Page 48 of What A Rogue Wants (Lords Of Deception #1)

Thirty

Madelaine bucked her body, trying to break the hold on her.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Madelaine,” Grey whispered in her ear.

She stilled, fear clogging her throat. Immediately, he set her on her feet.

Gravenhurst eyed her piteously. Warmth spread up her neck and over her face.

Gads! What a time to be embarrassed. But she was.

Grey’s hatred of her was palpable in his voice, his stance, the way he flinched when he touched her.

He pointed the pistol ahead of him. “Will you kindly move that way?”

As if she had a choice? She started to walk but picked up pace when the pistol nudged her in the back. “Faster, sweet. I wouldn’t want your dragging feet to get my brother killed.”

By faster, Grey meant run. They raced down the street, pains jabbing in her side. A large building loomed at the end of the lane. Grey stopped and jerked her to the side of the road behind some crates.

He shoved her to the ground, her palms scraping against gravel. An involuntary hiss of pain escaped her, and she automatically cradled her hands to her body.

Grey dropped down beside her, his thigh brushing hers, his tense, bulging muscles pressed hard against her leg. He turned to Gravenhurst who crouched at her other side. “You approach from the left, and we’ll come from the right. I expect he’ll be shooting at us.”

Gravenhurst nodded. “One of us should make it.”

“I’ll wait here,” Madelaine offered with a nervous laugh.

Both men eyed her without a smile.

Grey grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up. “Stay behind me unless you want your friend to accidentally shoot you when he’s aiming for me.”

She nodded, too afraid to point out, once again, that whoever this man was, he was no friend of hers.

They crept through the darkness, darting around trees and winding their way toward the right side of the warehouse.

As they reached a door, a shot rang out in the night seeming to come from somewhere above them in the building.

“Damn it.” Grey gripped her arm once again. “You better hope Gravenhurst is all right, Madelaine.”

She tried to wrench free, but he tightened his fingers like bands of steel. “I do hope he lives, and if you want to live you need to release me and concentrate on killing whoever wants to kill you.”

He frowned. “I suppose of the two of you, your accomplice is the bigger threat since you’re not armed.” He gripped her chin. “One false move and I’ll shoot you.”

She nodded. Finally, he was going to concentrate on protecting himself. Later, she’d allow herself to wallow in the fact that he had no qualms about shooting her. She sniffed.

“Stay by my side,” he whispered and moved up the dark stairs.

As a board creaked under his weight, Grey bit back a curse and threw his arm out in front of her.

He touched the next step with the tip of his boot.

When no noise followed, he motioned her forward.

At the top, they rounded the corner and followed the glow of light coming from the end of the hall.

As they crept along, gooseflesh rose on Madelaine’s arms. Without a sound, Grey stopped in front of the door and raised his pistol.

She gulped back a cry of fear. A man, his face so hideously burned that she recoiled at the sight of the mangled flesh, stood facing the door with one pistol pointed at Grey and another pointed at Grey’s brother’s head.

Lord Ashford was bound by rope to a chair, a rag stuffed in his mouth and secured with more rope tied over his parted lips.

He immediately bucked in his chair when he saw them.

The wood scraped against the hardwood floor, but Lord Ashford’s efforts did him no good.

Angry sounds poured from him, impossible to understand because of the gag.

“You took long enough, Lord Grey.”

The muscle at the side of Grey’s jaw ticked furiously, but he simply inclined his head. “My apologies. I’m here now to make the trade.”

“Send Lady Madelaine to me, and then I’ll send you Ashford.”

A scream of protest rose in Madelaine’s throat. God, how he must hate her.

“I think not,” Grey replied.

She had to lock her knees not to crumble with relief.

The scarred man responded by shoving his pistol hard into Lord Ashford’s temple. Grey’s brother groaned in response. “I’m afraid I’ll have to shoot your brother unless you do what I say.”

Madelaine watched Grey. His lips move in a silent swear. Why wasn’t he sending her over? Did he truly not want to? Did he still care for her despite what he believed about her?

He glanced between her and his brother, the tick in his jaw becoming so pronounced she counted ten beats.

He loved her still, or at least he didn’t want her to die!

Her heart squeezed with happiness at the same time fear rose up and nearly gagged her.

If Grey didn’t make the trade, he would surely die trying to save his brother.

And maybe his brother would die too. Maybe they’d all die anyway, unless she did something.

She could save Grey and his brother if she was brave enough and cunning.

She’d rather risk everything than nothing as she’d done her entire life.

Praying she didn’t end up shot in the back, she bolted across the room, her muscles tensing and her eyes seeking an opening.

Betrayed yet again. Grey locked gazes with Edward as Madelaine flew across the room.

Edward leaned his chair far to the right.

As it started to topple, Grey pulled the trigger of his pistol, blood roaring in his ears.

Something sharp skimmed across his shoulder and caused his pistol to jerk to the right.

Pain, like the quick slice of a knife, yet different, flared across the path of the wound and coursed down his arms. His finger numbed instantly. He dropped his pistol by his feet.

He stared in horror as the stranger aimed one of his pistols at the floor where Edward lay. Grey’s legs propelled him forward to charge the man. Madelaine’s scream tore through the hum in his head, but a deafening explosion drowned the sound of her fear and all else out.

Madelaine and the man crumpled like puppets whose strings had been abruptly cut.

Grey reached them as her head hit the ground with a sickening thud, lolling back, her eyes fluttering shut.

He focused on the man. He lay perfectly still, face up and eyes open wide with death.

A dagger, jeweled at the hilt, protruded from the man’s neck. Good. The bastard.

Grey swayed on his feet, disbelief making the room swim. Madelaine hadn’t betrayed him. She’d saved him. He scrambled to his brother and jerked off the gag.

“Forget me,” Edward barked. “Help her. Help Lady Madelaine.”

Rushing back to Madelaine, Grey ripped off his cravat and pressed it to her side where he thought the blood was coming from.

From outside the door, noise reached him—a tap followed by a drag.

Someone approached. He laid Madelaine against the ground, lunged toward the dead man and yanked the dagger out of his neck.

Grey was on his feet when Gravenhurst appeared at the door, pistol aimed forward and dragging his right leg behind him. Gravenhurst stopped in the doorway, his pistol falling to his thigh and his mouth dropping open. “What happened?”

“Madelaine saved us. Do you know of a physician around here?” Grey demanded, releasing the dagger by his brother’s head and scooping Madelaine into his arms. Her head lulled back like one of his sister’s childhood dolls. A chill swept over him. She couldn’t die. He’d been wrong. So wrong.

He pressed her close as he strode toward the door. Her coldness made his chill feel like a fever. He stopped in front of Gravenhurst. “Is there a physician near?” he asked again.

“Milsford Street. One block over and turn right. He’s in the white house. Tell him Gravenhurst sent you. We’ll be there shortly.”

Grey wrapped his arms tighter around her body as he ran down the stairs and out into the night. “Don’t die on me, Madelaine.” But with each step, the coldness of her skin increased, making his throat tighten with fear of losing her.

He could see the white house at the end of the street, yet the harder he ran, the greater the distance to the house seemed. Driving himself forward like a man possessed, he reached the house, and kicked open the door instead of slowing down to knock.

A man, dressed in his retiring robe, barreled into the entranceway with a brass candleholder gripped in his hand. “Who the bloody hell are you?” the man demanded, his gaze sweeping over Grey but settling on Madelaine.

“Gravenhurst sent me.”

“Not again!” the man growled and set the candleholder on a side table. Grey didn’t have time to sort out what the man meant. He hoisted Madelaine up so the physician could see her blood-soaked side. “Will you help her? She’s been shot.”

“I can see that.” The man pushed Grey down the hall toward an open door. “My office,” he murmured to Grey’s raised eyebrows.

“Put her there.” The physician nodded toward a table. “And then move out of the way if you want me to work.”

Grey laid her gently down, his stomach clenching at her pasty skin and her blood covering his hands as he brought them away from her.

He stared at her, unable to make his legs carry him away.

He loved her. And he’d almost handed her over to death.

She must have seen it. Known it. And had sacrificed herself to save him. Shame and disgust rolled in his belly.

“Get out of the way!” The physician shoved him aside.

He stumbled backward as the man frantically ripped her dress from her body. Grey trembled so violently he had to lean against the wall for support.

Soft fingers curling around his arm startled him. He looked down into the concerned face of a pretty brunette. Her blue eyes blinked at him. “The best way to help her is by allowing my husband to work,” the physician’s wife said.