Page 32 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

He smiled in such a sinister way that Isla stared, aghast, unable to believe that the man who looked like her dear, sweet Teddy simply was not.

“He played his ultimate trump card.” He lifted his hands. “I simply could not resist.”

She had not imagined it. That night Algie and Lucian Night had held a conversation in the library .

Lucian truly had the upper hand over her brother.

A sick feeling punched her in the stomach.

“Yes. Algernon Wynthorpe sold off his sister to the Lord of the Underworld,” Lucian said with another chuckle. “A brilliant move, really. He gets my help, and I get a lifelong warranty by becoming his brother-in-law.”

“Never,” she gasped.

“You may, of course, refuse to cooperate.” He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I cannot force you to marry me, after all. But then…” He leaned in, eyes glittering. “The agreement with your brother becomes void. And yet, I still hold the upper hand.”

She clenched her fists. “How?”

“Through you, naturally. A most tempting hostage. Your brother would do anything for you, would he not?” Lucian gave a low, amused laugh. “Makes one wonder if the wedding is even necessary, now that you have followed me into my lair—willingly, I might add.”

She stared at him, appalled.

“So, you see, my dearest love, your brother is clay in my hands. And I shall mould him to suit my purposes. Marry me, or do not. It hardly matters.” He glanced into his teacup with feigned contemplation.

“The choice is yours: this can be pleasant, or rather...unpleasant. For you. For him. And, perhaps, even for me,” he added idly.

Her hands tightened until her knuckles turned white. “You are blackmailing me. If I don’t marry you, my brother will pay the price.”

“It is a bit of a pickle, is it not? The great Lord Algernon Wynthorpe, entangled with the underworld. Who would have guessed?” He leaned in, voice silken.

“Just imagine what they’ll say: Parliament, society, the press.

But it’s not merely his reputation at stake.

There’s prosecution to consider. Newgate.

Or worse.” He rubbed his neck, mock thoughtful.

“I cannot quite recall what they do with traitors these days. Hanging, drawing and quartering always had a certain flair. Though they might favour beheading now. Since hanging has proven itself to be rather unreliable. I speak from experience.” He chuckled as if he’d made a joke.

Isla jumped to her feet. “They would not! You…you would not!” But even as she said those words, she knew that he very well might.

“Poor Isla. You should not have been so curious. You might have enjoyed a little more time in the blissful delusion of being betrothed to the dolt Linwood. Your brother has sold his soul to me. In for a penny, in for a pound. He has dug his own grave and from now on he will dance to my tune.”

“You really are evil.” Her voice shook.

“I see you finally behold my true nature.”

More men pressed into the room. These were Lucian’s own men, for she saw the wolf mark on them, and she lost count of how many. It was all lost.

Isla collapsed into her chair, drained of strength, on the verge of tears.

Lucian stepped forward. She snatched up her umbrella to jab him with it, but he leapt aside just in time.

“Oh no, you don’t.” He wrestled the umbrella from her grasp and tossed it away. He seized her and yanked her against his chest. She stared miserably into his face, which was Teddy’s face, his eyes, his smile. No, not his smile. This one was sinister.

She shivered.

He pulled her closer. “Poor Isla. You must trust me now more than ever, my love,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing her ears, making her shiver.

Just as she was about to look up and ask what he meant, the door opened, and pandemonium broke loose.

A group of armed men burst into the room. Lucian tightened his grip, flipped her around, and drew her further into the corner. It happened so quickly that she found herself in an iron hold from which she could not break free.

“Stop, in the name of the government. You are all under arrest,” a voice rang out. There were more men than Mudlark Skulls in the room, and in the next moment a hullabaloo broke out. Shots fired, fists flew, bodies hit the ground, and Isla remained trapped in Lucian Night’s grasp.

“Stop this instant,” he bellowed, his icy voice slicing through the din. To her astonishment, the room fell still. She felt something cold press against her temple.

“Leave or she dies.”

“Teddy,” she gasped, hardly believing what she had just heard.

Then a figure stepped through the smoke and din with measured steps. Impeccably dressed and unruffled, he drew a flintlock from his coat.

“Wynthorpe. We meet again,” Lucian said, his tone lightly amused.

“My lord,” said an agent, his eyes darting to Isla. “We have them under control, except for Night, who, as you see, has your sister.”

“Step aside, Brown. You are in my way.” Algie pointed his flintlock and aimed it straight at them.

“Algie,” Isla breathed. If he pulled the trigger, and he only had that one shot, she was in the line of fire.

“Remind me again,” Algie said, calmly closing one eye to aim, “what they call me?”

“Deathmark, my lord.”

“And why?”

“Because you never miss.”

Lucian laughed.

Algie fired.

Something zinged past the tip of Isla’s left ear.

Lucian Night fell, laughter still curling on his lips, shot straight through the heart.