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If the gun had been on him, Conor knew, he would have been willing to continue stalling. To continue the gamble. He would have been able to draw this out a little more and wait for the police to arrive.

With Astrid’s life in danger, though, he couldn’t do that.

She’s too precious to me,he thought.And Henry knows it. He knows because I allowed him into my life. Because I confided in him about how much I cared for her. Because I let him into my home, where he could see the two of us together and understand just how devoted I am to her.

He might as well have handed Henry the gun he was holding now. He had given the man everything he needed to carry out this dastardly plan.

“You’re not signing fast enough,” Henry said, a manic note in his voice, a gleam in his eye.

God, he really wants this club.It was one of the great ironies of Conor’s life that he had legitimately wanted to give more of the ownership of the club to Henry.If I’d only done that when I first thought of it. If only Tobias hadn’t robbed us, hadn’t derailed my plans—

But if Tobias hadn’t robbed them, he would never have married Astrid.

He couldn’t wish for that. Even though it would have undone all the terrible things that had happened since, he couldn’t wish away his marriage to Astrid.

She slumped forward in the chair suddenly, the weight of her head pulling her down. Alarmed, Conor began to rise from his seat.

“Sit,” Henry snapped, jerking the gun in his direction before returning it to Astrid. “She’s just passed out.”

Conor eased slowly back down into his chair, his blood boiling. “As least let me check on her.”

“She’s fine. You can come check her when you’re finished with those papers. Maybe that will finally give you a little incentive to stop dragging your feet about this.”

And he was right. Conor hadn’t been hurrying through the process of signing—a part of him had still been hoping that the police might show up at the eleventh hour. But the stress of the day had become too much for Astrid, and he knew it was time to get her home. There was no more hope of anyone intervening.

It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour anyway,he thought, running his thumb over the edges of the pages left in front of him. There were only a few places left that his signature was needed. There was no way to drag this out long enough to make a difference. The only useful thing he could do, really, was to get himself and his wife out of the club before Henry decided to resort to violence.

He signed the last page and pushed the stack of contracts across the table toward Henry. “There,” he said. “I’m finished. Now will you let us go?”

“I’ve got to read them first, don’t I?” Henry asked, grinning wickedly.

“You already know what they say.”

“Bring them to me,” Henry said.

Conor got to his feet and made his way over.

“Now hold them up and show me that you’ve signed each page,” Henry said. “I don’t want to let you go only to find out that you tried to trick me by skipping a line. I could get you back in here to correct that, of course, but it would be a lot of hassle, and frankly, I don’t think either of us wants to be put through that. Better to get everything done right now. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course, I do,” Conor said coldly. He held up the stack of papers so that Henry could see his signature. Then he began to cycle through the pages, showing his old business partner one after another. “I’ve signed every page,” he said. “As you can see. I have no desire to drag this out. I just want to take Astrid home.”

“Does she like carnations?”

“What?”

“I think I’ll bring her carnations when I come to her father’s house to court her,” Henry said musingly. He reached out and took the contracts from Conor.

“She’ll never be yours,” Conor said scathingly. “She’s seen who you truly are.”

“Her father—”

“Her father’s not a fool. He cares for her. She’s bound to tell him the truth about you, and then he’ll never send his beloved daughter to your home.”

Henry’s face darkened. “If that’s the way of it, maybe I should just shoot her now,” he said.

Conor felt a vice grip his heart. “No,” he said. “No, wait.”

“Wait for what? If what you say is true and she’ll never be mine, what difference does it make?”