Page 33

Awarm trickle rolled down Callista's neck.

Blood. A wave of lightheadedness assailed her, but she shoved it aside.

She couldn't afford to indulge any weaknesses.

Not when the man she loved was in danger because of her.

Why hadn't she just waited for Spartacus instead of walking on her own?

She shouldn't have even left the house. If she'd been thinking of others instead of herself, she would have stayed in the kitchen with Mrs. Potter and helped with dinner.

But regret wouldn't get rid of the knife at her throat, nor would it get Everett out of harm's way.

Think, Callie.

"You've got your facts wrong, Batton." Everett, hands raised, edged a step closer. "Look at my face, man. Lillian already destroyed me. She's the one who came out unscathed."

"Unscathed?" Batton's arm tightened around Callista's middle, making her ribs ache. "She's been sent to a private sanitorium in the Catskills. Shuttered away from society. From potential suitors. Her delicate mind bruised and imbalanced because you sullied her!"

The flat of the blade dragged across the underside of her chin, the sharp edge slicing her flesh as Batton whipped the knife out to point the bloodied tip toward Everett.

The agonizing sting took her by surprise.

She cried out and tried to reach for her neck, forgetting for a moment that her hands were still bound behind her back.

"Callista!" Everett leapt forward then had to spin sideways to miss the slashing arc of Batton's hunting knife.

"I'm all right!" There'd been no gush of blood, so the cut must have been shallow, even if it did hurt like the dickens.

She blinked away the tears causing her vision to blur and focused on Everett. She could not let Batton use her as a weapon against him.

"I did nothing to Lillian," Everett insisted as he backed away from the blade, circling around to her left. "I offered to draw her portrait, that is all. She is the one who sent everyone from the room to get me alone and throw herself at me."

"Liar!" Batton dragged Callista from the doorway, prowling forward to stalk Everett. "You wanted to trap her. Force her to marry you to gain society's favor."

Callista stepped awkwardly, and Batton adjusted his grip around her waist. Something hard prodded her wrist. Something jutting from his gun belt.

"I'd never compromise a woman. Frankly, back then I wouldn't have had to. I had dozens of debutantes throwing themselves at me during every ball."

Was he trying to get Batton to attack him?

Callista stilled. Maybe he was. Keeping the knife aimed at him instead of her.

Leaving her all but forgotten. She moved her hands, running her fingers over the rounded hilt.

Another knife? Twisting her wrist, she managed to clasp it.

Now she just needed to find a way to pull it free of its sheath.

"You arrogant rogue. Lillian outshone all others that year, and you know it. You wanted her for yourself. Admit it!"

She scooted it upward, one inch at a time.

"Why are you the one coming after me, Batton? Why not her father? I'll tell you why. Her father knows I did nothing wrong." Everett lowered his hands, jerking one of his palms in an unnatural direction. Almost as if he were signaling someone to stay back.

Callista twisted her head toward the corner of the house and spotted a familiar canine face. Spartacus! If she could just get away from Batton, the dog would have a clear line of attack.

"Lillian's always been unstable, hasn't she?" Everett pressed. "That's why her parents kept her on such a short leash. Only presenting her to the public when they could control the environment."

"Lillian is perfection! The most beautiful woman ever to grace the ballrooms of New York. If I hadn't been on safari in Kenya when she'd made her debut, she never would have looked twice at you."

Everett's eyes widened. "You're in love with her."

Callista nearly dropped the knife she'd just worked free. Ambrose Batton in love? Surely not. If he was in love with Lillian, why was he flirting with every woman who crossed his path?

Leaning forward to create a bit of space between her and Batton's midsection, she worked at turning the small knife, hoping he'd be too focused on arguing with Everett to notice her tiny movements. She jabbed herself several times but managed to angle the short-bladed knife to saw at her bonds.

Everett barked a caustic laugh. "I'm no competition for you anymore, Batton. Go claim your enchantress with my blessing."

Batton jostled Callista as he stalked forward again. The knife fell from her grasp. It worked its way down her skirt to plop softly in the dirt. Praying she'd weakened the cord enough to slide a hand free, she twisted and stretched her wrists against her bonds.

"Her father refuses to grant permission.

Gave some rot of an excuse about ensuring her fragility of mind isn't passed on to future generations.

As if a man wants a woman for her mind. Beauty is what a man craves.

Isn't that right, Griffin?" His voice changed.

Less angry, more . . . menacing. "You took my Lillian from me.

Only fair that I steal your beauty." He raised the hunting knife and positioned the edge directly in front of her right eye.

"I think I might just make the two of you a matched pair. "

"No!" Everett face paled. "Don't hurt her. Please."

Callista sucked in a breath and tried to stretch away from the blade, but Batton's chest was like a brick wall behind her.

"What did I tell you, darlin'? All he cares about is your pretty face."

All she cared about was getting her hands free, and she'd almost managed it. With her right thumb tucked, she could feel the slip of the cord straining over her knuckles as she pulled.

"You're wrong, Batton." Everett's voice softened and his gaze found hers. "Nothing that touches her face can dim her beauty. It radiates from her heart. Her heart is what I love. Her heart, her mind, her laugh, her spirit. That is where her true beauty lies."

His words were so sweet, she nearly forgot to keep working on her hands. As her fingers finally pulled free of the cord, she loosed the last of her inhibitions as well. "I love you, Everett." He deserved to know.

Batton growled and raised his knife, shifting the angle so the end pointed at her chest. "I can rid her of her heart, too," he cried.

"Spartacus!" Callista screamed for the dog at the same time Everett lunged for Batton's arm.

The deep bark of the Mastiff echoed like thunder as Spartacus charged forward, teeth bared.

Batton shoved Callista to the ground and drew his pistol with his left hand as he fought off Everett with his right.

Terrified he'd shoot Spartacus, or worse, Everett, Callista raised up on her knees, grabbed his gun arm with her newly freed hands, and yanked downward as hard as she could.

With Everett gripping one wrist and Callista the other, Spartacus launched at Batton's chest and knocked the large man flat on his back.

Batton roared, tearing his arm from Callista's grip as he fell.

The gun!

On top of Batton's chest, Spartacus snapped at the man's face.

Having knocked Batton's knife away, Everett rose and planted a boot on the man's wrist, pinning his arm to the ground.

Both of her defenders were easy targets for the gun barrel twisting their direction.

Callista did the only thing she could think to do. She dove atop Batton's bending arm.

A blast of close-range pistol fire concussed Everett's ears. He flinched, instinctively ducking away from the sound. Until he spotted Callista on the ground opposite him. Unmoving. A dark stain spreading across the side of her dress.

"Callista!"

No, God. Please!

"Spartacus, stay."

Hopefully, two hundred pounds of canine weight would keep Batton pinned. Everett sprinted around the supine form of his enemy and dropped to his knees at Callista's side. Cupping her shoulder, he gently rolled her toward him.

Wide eyes met his, and her mouth opened as if she struggled to draw breath. "Gun," she rasped.

As her hips rotated toward him, he spotted the pistol and wrenched it from Batton's surprisingly lax grip. Everett twisted his torso and hurled the weapon away, the distant metallic clatter comforting as he turned back to Callista.

Cradling her in his arms, he pulled her to his chest and moved her away from Batton. "You're going to be all right, sweetheart." She had to be all right.

She leaned forward, a horrible wheezing sound rattling in her chest.

Had the bullet punctured her lung? He laid her on the ground a few feet from Batton and immediately searched for an entry wound, needing to staunch the blood.

Red stained his hands as he searched the fabric of her dress for a hole.

Worried his single eye was missing something, he tore the patch away from his weak eye, but still, he found nothing.

He pressed his hand against the bloodiest part of her dress, an apology on his lips, but she didn't flinch at his touch.

Where was the blasted wound?

Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Spartacus still had Batton under control, he spotted a small knife on the ground a couple feet away. He leaned over and stretched out his arm just far enough to grasp it. He'd cut her dress away. Find the wound and staunch the blood.

He reached for the fabric at her waist and fit the blade beneath a blood-stained pleat. Callista curled forward and touched his wrist. He stilled. Peered into her face.

"I have to find the wound."

She shook her head. "Not me," she said, her breathing beginning to ease. She pointed behind him. "Batton."