Page 147 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

Redmayne lifted his eyes to Julia, speared her with the full effect of his cold, monstrous regard. “I wish she’d not have killed him, Lady Julia, only because I’ve been denied the chance to butcher him, myself.”

“What?” Julia gasped.

“What?” Alexandra echoed.

“Consider yourself, and your lover, fortunate that he died so quickly.”

Alexandra found herself locked in his arms with such fierce tenderness, she collapsed against him, grateful sobs welling in her throat.

“My God. My wife…” He clutched her tighter, shakingwith a barely leashed rage. “To think what you’ve suffered. I can’t—”

“The world willknow.” Julia’s voice climbed to a manic, hysterical pitch. “I can prove it! You’ll both be ruined.”

“What evidence do you have?” Redmayne demanded.

Julia addressed Alexandra. “The three of you Red Rogues considered yourselves so perfect. So much more brilliant than everyone else.” She laughed as though no one had stated a more ridiculous notion in her life.

“I had naught but the razor and my word, at first,” she admitted victoriously. “Which would have been little in the way of proof… untilyoustarted wiring me money. Now I have a paper trail. Letters from you as a girl, begging me not to tell. It’s all as damning as a confession.” She turned on Redmayne. “One that will be sent to the authorities by my solicitor should anything happen to me, condemning both you and your ridiculous Rogues.”

“You forget, Lady Julia, that my brotherownsthe authorities.” His voice was laced with a similar black victory. “I’m the bloody Duke of Redmayne, my line and my name is older and more unbroken than that of the queen. Against mine, your word will hold as much weight as a whisper in a whirlwind. And if you breathe a word against my wife, you’ll never see the outside of an asylum. Now get. The fuck. Out of my sight.”

Suddenly—blessedly—speechless, Julia pushed away from the dais, skirting the edge of the room. “I’ll find a way…” she said tightly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you,” her husband warned. “Or I’ll have you arrested for the attempts on my life. You’ll hang if that’s what it takes.”

Alexandra lifted her head from where she’d buried it in her husband’s chest, a question burning through her.

“How did you do it, Julia?” she asked, stopping thewoman from slinking away. “How did you orchestrate all the mayhem? Did you really want to hurt me so much that you’d threaten innocent lives?”

The glint of a shotgun barrel preceded another set of wide shoulders into the chamber. Julia stumbled backward on her bejeweled, heeled slippers, staggering toward Alexandra.

“Do you think this simple cunt could pull off such clever machinations as that?” Thomas Forsythe raked Julia with a withering, dismissive glance that reduced her to tears. “She couldn’t even manage a passable fuck.”

Alexandra lifted her pistol, feeling her husband turn from warm muscle to cold steel at her back as his arms tightened around her.

“Thomas!” She gaped at the man she’d considered her friend. He’d deserted all sense of affability, adopting a stark and hard mask.

“Put that ridiculous weapon away, Dr. Lane.” He sighed with a note of feigned boredom. “And kick it over here.”

“I will not!”

“Do it,” Redmayne asserted from behind her.

Stunned at his capitulation, Alexandra gaped. “But—but.”

“Your husband is wise.” Forsythe stepped deeper into the crypt, circling for three paces until he was in between the door and the dais. “He recognizes an L. H. Parker field grade shotgun. This ingenious piece of handmade machinery is able to drop an elk at fifty paces, and has been rumored to stop a charging bear. If I were to pull the trigger now, not one of you would escape being wounded.” He adjusted the weapon on his shoulder.

“But you, dear Doctor, would be blown to shreds.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

If Piers ever had a nightmare scenario, this was it. His wife between him and his enemy, a delicate shield. His own pistol tucked in his jacket.

If he were to reach for it now, Forsythe would fire. The blackguard wanted to. The desire for blood was written all over him.

Unused to feeling helpless, Piers glared at him over his wife’s head, silently promising a slow and painful death. Vowing retribution. This man had awoken this morning, unaware that it was his last.

But before he could kill the fucking blighter, Piers needed to get Alexandra out of range.