Page 49 of The Devil’s Waltz

She took a deep breath, thinking of the marble bust that was just out of reach.

“I am better than you, Mr. Chippie. Not because of my birth, but because you’re a loathsome, evil man who traffics in human misery.

You’re a revolting little toad whose ill breeding would have shown itself even more flagrantly than it already has with your ostentatious, tasteless house and your appalling manners.

Sooner or later you’ll be caught, and you’ll be hanged like the baseborn monster that you are. ”

He leaped for her, as she expected, but she was fully prepared and whirled to one side as he crashed down against the chair. By the time he caught his footing and started to turn on her she’d picked up the marble bust of Diana, and brought it down squarely on his head.

He dropped like a stone, Her hands were shaking, and she looked down at the marble, now marred with blood and hair. There was no mistaking the horrifying crunch of bone when she’d hit him, and he lay perfectly still, blood seeping from beneath his head.

She’d killed him, and she was glad. She was half tempted to lean over and bash him one more time, just to make certain, but she resisted the impulse, setting the statue down on the table once more.

She skirted his body and crept to the door, putting her ear against it.

There were men in the hallway, not that far away, and from the tone of their conversation their morals and intentions were not an improvement on the late Mr. Chippie. She couldn’t escape that way.

Annelise moved back, stepping over the body and lifting her skirts so they wouldn’t drag in the blood, and went to the window.

It opened easily enough, letting in the cool fresh air of late afternoon.

It wasn’t a particularly large window, and it was a good eight feet off the ground, but she had little choice.

She climbed through, banging her head against the window frame, and jumped.

She landed on her backside in mud, of course. Even though the rain had finally stopped, the mud was everywhere, and she dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the pain that coursed through her body. At least she still had the boots on.

She had no idea how many of Chippie’s henchmen were there, how long it would take them to decide to check on their nefarious employer.

She could only assume that her time was limited, and meeting up with one of the men who were waiting outside the door seemed even less desirable than being trapped with Chippie himself.

Annelise had no idea where to start looking for the Brownes, and she didn’t dare take the time. She had to warn her sister, if it wasn’t already too late.

She had to warn Christian.

To her relief the stables were empty of Chippie’s cohorts, but in the front corral were at least half a dozen new horses patiently waiting.

They hadn’t been unsaddled or properly cared for, and it took all Annelise’s resolution not to stop and tend to the poor creatures.

They were ill-treated and ill nourished, but she didn’t dare waste any time.

She could only hope that at least one of Chippie’s meh had some sense of responsibility for the animals, or at the very least a practical consideration that their mode of transportation needed to be protected.

Gertie raised her head when Annelise slipped into the inner room, instantly alert.

She made a soft, welcoming noise, and Annelise breathed a sigh of relief only slightly tempered by nervousness.

She had sworn never to ride again, and it had been almost five years since her last turn.

And now she was planning to go haring off into the sunset in rescue of the ones she loved.

She was mad, but there was no choice. It was easy enough to saddle and bridle Gertie—she took to Annelise’s familiar touch with preening satisfaction.

She had to drag a mounting block over to Gertie’s side—in the best of times she would have been able to simply leap on her back One advantage of her unusual height.

But the unaccustomed ache in her hips and thighs precluded such energy, though she wasn’t about to consider what had caused such discomfort.

Christian didn’t have a lady’s saddle, and she had no choice but to climb astride, bunching the skirts up around her long legs.

The moment she landed in the saddle she panicked, and her fear immediately spread to Gertie, who backed up with a nervous whinny.

Annelise took a deep breath, leaning down to touch Gertie’s neck, whispering calming words that were meant more for her than for her horse. She was about to urge the horse forward when a small movement caught her eye.

Her first instinct was to get out of there. But if whoever or whatever hid in the shadows was any danger to her he would have attacked already.

“Who’s there?” she demanded in a sharp whisper.

A rumpled head of hair appeared over a bale of straw, followed by the stable lad’s woebegone face. Jeremy, she remembered. “I’m sorry, miss. I was afraid,” he cried.

He was probably not much more than fifteen. The age of her niece, the one Chippie had threatened. “Do you know where the Brownes are being kept?”

He shook his head. “Mebbe in the cellars—you can lock them easily enough, and I don’t think anyone would dare mess with Mrs. Browne if they had any choice.”

“Do you think you can help them?”

He shook his head again, frankly terrified. “I’m not sure where they are, miss. And I’m afraid of those men.”

He truly did look petrified. “But you could ride for help, couldn’t you? Take one of those horses and go find someone?”

“Yes, miss,” he said, nodding, still not looking too eager.

Now that Jeremy would help, she had a decision to make.

Should she go down to the coast, to warn Christian before it was too late?

Or north to rescue her sister? Annelise knew where her duty lay.

She knew where her heart lay. And she knew her sister was twice as formidable as Bessie Browne and Annelise put together.

“I want you to ride north to Marymede,” she said to him. “My sister and her family need to be warned that Chippie is sending men after them, as well. It should be easy enough to find—my brother-in-law is the vicar, and their house is next to the church.”

“Are more of those men there?” Jeremy questioned, looking less than resolved.

“Not if you get there first.” The boy was panicked and witless. Christian was a grown man, more than able to take care of himself, while the vicar’s household consisted of her sharp-tongued sister, her gentle husband, her niece and possibly the two lovebirds, Will and Hetty.

And somehow she doubted Will would be much defense against Chippie’s marauders.

There was no question what she should do. And no question about what she was going to do anyway.

“Go,” she said. “Head north and with any luck you should be there by daylight. Lives may depend on you.”

Probably the wrong thing to say to a trembling boy, but he straightened his shoulders and suddenly looked very brave. “Yes, miss. Are you coming with me?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m going to save your master.”l