The Clarendon Rose (41 page)

Tina swung her free arm around, palm open, hitting the side of his head as hard as she could.
 
As he staggered from the impact, she propelled her legs off the bed, only to discover that they had already been bound.
 
They hit the floor with a
thump
, the momentum causing the rest of her to follow.
 
She landed on her side, crying out as the movement wrenched her arm, which Pepridge had already managed to secure to the bedpost.

He crouched just to her right, facing her, his eyes wide and one hand still cupping his ear.

She took advantage of his shock to plough a fist into his face, toppling him backwards, his legs wide.
 
Then, ignoring the pain in her arm, she shifted onto her buttocks and used both her feet to land a kick between his parted legs.

As he howled, she scrambled awkwardly to her knees and started clawing at the rope binding her wrist, her fingers shaking with haste.
 
But, before she could even begin to loosen the knot, Pepridge had recovered himself enough to pounce on her, grabbing her free arm with one hand as he scooped up her legs and shoved her back onto the bed.

“I can’t hear out of my right ear, you damned bitch,” he muttered, his mouth an ugly line.
 
Then, he secured her other arm with the remaining length of rope and smiled, before tightening it abruptly, so that the rough fibers dug into her chafed wrist.
 

“There we are,” he continued, his tone moderate once more.
 
“Right and tight.”
 
He stood back and grinned at her.
 
“Now I begin to understand the fate of those two incompetents I hired to guard you.
 
They’ve disappeared—though I expect that hardly comes as a surprise to you.”
 
As he spoke, drew out a handkerchief and made to gag her.
 

Tina tried to bite his hand, but he pulled back, laughing.
 
“Quite delightful, my dear.
 
What an unexpected surprise to discover you have such spirit!”
 
Then, with considerably more caution, he reached forward to tie the gag around her mouth.
 
“I now see why Clarendon finds you so intriguing—though I hardly imagined his tastes would be quite so exotic as all that, for he always struck me as being depressingly conventional.”

Tina clamped her teeth shut, her lips pursed against the press of the fabric.
 
He grinned and pinched her nose, squeezing it hard, until instinct took over and she opened her mouth to draw in a gasp of air.
 
He had the gag tied on in a flash, ensuring that it was also pulled uncomfortably tight.

He laughed as she glared at him.
 
Then, he climbed on top of her and straddled her body.
 
“Now, we have only to entertain ourselves while we wait for your husband to arrive.”
 
He reached for something on the bed beside her and Tina groaned when she saw the pistol on the coverlet.

“Yes—careless of me, wasn’t it?
 
And if only you had known I had left it there, then our situations might well have been reversed, no?
 
But, it’s not something for
you
to worry about, my dear.
 
I’m saving it for my good friend, the duke.”

He reached to draw something out from under his coat.
 
Tina’s eyes widened and she stared, mesmerized by the glint of a blade as it emerged from the concealment of his jacket.
 

“You’ll pardon me if I don’t ask you for suggestions, my dear, for I do rather value my hands as they are.
 
But, I’m sure I’ll manage to devise
some
sort of worthy pastime to keep us occupied while we wait.”

Her heart pounding, Tina started shouting as best she could through the gag.
 
She bucked under him for all she was worth, twisting her body back and forth wildly.

Clarendon heard the muffled cries as he approached the door.
 
He bit back a string of curses, his heart pounding.
 
Then, he stood beside the door and listened, his mouth thinning as he tried to decide on his best course of action.
 
If Pepridge had found the equipment to set off the explosions downstairs, then Clarendon had little doubt the man had also come prepared for this particular confrontation.
 
Pepridge wouldn’t have risked coming here if he hadn’t been convinced of his own victory.
 
No doubt, he had already devised an escape route that would allow him to disappear completely, leaving two dead bodies in his wake.

So, what possible advantage could Clarendon have over such a man?
 

Just then, he heard Pepridge start swearing.
 
Tina’s muffled shouts continued.
 
Clarendon’s hands clenched into fists.
 
He had to act now, for better or for worse.

He stood, shoulder against one of the double doors.
 
Stepping forward quickly, he turned the handle of the other and threw it open as hard as he could, before retreating behind the closed half of the double doors.
 
Sudden silence from inside.
 

“Your Grace?
 
Is that you?
 
Why not move over a little, so I can actually see you?
 
It’s really the least you could do, as a good host, wouldn’t you say?”
 

“Few people have ever accused me of being a good host, Pepridge.”

“Well, it’s true enough.
 
I must say that your hospitality does leave something to be desired—this wife of yours is an absolute termagant.
 
And now you’re set on making yourself scarce.
 
You must own that this disembodied voice approach to greeting guests is more than a little eccentric.”

While Pepridge talked, Clarendon scoured the corridor for any possible weapons.
 
“Yes—one of my odd little quirks consists of a desire to avoid being shot, don’t you know,” he said, just to keep the conversation going, in the hopes it might serve as some sort of distraction to Pepridge.

There was a vase on one of the side tables and a number of paintings adorned the walls—but he’d have to cross the open doorway to reach any of them, even assuming they might be of some possible use.
 

The staircase that led down to the main floor was just behind him.
 
Beyond that, the corridor led to his own quarters—which were connected to Tina’s by an adjoining door.

His eyes narrowed.
 
The element of surprise would give him a significant advantage, if he could manage it.
 
To do that, he would have to convey the impression that he was still lurking in the corridor by the open doorway, even as he ran through the other bedroom and gained access to Tina’s room.

“You’re stalling, dear boy.”

“Never say so,” Clarendon replied, frowning down at the shoes he had hastily donned before going down to meet Sebastian.
 
Quietly, he kicked them off.
 
“You might hurt my feelings.”

He picked them up, then took several steps back towards his rooms.
 
From there, he hefted one of the shoes and tossed it towards the open doorway.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing, dear boy?”

“Trying to be a good host.
 
I wanted to provide you with the opportunity to do some target practice, don’t you know?”

“Hoping I’ll discharge the weapon on anything that moved?”

“The thought had occurred to me.”
 
Clarendon retreated further, until he was just in front of the doors to his own chambers.
 
He thrust them open, then threw his second shoe along the corridor, so it also passed Tina’s open doorway.

Even as he ran into his rooms, he heard Pepridge laugh, though he wasn’t able to make out the specifics of the man’s comment.
 

Clarendon rushed through the room, glancing about for any possible weapon.
 
When nothing immediately suggested itself, he kept moving until he reached the door that joined this room to Tina’s.

There, he gave himself a moment to compose himself.
 
He couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud his judgment, even though he wanted to kill Pepridge with his own bare hands for bringing Tina into this.
 
But, this was a confrontation he couldn’t afford to lose.
 

Then, drawing in a deep breath, he opened the door.

Tina divided her gaze between the open double door, where Clarendon had thrown his shoes, and Pepridge, who continued to watch the corridor intently for any sign of movement.

She had managed to buck him off her earlier—though the small triumph had clearly irritated him.

“Should have tied your damned feet to the bedpost while you were still sleeping,” he had muttered.
 

Tina had continued shouting, all the while doing her best to resist his attempts to rectify his oversight.
 
He still hadn’t managed to secure the knot properly when they had been interrupted by Clarendon’s appearance—or rather, his lack thereof.

Though she hadn’t been able to test it without arousing Pepridge’s suspicions, Tina knew she had a fair bit of slack on the rope binding her legs to the bedpost.
 
She only hoped it would be enough.

They both watched the doorway, waiting for Clarendon’s next move.
 
Silence.
 

The metal of the blade against her neck had reached body temperature, so she could almost forget it was still there.
 
One advantage of the present situation, with Pepridge holding his pistol at the ready, his attention fixed on the corridor, was that it prevented him from effectively holding the knife to her throat.
 
His grip on it had slackened slightly—that, at least, gave her enough leeway to turn her head.
 
But any abrupt movement in the wrong direction, and her throat would be sliced.

“Your Grace?
 
Whatever are you up to?”
 
Pepridge called, the pistol still pointing at the doorway.
 

Just then, Tina heard the faintest creak.
 
She glanced at Pepridge, but he continued to stare at the doorway.
 

Perhaps he really
can’t
hear out of his right ear.
 
She sent up a quick prayer of thanks for whatever small advantage that might afford Clarendon.

Then, she made herself move very casually as she looked in the direction the sound had come from.
 
The door adjoining her room to the duke’s was opening very slowly.

 
Right.
 
She turned her attention to Pepridge.
 
She’d have to watch him closely for her chance.

“I’m starting to get suspicious, Your Grace.
 
You’ll have me wondering what the devil you’re up to, you know.
 
I don’t take well to being kept in suspense—nor will your wife take well to my being kept in suspense, for that matter.”

Another creak, this one louder, had Pepridge turning, trying to locate the origin of the sound.
 
Tina forced herself to ignore the noises and watch her captor, waiting and hoping for an opening in his defenses.
 
She could still see movement from the corner of her eye, but her peripheral vision didn’t provide her with the specifics of Clarendon’s progress.

Pepridge spotted the opening door.
 
She watched as he turned.
 
The knife moved further from her throat—it now rested on top of her collarbone.
 
Pepridge, meanwhile, had re-aimed his pistol in the direction of the adjoining door, his mouth curling into a slow smile.

Tina swallowed, not even daring to blink as she stared at the poised weapon—looking for any indication Pepridge was about to fire.
 
She knew it was a dangerous game she played, but if he discharged his pistol inaccurately, then it would be one less weapon he could use against Clarendon later.

The flash of a movement at the edge of her vision, and she saw Pepridge’s finger tighten on the trigger.
 
With a shout, she twisted her body so her right arm bumped the blade away from her shoulder, while using the movement to build up momentum in her legs.

She swung them up and to her right, her feet just grazing Pepridge’s outstretched arm, knocking it upwards, as the weapon fired.

He let out a curse and Tina permitted herself a glance at the adjoining door.
 
Clarendon was down, and at first she feared her attempt had been in vain.
 
Then, he straightened partially and Tina realized that he must have ducked upon hearing her shout.

Now, he rushed forward, straight for Pepridge.
 
The impact of body against body slammed her captor against the night table beside the bed.
 
Already, Clarendon was throwing punches at Pepridge’s head and abdomen.
 

The other man retained a grip on his knife, but before Tina could shout a warning, Clarendon had already stopped the lethal swing of Pepridge’s arm, wrestling it away from him.
 
The duke’s other hand had closed on his adversary’s neck, thumb pressing against windpipe.

Pepridge curled his free hand around Clarendon’s wrist, fingers digging into the flesh.
 
The duke let out a shout of pain as his grip slackened on his enemy’s throat and Pepridge used the opportunity to renew his attempt to bury the knife in Clarendon’s shoulder.

Clarendon released Pepridge’s throat and as soon as the other man’s grip slackened, the duke wrenched his wrist free.
 
He stepped back swiftly, shifting his grasp on Pepridge’s knife-holding arm so that before the other man had a chance to change the direction of his pressure, Clarendon was already supplementing Pepridge’s momentum, driving the knife along its intended trajectory.
 
But, with Clarendon out of the way, the glinting blade continued downwards, only stopping when it buried itself in Pepridge’s abdomen.