Page 51

Grace took a step back, instinctively placing herself in front of Zahra.

The little girl, ever resourceful, had somehow managed to vanish beneath the nearby table, a feat Grace couldn’t help but admire.

Being small did have its advantages—though Grace doubted she’d fit under there without upending the entire thing in the process.

“What are you talking about?” Lillias stammered, her eyes darting between Kane’s face and the revolver in his hand. Her voice quavered, barely above a whisper. “Kill me?”

Malcolm Kane shrugged with the kind of casual indifference better suited to discussing the weather than plotting murder.

“I had hoped to make this transfer of Mosslea simple. Legal, even. Romance the bereaved widow, gain the castle, live happily ever after—or at least comfortably.” He gestured toward the photograph in Lillias’ trembling hand.

“My sister had made it look so easy with the laird. Everything was going along smoothly until you lot showed up.”

Frederick shifted subtly, angling himself between Kane and the others. His hand moved toward the hidden revolver in his own jacket, and Grace hoped very much her dashing hero knew what he was doing.

“I wouldn’t have involved you at all, Lillias dear, if things had gone as Moira and I wanted from the beginning.

” He leaned back against the wall, evidently content to listen to his own voice.

“We had no idea about you and your sister’s claim to the estate until Moira had already ended things with Alastair.

” He shrugged. “Or rather ended Alastair.” Malcolm tsked in mock consolation.

“We wouldn’t have known at all, if my very clever sister hadn’t seen Mr. Barclay visit Mosslea one day to discuss things with Mr. Locke, and he mentioned some American sisters who were to inherit. That propelled the plan into motion.”

“That’s where I came in.” As if on cue, the hidden door creaked open farther, revealing Mrs. James—or rather, Lady Moira Blair—in an impeccably tailored blue day dress. Gone was the understated housekeeper. In her place stood a woman whose posture screamed self-assured villainy.

Oh, she’d played her part as a silly housekeeper so well. So convincingly. It boggled the mind.

And though Lady Blair stood a few inches shorter and didn’t wear the dress quite as well, her arrogance and steely look reminded Grace of Celia Blackmore Percy, the woman who had killed Frederick’s father and brother to gain her riches.

But the cold look in her eyes was the same.

Devious women were clearly meant for the stage.

“Mrs. James?” Lillias’ palm went to her throat. “You weren’t a housekeeper at all?”

“Clever one, aren’t you?” Lady Blair’s lips curved into a serpentine smile.

“No wonder my brother liked you so much. Easy to manipulate.” Her gaze swept the room, lingering on Grace for a beat longer than necessary.

“How else did you think everything fell into place, Lillias.” She cooed Lillias’ name with such mockery, the sound trilled a chill up Grace’s arms.

Oooh, Lady Blair was very good at being bad.

Despite her real-life observations, fiction clearly warned about underestimating a smart woman with a thirst for power.

Celia had killed at least three people, if not four, by the time she was caught.

How many had Lady Blair killed in her tenure as a villainess?

Not to mention the ones she’d conked on the head.

“Malcolm wanted to find a cleaner way to take the inheritance instead of just killing one of you.” Her smile twitched as she looked over at her brother.

“He’s always had such a weak stomach for bloodshed.

Promised him I’d try to keep things civil.

” Her smile sharpened. “But civility only gets you so far, doesn’t it? ”

“You don’t need to do this.” Frederick stepped nearer Grace, his voice calm. “If it’s the inheritance you want, I feel certain these ladies would give it up to save their lives.”

Grace shot her husband a look. Would she? And then realized the ridiculousness of the very question. First off, she loved her family much more than any castle. And secondly, how could she claim an inheritance if she was dead, anyway?

“Well, we can’t just let everyone walk away and tell tales.” Lady Blair scanned the room, her smile still in perfect placement. “Blackmail may be my brother’s preference and much tidier, but sometimes, one must adapt to the situation with a more decisive hand.”

She extended her hand toward Mr. Kane.

Grace’s breath caught as he handed the revolver over with an apologetic shrug, as though conceding to a minor inconvenience. But before Lady Blair could raise the weapon, something small and glittering arced through the air, catching the light as it flew.

The sound that followed—a sharp thunk —was decidedly unladylike.

Lady Blair yelped, clutching her head as she stumbled back against the wall. The revolver slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor.

Grace turned in the direction the projectile had come, to see Zahra’s arm raised as if she had thrown something. Had Zahra just hit Lady Blair with a ruby?

Frederick didn’t waste a second. He lunged for Mr. Kane, tackling him, their struggle carrying them toward the open doorway of the hidden room. Kane managed to land a solid punch to Frederick’s jaw, sending him back a step, but Frederick seized the man’s jacket and drove him against the wall.

A sharp metallic scrape echoed and the doorway slid closed, separating Frederick and Mr. Kane in the library from the ladies in the secret room.

For a moment, the four women stood frozen, the shock of the sudden separation rendering them speechless.

The faint sounds of the struggle outside filtered through the walls—grunts, the scrape of furniture, a crash, and the dull thud of bodies colliding.

In their struggle against the mantel, someone must have hit the other side of the secret door’s lever, causing the men to be separated from them.

“What is happening?” Lillias’ voice broke the silence, rising in pitch with every word. “I can’t die, Grace. I can’t!”

“Be quiet, Lillias.” Grace’s gaze darted to Lady Blair, who was regaining her footing. “There’s a door at the bottom of the stairs. Zahra, take Lillias and move toward it.”

“What? Without you?” Lillias’ voice quavered.

Lady Blair managed to regain a standing position, the red welt where Zahra hit her bright on her pale forehead.

A large ruby ring lay nearby, presumably the projectile Zahra had thrown with exceptional aim. Perhaps Frederick could enroll Zahra in cricket. Or baseball. Did girls even have teams for those sports?

Lady Blair wiped a palm over her forehead, her attention landing on Grace. Something in the look seemed to communicate that Lady Blair saw Grace as a threat or at least a challenge.

Her attention flicked to the revolver lying on the floor, then back to Grace.

What to do? Grace slid a hand into the left sleeve of her day dress, her fingers touching the handle of her favorite throwing knife. The knife? Or race for the revolver?

“Lillias, move toward the door,” Grace repeated, her sister still frozen in place.

At that moment, Lady Blair lurched forward, Grace with her. But instead of going for the gun, the woman grabbed the lantern from the desk in the center of the room.

The lantern? Before Grace could fully comprehend her next move, Lady Blair sent her an eerie smile and threw the lantern to the floor. Flames erupted, ravenous and bright, leaping to devour the scattered papers lying about.

“Grace!” Lillias shrieked, shrinking back against the wall as smoke began to curl upward.

Zahra darted to Grace’s side, and Grace grabbed her hand, yanking her away from the rising flames now licking at the rug. Through the haze, Grace spotted Lady Blair slipping through a side door, her exit punctuated by the ominous click of a lock.

“Grace,” Lillias wailed, her voice trembling. “How will we escape? We’re trapped!”

Grace inhaled sharply, sliding her knife back into its sheath. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

“Were you going to throw a knife at her?” Lillias squeaked, her face a ghastly shade of white.

The last thing Grace needed was her sister swooning into the fire. “Zahra, check the door Lady Blair used. Quickly!” She held the little girl’s gaze. “And mind the flame. It’s only going to grow the more books and old furniture it reaches.”

Not to mention the faded curtains or the wall of dusty tapestries on the opposite side of the room from the windows, but Grace didn’t want to contemplate that.

Zahra nodded and darted around the smoke away from the flame.

Grace turned to Lillias, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Lillias, listen to me. I need you to stay alert. We’ve not much time before this room is in flames and we need to sort a way out.”

A whimper rose from her sister’s throat.

“It’s locked, Sayyida.” Zahra announced, coming back to her side as the flames took hold of the nearest bookcase to the door Lady Blair had just exited.

Lillias’ eyes began to roll back but Grace gave her cheeks a little smack, bringing Lillias’ eyes wide open. “I’m sorry, Lillias, but you cannot faint. For Thomas’ sake, you have to keep your head. Do you understand?”

Lillias blinked, tears welling in her eyes, but nodded. Her chin quivered, but at least, she didn’t faint.

Grace turned to survey the room. One door was locked, but … Her gaze landed on the secret door in the wall. She rushed over, pushing against the panel with all her strength. Nothing. Not even a budge.

“Here!” Zahra pointed out the lever, half-hidden in the shadows. Grace yanked it down with all her might, but the mechanism refused to budge. The men must have damaged it in their fight.

Flames licked up one wall, consuming the bookshelf now and getting ready to light the next one. Smoke rose, dark and thick, from the rug nearby. They didn’t have long.