugh from his throat. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

“Will,” she said, pulling back, “we've got to get to Sir Gerald Milbank's house right now because Bridget told me that they're going to blow it up. She's already there.” She tugged at his shoulders, as if to yank him to his feet.

“Don't worry, we stopped it in time,” he soothed. He untied her crumpled bonnet and tossed it onto the table. “Alec and his men are clearing away the gunpowder as we speak.”

She blinked, so adorably startled he had to give her a quick kiss.

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “How did you find out about the plot?”

“We dragged it out of Terence.” He pulled her up to her feet. “He didn't give us the specifics, but we knew something was afoot at Milbank House. Alec organized a search, starting with the cellars. We found the gunpowderâand Bridget's menâalmost immediately. No Bridget, though.”

She sagged against him in relief. “I was terrified it would be too late.”

He gave her a brief hug. “Everything's fine, but we've got to get moving.” He let her go and checked on the guard, who was indeed still alive. “He's out cold, but we need to tie him up until he can be taken to Bow Street.”

Evie let out a gasp. “Mrs. Rafferty and Billy! They're locked in the vestry. I've got to let them out.”

Will snaked out a hand and grabbed her sleeve. “I did that already. They're fetching reinforcements from Bow Street.”

“Thank you,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I was so frightened for them.”

“Then perhaps you understand how I felt about
you,
” he said dryly.

Evie winced. “I'm sorry, Will. I truly am. I had no idea Bridget was involved in this horrible plot, and I thought meeting her at St. Margaret's would be perfectly safe.”

“Not just involved. She's the ringleader.”

“Yes, I understand that now. It's horrible,” she said in a somber tone. Then she cocked an eyebrow. “By the way, how did you know I came here?”

“Eden told me. She'd come home early because she said she had a
premonition
that something was wrong.”

Evie smiled. “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised,” she said rather cryptically. “But it was a good bit of luck for me that you stopped by the house.”

“I thought you would have the best idea about where to find Bridget in that damned rookery. Do you?”

She looked doubtful. “Well, she and Terence are listed in the church records, but I doubt that address will be of much use.”

He shrugged. “We'd have to search her room in any event, so at least it's a place to start. Now, help me find some more rope so we can tie this fellow up and be on our way.”

Evie nodded and headed for the pantry. “Then what do we do?”

“
I
will get you home, and then carry on with the search for Bridget O'Shay.”

“No need for that, you bastard.” The soft snarl came from behind them. “I'm right here.”

Christ.

The bloody woman had stolen a march on them. Slowly, Will pivoted on his heel. Bridget was standing at the top of the steps, and her pistol was pointed right at his chest.

“I know ye're carrying, Endicott,” she snarled. “So, put the gun on the table. And you, Miss Evie, get over by your man where's I can keep an eye on you.”

Without a word, Evie came over while Will removed the pistol from his coat and carefully placed it on the kitchen table. He still had the guard's pistol, but it would take him a few seconds to reach behind and pull it out. Bridget's hand was as steady as a rock, so he had little doubt she'd get off a shot before he got to the gun.

Given the hatred etching her features, he had no doubt she'd do it, too, and gladly. And she was close enough that she likely wouldn't miss.

When Evie came alongside him, Will stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. She expelled an impatient breath, as if annoyed with his instinct to protect her, but then stood quietly, with her hands settling at his waist.

“Aren't you the gent,” sneered Bridget. “For all the good it will do you, since your fine lady is comin' with me.”

“Over my dead body,” Will replied.

The girl's ruthless laugh sent a chill coursing through his veins.

“That's the plan, dearie,” she said. “You may have stopped us for now from killing Orange Peel and the rest of those murderers, but I'll still see justice done.”

“Whatever it is you're planning,” he said, “you won't get away with it. I'll hunt you down, I promise you. It's over, Bridget.”

“Ah, and how will you be huntin' me down when ye're dead, me fine captain?” She smiled, looking almost like the good-natured, attractive young woman they'd all assumed her to be. But that pistol never wavered, and the implacable look in her eye signaled a deadly resolution.

“Bridget, you've got to stop this,” Evie said in a choked voice. “Killing won't help anyone.”

“It'll help me,” the girl spat back. “I demand justice, and I'll have it. Even if I can't kill your bloody prime minister or one of your royals, I can kill a royal's son. How do you think your fine Duke of York will feel when he hears I blew his son's brains all over the floor?”

Evie's hands jerked at his waist, but Will confined his surprise to a lifted brow.

“Now that's interesting,” he said, willing Bridget to keep talking. Sooner or later, either Alec or Runners from Bow Street would surely show up. “How did you know I'm York's son?”

Bridget shrugged and took a step down to the flagstones. She didn't come too close, though. She was too smart to come within Will's reach. “I had my suspicions about you from the beginnin', with all your sniffin' around here. You and your mate were too bloody interested in St. Maggie's. So I did a little diggin'. Servants love to gossip, so it didn't take long to find out who you really were.”

“Then you know that if you hurt Captain Endicott, the duke won't rest until he sees you hanged,” Evie said.

Again, Bridget shrugged. “Maybe, but I'll see justice done, for all that.”

“Murder is your idea of justice?” Will asked.

“Yes,” Bridget retorted. “I learned it from the likes of you.”

“Please, Bridget, don't do this,” Evie pleaded. Her hands clutched convulsively at the back of Will's coat.

“Don't waste your breath, love,” he said. “She's not listening.”

“
She's
sick of listenin' to your palaver,” Bridget snapped. “Now, you'd best come out from behind him, Miss Evie, unless you want to get shot too. We need to be on our way before someone comes lookin' for us here.”

“I have no intention of going with you,” Evie said in a defiant voice.

“Evie, do what she says.” There wasn't a damn thing Will could do until he got Evie out of the line of fire.

“She can't force me,” Evie answered.

Will felt her hand slip under his coat, and his mind blanked for a second. By the time he'd recovered, she'd already pulled the pistol from his waistband and stepped up beside him.

“Put the gun down, Bridget,” she said, “or I'll shoot you.”

Bridget instinctively swung her weapon toward Evie. Will put up an arm to shield Evie, but she sidestepped him.

“Evie, for God's sake,” he growled.

“Don't move, Will,” she said. “Bridget, this is your last chance.”

The girl snorted. “You won't shoot me, miss. You don't have it in you.” Then her lips peeled back in a death's-head grin. “But I do.”

The instant Bridget started to swing her pistol back to Will, Evie fired. Bridget screamed and her gun went off as Will launched at Evie and took her down to the floor. The roar of the echoing shots bounced off the walls, and an overpowering smell of cordite hung in the air.

“Will!” Evie screamed. Her hands clutched frantically at his shoulders. “Are you hit? Did she hurt you?”

He grimaced, taking a quick stock. “I think your shriek all but destroyed my eardrums, but other than that I seem to be fine.” He lifted off of her, inspecting her deathly pale face. “Are you all right, love? I did take you down rather hard.”

She sucked in a huge gasp and went flat on her back, closing her eyes. “I'm fine. Just give me a moment.”

Will hauled himself to his feet and made his way to Bridget. She was lying in a crumpled, bloody heap at the base of the steps. The girl was still alive, but from the glazed look in her eyes and the blood gushing from a hole in her bodice, she wouldn't be for long. Still, he had to try. He pulled out his handkerchief and wadded it up, pressing it against the wound.

A few moments later, Evie crouched down and shoved some dishrags at him. He bundled them up under the soaked handkerchief but knew it was a losing battle.

“Will she live?” she asked in a strangled voice.

“No,” he said quietly.

“Oh, God.” She sounded sick. “I was aiming for her arm, but I haven't fired a gun in years. Not since my brother last took me quail hunting.”

BOOK: How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy

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