Page 25 of Seduced by a Scoundrel (The Spinster Society #3)

I t happened too fast.

One moment Sybil was enjoying the commotion of the ball, the quiet of the balcony at her back, and the next something sharp pieced her side, through her stays. A familiar voice hissed in her ear. “You’ve ruined everything .”

She froze. “ Victor? ”

“Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”

Keir was already filling the doorway, cold, lethal rage simmering in his green eyes. “Get away from her, Bailey.”

“No.” Victor kept talking to her, the knifepoint unwavering. She would not be able to move fast enough, could not strike down at his kneecap or back with her elbow without first being gutted. Her pulse pounded hard in her ears, in her throat. “You owe me, Sybil,” he continued. “You’ve ruined it all—the least you could do is give me your dowry.”

“I’m not marrying you,” she scoffed. She knew Priya would have used a sharp, rational tone. Sybil found she did not have one in her at the moment.

“You should have left us alone.”

“You should have left us alone,” she corrected him, now annoyed as well as frightened.

The dagger bit a little deeper, just enough to bring blood to the surface, welling through the fabric of her gown.

“Bailey.” Keir had never sounded so arctic and vicious. So terrifying. Even Victor swallowed hard. “You’re cornered. You may as well stop while you have a chance at keeping all of your limbs intact.”

“I can’t,” Victor said. “It’s too late for that. And it’s all your fault, Sybil. You and those dammed Spinsters. We had to do something.” He did not sound frantic or unwell. Only resolute, utterly focused. Unfortunately. “You shot Grant and scared some of the others.” Now he sounded disgusted. “It’s unraveling.”

Some of the other pieces of the puzzle clicked.

“Lord Grant was never in charge, was he? You were Minos.” He was the member who had moved quietly through the shock after the shooting. He was the one who had stabbed that man. Everything else was misdirection. Clever.

Irritating, but clever.

“And you were Singleton. It took me some time to figure that one out. Did you know that Portsmouth was my distant cousin?”

“He was?” Sybil frowned. “What has that to do with anything?”

“I was to inherit until your lot found him out and the title was forfeited.”

“He was a murderer.”

“I needed the estate.”

Sybil rolled her eyes, even with a knife too close to her kidney. “I am sure we shall all weep ourselves to sleep over your misfortune.” She struggled a little, testing his grip. She yelped at the pain in her side. He was stronger than he appeared.

“Sybil,” Keir said. Whatever he could see in Victor’s expression that she could not at her angle had him going very still.

“Victor, this is fruitless. You can’t marry me for my dowry.” And dump her body in the Thames afterward, no doubt.

“Just shut up and let me think.”

“You’re out of options,” Keir said with quiet, pointed wrath. “I married her just this morning,” he added.

Victor frowned. “You’re lying.”

He wasn’t. Their wedding had taken place in Priya’s greenhouse along the lemon trees and the lilacs, attended by their families and the Spinsters. They served plum cake afterward. It was small, simple. Perfect.

The honeymoon, however, was off to a dramatic start.

“You threatened a woman, Bailey,” Keir snapped. “And a marchioness.” There were penalties for threatening the peerage. “Worse, you threatened my wife .”

Victor was taken aback at the hard edge in the most stoic marquess. She felt it in the tremble of the dagger. “I let her go and you let me go. Or else I stab her now and get revenge if nothing else.”

A faint noise came from the shadows of the balcony, somewhere behind an urn of forsythia branches. Victor tensed, glancing toward it.

It was all it took.

One moment for everything to change.

Keir surged forward as Sybil made herself go limp. Unbalanced, Victor tried to steady her, which was an impossible feat with Keir snatching her away at the same time. He tucked her behind his body while plowing his enormous fist in Victor’s face. There was a loud crack and a howl of pain. He staggered back, holding his nose, blood pooling between his fingers.

Keir turned to Sybil, ripping off his cravat and pressing it to her puncture wound. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Victor snarled and lunged, dagger still in his grip.

He never reached them.

Sophie flew out from behind the urn of yellow flowers and punched him right on his already broken nose. His head snapped and he hit the railing.

“That’s more than enough,” Keir said. A jab to Victor’s stomach sent him over the railing. There was a thump, a groan. Keir looked over the side. “He’s not dead,” he grumbled, clearly put out.

Had she ever really thought Keir was indifferent to her? Cared for nothing but his estate and his duties? It seemed improbable to her now. Anyone with eyeballs could see that he was a mess of feelings and fears and love. For her .

She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“Here now.” He sounded vaguely alarmed. “You’re all right.”

“I know.”

They turned to Sophie, who was cradling her sore hand and beaming. “I snuck in,” she said, defiantly.

“I’m so glad I have spent so much money on chaperones,” Keir muttered. “Where did you learn to plant a facer like that?”

“Sybil taught me.” She hovered, still unsure if she would be scolded.

“I taught you to use the heel of your hand,” Sybil said. “But thank you, Sophie.”

Keir paused, then sighed. Then he pulled his sister into a hug. Her eyes widened, softened. “My hand hurts,” she muttered into his arm.

“We’ll get you some ice. And a doctor for Sybil.”

Sybil waved that off. “I don’t need a doctor.”

Both Montgomery siblings turned hard green gazes on her at the same time. She nearly took a prudent step back. “You are seeing a doctor,” they declared in unison.

She raised her hands placatingly. “What do we do about Victor?”

“He’s not going anywhere with that broken leg.”

“ You broke his leg? ”

“The stone pathway broke his leg.” He shrugged. So did Sophie. The Montgomery ruthlessness was clearly an inherited business. “Gallagher will see to him.”

“And the doctor,” Sybil insisted.

Keir was decidedly disgruntled at that. “Fine. But if he so much as looks in your direction again, I’m breaking the other leg.”

“That seems fair.”

Sophie blinked. “What happened to my staid big brother?”

“It was all a sham,” Sybil whispered. “Don’t feel bad—he even fooled himself for a while.”

Keir’s arm was at her waist before she even heard him move, and he scooped her up into his arms. “Not this again,” she muttered, but the effect was ruined when she snuggled into his chest. “I can walk. I’m not even bleeding anymore.”

“You’re going to sit by the fire until someone can look at that cut.” His jaw clenched, unclenched. She smoothed her fingertips over it.

“I’m fine.”

“You are perfect.”

She shook her head. “Hardly.”

“Perfect for me .” He kissed her gently, thoroughly. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Are you ready to come home with me?”

“Yes, Keir. Let’s go home.”

He kissed her again. And again.

Until they realized they had crossed back into the pandemonium of the ballroom. But even a hundred flyers and the bad deeds of bad men were not enough to distract from the Marquess Blackburn carrying the orphan girl from Seven Dials.

And kissing her.

A lot.

A hush fell as heads turned, eyes widened. Whispers swelled almost immediately.

“Oh dear, most unseemly of us.” Sybil grinned.

“You are definitely a bad influence,” Keir murmured. “I look forward to scandalizing the ton on a regular basis.”

“Raise your glasses to my daughter, Sybil Taunton, the guest of honor,” her father called out, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Amandine smiled smugly, motioning for the footmen. A cloud of white butterflies flew from gold birdcages that had been draped in silver silk. “Also, as of this morning, the Marchioness Blackburn!”

Every eye in the room blinked at Sybil, maskless, her hair falling from its pins, her gown torn at the hem and stained with blood.