Chapter Thirty-One

Eleanora stood over Fincham’s still body, the blade of her dagger dripping blood over the carpet. Misery twisting her mouth, she kneeled at his side, smoothing his hair from his brow. The rise and fall of his chest had ceased. He’d taken his last breath.

“Oh, Edward, why did you make me do this?”

Sliding a carved stiletto from its hiding place, Rose concealed it within the folds of her skirt. To escape, she had to make it past Eleanora. Her mind raced as she worked out her path. After rushing through the door, she’d run to the back stairs and make her way to the kitchen. From there, out to the grounds.

She clutched her weapon against her body, and bolted across the threshold.

Eleanora surged to her feet. Her knife sliced through the air, catching Rose’s puffed sleeve. Thank God the blade found fabric and not flesh.

“I’ll carve out your bloody heart!”

Eleanora slashed the dagger again, but Rose bobbed left. The blade cut through the air. Another thrust. Again, Rose dodged.

Spotting a large marble sculpture positioned near the top of the stairs, Rose darted behind it. Mustering her strength, she shoved. Hard. The carved figure toppled directly into Eleanora’s path.

“You’re not going to stop me. Edward is dead—because of you.” Eleanora navigated around the obstacle, relentless in her pursuit. “Ring or no ring, I’ll watch you die.”

Rose whipped around. “I think not.”

Steeling herself against her revulsion, she drove her stiletto into Eleanora’s throat.

Eleanora’s eyes went wide. The dagger tumbled from her hand as her mouth opened in a muted scream. She clutched wildly at her throat, her hideous gurgling filling Rose’s ears.

Sickened, Rose turned away.

Eleanora’s fingers clamped like talons over her shoulders. With a rough shove, she propelled Rose toward the spiral staircase.

Nearly losing her footing, Rose fought for balance. If she fell down the stairs, there’d be no stopping Eleanora’s madness. Struggling against the woman’s unyielding hold, she slammed her elbows into her captor’s ribs.

With a low groan of pain, Eleanora loosened her grip. Rose jerked free.

Relentless, Eleanora caught hold of her skirts. Pulling another bamboo barb from its hiding place, Rose plunged it into the back of Eleanora’s hand.

Eyes glazed with pain, Eleanora tore out the stiletto as Rose ran down the stairs.

The crazed woman lunged after her. One step too far, and Eleanora stumbled. Desperately, she clawed at the railing. As her hand slipped from the polished wood, she tumbled down the steps.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Rose forced herself to look behind her. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she fought the urge to retch.

Eleanora lay contorted on the staircase, her neck twisted at a bizarre angle. Blue eyes as vacant as a china doll’s met Rose’s gaze.

Horror mingled with relief. The beat of Rose’s pulse in her ears drowned out the sounds around her.

“You’ve killed her.”

Cyril Merrick’s quietly spoken words seemed an observation, utterly devoid of emotion. His velvet-soft tone revolted her, even as it chilled her to the bone.

How long had he been there, watching and waiting?

“Well done, Miss Fleming,” he said coolly, a peculiar admiration flavoring his words. “You’ve considerably more spleen than your father.”

“She came after the ring.” Rose kept her eyes on him, alert for any movement. Closing her hand over the last of the three stilettos, she prepared herself. There was no way to predict what this madman would do, no way to predict when she’d need to use the bamboo rod.

“Did she?” His forehead furrowed, and he appeared to mull the thought. “Little fool—she thought I wouldn’t know she failed me. She made one mistake—she trusted her mother.” His mouth thinned to a slash as he approached her. “Now tell me, where is the ring?”

She uttered a silent prayer. “I don’t have it.”

“I know you don’t.” Regarding her thoughtfully, he frowned. “Campbell has it. Or one of his associates.” A mockery of a smile twisted his lips. “If you think I won’t kill you now—you’ve underestimated me.”

He took another step toward her.

Panic coursed through her. She whirled around, rushing up the stairs.

Eleanora’s body blocked her path.

Brutal hands clamped over her arms. Lifting her off her feet, Merrick carried her down the staircase. As her feet touched the floor, he coiled one powerful hand around her throat.

“You will die tonight. Whether or not I have that ring, whether or not the power of the ritual is invoked—I will watch you struggle for your last breath.”

“No,” she whispered. Would this nightmare never end?

Dear God. Help me. The words repeated in her mind, again and again, a silent prayer for strength.

Tightening her grip on the stiletto, she drew back her arm.

And thrust the weapon forward.

Seeming to anticipate her movement, he flinched. She’d aimed for his belly. Instead, the tip pierced the flesh on his side, beneath his ribs.

A hiss of pain escaped his lips. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he taunted.

She struck at him, but he caught her wrist in a punishing grip.

“I’ve had more than enough of you.” His voice had gone low and raw. “Time to end this.”

Terror filled her, but she would not surrender to it. She had to survive.

Fighting his hold, she used every weapon at her disposal. One foot plowed into his shin, then the other. Twisting hard, she rammed an elbow into his wounded side.

With a grunt, his grip went slack.

She ran to the window. Her cumbersome skirts slowed her escape.

He reached her with a few long strides, pulling her back.

Both his hands coiled around her throat.

She clawed at him, drawing blood. Struggling with every ounce of strength she possessed. But he was strong, despite his injury.

His hands tightened around her windpipe.

She tried to scream.

No sound came out.

Desperate, she dug her nails into his face.

“I am going to enjoy watching you die.” His voice resonated in her ears, low and smooth and terrifying.

The will to live filled her, permeating bone deep.

Kicking. Clawing. Writhing against him, she fought to free herself.

The pressure intensified. His fingers dug into her throat.

Much more, and he’d crush the life out of her.

The rattle of metal penetrated her desperate haze.

Someone was at the door.

MacAllister.

A sound like a battering ram slamming into wood broke through the echo in her ears.

A gunshot rang out.

Around her, the room began to tilt as a dark curtain seemed to descend. Tiny lights danced before her eyes. Through the fog, she heard the door slam against the wall.

“Release her!”

MacAllister’s voice. So he had come for her. Pity it was too late.

The blackness engulfed her.

Oh, MacAllister. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave you again.

…

Mac pumped a bullet into the latch. Still, the door would not open. He slammed his booted foot into the stout panel.

The wood splintered.

Merrick held Rose by the throat. Coward that he was, the blighter had placed her in front of him as a living, breathing shield.

Bloody bastard!

“Release her!” Raising his revolver, he took aim. The shot would be risky. His mind raced, measuring his alternatives.

“Go to hell, Campbell.”

Mac approached slowly, meeting Merrick’s cold-eyed gaze. “Let her go now, or I’ll pull this trigger.”

“You think I fear the likes of you?” Merrick showed no hint of emotion. “I’ll die for what I’ve done. If your bullet doesn’t do the job, the executioner’s rope will finish me.” His mouth curved into a viper’s smile. “I prefer to bring her with me.”

Preparing to take the shot, Mac widened his stance. Merrick stood a full head taller than Rose. And that made the bastard vulnerable, despite using her as a shield.

“Let her go.” Mac’s heart pounded against his ribs. He had to get this right. There’d be no second chance.

“Lower your weapon. Or I’ll snap her neck here and now.”

A vein throbbed in Mac’s forehead. Every moment that passed, Rose was in greater danger. He had to eliminate the threat.

He pulled the trigger.

The shot roared in his ears.

A small, neat circle above Merrick’s brows confirmed his aim had been true.

Lifeless, the blackguard crumpled to the floor.

Mac lunged to catch Rose before she pitched forward. Carrying her in his arms, he looked down at the spreading stain on the Aubusson carpet. As he placed Rose on a settee by the fireplace, Sophie and Colton rushed in.

Rose’s chest rose and fell gently with each breath.

He’d gotten there in time to save her.

Thank God.

“MacAllister,” Rose murmured as her lids fluttered open.

“I’m here, Rose.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her forehead, smoothing away tear dampened tendrils.

“Merrick…” she murmured.

“Don’t try to speak. Not yet,” he said gently. “The bastard cannot hurt you. Or anyone else. Ever again.”

“Oh, MacAllister.” Her voice was a raspy whisper. “How…how did you find me?”

Sophie knelt by the settee, eyes brimming with compassion as she examined the marks on Rose’s slender throat. “MacAllister would’ve moved heaven and earth to find you,” she said, giving Rose’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were very brave, Rose.”

Mac threaded his fingers through her hair. With the pad of his thumb, he caressed her cheek. “Colton, where is the blasted physician?”

“He’s on his way.” On the stairs, Colton crouched by Eleanora Thomas. “The actress—she’s beyond assistance.”

Rose reached up, tracing the angles of Mac’s jaw with her fingertips. “In my heart, I knew you’d come.”

Her lids fluttered closed, and she rested her forearm over her brows.

“Rest, my sweet Rose,” he said, lowering his lips to her ear. “Soon, you’ll be home.”