Chapter Thirty-Four

“Hello, cousin.”

The beautiful woman slowly lowered the pistol, her eyes narrowing with wariness. She tilted her head to the side, silky silver-blonde hair spilling over her shoulder.

Demelza Saint James was a beautiful woman, Daphne realized painfully. Beautiful and trim with almond-shaped eyes of such a pure and luminous green, it was difficult to believe she was capable of treachery.

Daphne had certainly trusted her. At every chance, she had refused to believe Darcie capable of this level of foulness. Even when all proof pointed to her guilt, Daphne had refused to believe that she had acted alone.

“So,” Daphne inquired nonchalantly, “was the red hair a wig? Is this your natural hair color? Or are you still pretending to be something you’re not?”

Demelza Saint James, formerly known as Daphne’s meek little Irish maid, lifted a brow. “I am about to kill you, Daphne. Don’t you have other concerns?”

“Not especially,” Daphne replied icily.

“Yes, the red was a wig.”

Stalling for time, Daphne struggled to get her talking. “It must have been difficult to serve as a maid, Demelza. Since you suffered from some daft notion this all belonged to you—”

“You were never worthy of it!” Demelza snarled. “Ungrateful, fat little piggy. This belonged to my mother!”

“Actually, it belonged to my father,” Daphne replied placidly. “It now belongs to Jonathan Morton. When he dies, it will belong to Elliot. You will never inherit this place, Demelza. You could kill off every single nobleman in England, and still this would not belong to you.”

“Your father was a fool to brush my mother aside.”

“Do you honestly think so? It appears he knew exactly what he was doing. What are you going to do once you kill me? Kill off my husband? Then what? Everyone in his line?”

“I will do whatever I must,” Demelza snarled. “I started the rumors, didn’t I? I made sure you were an outcast. Oh, how it thrilled me to watch you weep. I finally paid you back for all those years.”

“Did you?” Daphne breathed.

“I did,” she claimed victoriously. She began to pace back in forth in front of the frozen hearth. “Not that I had to look very far. The whole household was abuzz with your infatuation with that cold-hearted Duke.”

Daphne recalled her misconduct. Looking for him in his bedroom. Falling asleep in his bed. Looking back, everyone must have known from the start how she cared for him. It brought heated color to her cheeks.

“It was a simple matter to tell Earl of Brentwood all about it. He was so gullible. I probably wouldn’t have had to go to bed with him if I had not wished it,” Demelza said thoughtfully.

Daphne made a face of disgust. Who would want to go to bed with something so vile? She shook her head. What was she thinking? Brentwood was a real treasure compared to this woman’s treachery.

“When I killed your manservant, I decided to make a few suggestions to him. He still hasn’t returned from Scotland. I wonder what’s keeping him.”

“He’s dead,” Daphne told her cheerfully.

Demelza glared at her.

“He is,” she affirmed. “My husband shot him. He wept like the coward he is in the end. He begged and pleaded, but one does not so easily escape James. Unlike your lover, he has courage and honor.”

“You are so naïve,” Demelza sneered. “It would have been so much easier if you had not married him.”

“Easier for you, perhaps. I suppose you pursued him just to get back at me, too.”

Green eyes glinted with malice. “He refused me.”

Love blossomed in her heart. Her love had not taken her to his bed. There was a chance for them, after all. She might win his love yet. Even as joy filled her soul, she went cold. Demelza caressed her pistol lovingly.

“So few men dare to deny me. I can hardly believe two of your lovers dared such an insult.” She nodded at the prone figure of Elliot.

“I suppose they were able to see how ugly you truly are,” Daphne provoked.

Hissing, Demelza strode to the window. Daphne crouched down, pressing her fingers to Elliot’s throat. His shirt was soaked through with blood. Even as she felt his thready pulse, his eyes opened.

“Daph,” he groaned. “Get away. She’s…mad.”

“Yes, I know,” she said soothingly.

“Is that imbecile still alive?” the madwoman demanded.

Daphne removed her cloak, wrapping it around her cousin.

“Well, well, much stronger than he looks, isn’t he?”

Daphne wrapped her arm around his waist. Elliot clung to her shoulders as they struggled to get him on his feet. Breathing heavily, he leaned back against the wall.

“I am astounded that a little piggy like you could have two men sniffing after you.”

Elliot stiffened against her. “Do…not…speak to her…that way!”

“He is brazen,” Demelza laughed. It was a sound of absolute evil and wickedness.

Chilled, Daphne lifted her chin. “Elliot has honor, Demelza. I would not expect someone like you to understand.”

“Someone like me?”

Daphne’s eyes blazed. “Someone like you,” she agreed coldly.

Demelza lifted her gun, aiming it at Daphne with gleeful conclusion.

“Any last requests, cousin?”

* * * *

James burst through the door as the gun went off. He looked around wildly, only to duck as an ivory-handed pistol came hurling at him through the air.

“What the…”

His eyes widened at the impossible sight that met his eyes. His wife was… magnificent. He watched as she raised her hand again, slapping Demelza Saint James clean across her flawless cheek. She curled her tiny little hand into a tight fist and, he noted with pride, remembered not to tuck her thumb inside. As she yanked the crazed woman’s long, silvery hair back, she punched her, straight in her flawless nose. Blood pooled from her nostrils.

“You broke my nose,” the woman cried hysterically.

“That’s not all I’ll break, you brazen hussy!”

She was a dervish, furious, violent, dangerous. She was, James thought, his perfect match. Satisfied that she could handle this particular situation on her own for a few minutes, he turned to the young man leaning heavily against the wall.

“Are you badly injured?” he asked quietly.

Elliot stared at him with eyes glazed with pain. “I guess you might deserve her, after all,” he hissed.

James yanked Daphne’s cloak back, wincing at the sight of blood. Second gunshot in a number of months. Careful not to jar him more than necessary, he ripped the spoiled material apart so that he could see how bad the wound truly was.

“You’re a lucky bastard,” he said lightly.

Elliot blinked at him.

“It is your shoulder. It is a clean wound. Looks like it went straight through.”

Elliot’s legs went weak with relief. He slid down the wall, leaving a streak of reddish-black along the wall.

“…weak-minded, crazed bitch!”

In unison, the two men turned to stare at Daphne. Demelza was curled into a tight ball, weeping and begging for mercy. Daphne, apparently, had none to spare. Gripping her hair, she yanked her head away from her protective arms and slammed her fist into her face again. This time, everyone heard the crunch of breaking bone.

“You killed my father!” Daphne heaved.

James felt all the blood drain from his chest as he realized what this must be doing to her. This was where she’d found her father. This is where her cousin had been shot.

This is where that lunatic thought to end her life.

“Daphne,” James said quelling, “that is enough.”

Her head shot up, chocolate eyes met gold and held.

“She killed my father.”

James nodded. “I know, sweetheart.”

“She shot Elliot.”

“He is going to be okay,” James promised her.

“She was going to kill you!”

With that, she burst into tears and hurled herself at him. His arms wrapped around her, holding her safe and secure. She clung to him, kissing desperately at anything she could find. In the corner, Elliot managed a pained smile at the touching scene. No one was paying attention to Demelza.

It was a mistake.

Weeping, she crawled across the room, fetching her gun. Shaking, she stood up, green eyes glazed with madness. She slowly cocked back the hammer.

An explosion rent the room, leaving a quaking silence in its wake. James and Daphne pulled apart, shocked. They stared as a slow hole appeared in the center of Demelza’s forehead. Blood began to trickle slowly. Her face registered mute shock.

She was dead before her body crashed to the floor.

Three disbelieving pairs of eyes shot to the doorway. Annalise stood, shaking and pale, her eyes blazing with emotion.

“Anna,” Daphne whispered.

She lifted her chin proudly. “Chrys didn’t think I had the guts to shoot a gun.”

James couldn’t help it. It was such an anticlimax. He threw his head back and laughed until his rips ached. When Daphne sent him a quelling look, he laughed all the harder.

“This is no laughing matter, husband.”

“I’m sorry, sweet,” he said, choking. “Anna…she just…” He couldn’t go on. Chortling, he wrapped his arm around his wife. His beautiful, safe, beloved wife. She sent him an irritated look and jerked out of his arms, running to Elliot.

“Are you hurt badly, cousin?”

He let out a ragged breath. “Not so bad,” he lied.

She sent James an unfathomable look. “He needs a doctor.”

He nodded. “We’ll send for one, baby. We’ll head back now and send a carriage ‘round.”

“But—”

“No offense, young man, but you don’t have the necessaries here,” James said sternly. “You will stay at the Fold until you are fit enough to go about.”

Annalise grimaced.

“James, I shall stay with him. We can’t leave him alone this way.”

He lifted a brow. “I am certain my sister will stay behind. Won’t you, Anna,” he said meaningfully.

Her shoulders slumped. “Of course,” she said grumpily.

Annalise watched as they strolled out, arm in arm. She knelt down beside the impossibly handsome man. He sent her a lazy grin.

“I am certain you would have preferred Daphne,” Annalise said scathingly.

His smile warmed. “I’m always happy to be alone with a beautiful woman.”