For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

great emptiness where he had expected to feel vindication. The driving need for proof had nursed him through many a lonely and bitter night, when he had imagined the triumph and the release of clearing his name. He had imagined confronting the true traitor, the one whose sins had been laid at his feet, and never dreamed it would be his dearest friend in the world. He finally had answers, but there was no joy in them for him.

“He asked me to look after his wife and child,” Alec said as Lacey seemed to shrink before his eyes. “Do you know where they are?”

Lacey bowed his head and closed his eyes. He gave a tiny shake of his head.

Alec let out his breath. What ought he to do now? His instinct was to let Stafford deal with it. Whatever punishment Lacey deserved, Stafford would be better equipped to impose it. But it was murder. He didn’t see how he could simply walk out now and wait to see what Stafford did, knowing that Stafford had cards in his hand that Alec knew nothing about. For all he knew, Stafford and Hastings might be well-pleased to hear Turner was dead, and thank Lacey instead of arrest him.

A shriek outside the door interrupted his thoughts. Alec spun around, flexing his hands and automatically assuming a half crouch, ready to defend himself even as he wondered who the bloody hell would be screaming. It was a woman, and he didn’t think Lacey had any maids, just a footman and butler besides the all-purpose Morris…

The door opened and Morris stumped in, dragging a struggling female form in his arms. Alec’s heart seized even before he saw her face.

“Morris,” cried Lacey in astonishment. “What the devil?”

“She was lurking by the road,” the servant said. He had one arm around Cressida’s chest, his hand wrapped around her throat, but his other hand held Alec’s attention. The man had a pistol pressed to her side. “One of them Turners.”

Chapter 30

Lacey’s incredulity turned to disgust as he turned on Alec. “And what do you mean by bringing her here?”

“I didn’t.” Alec kept his voice low and even, his eyes never leaving Cressida. She had agreed to stay behind. He couldn’t believe she would follow him, yet here she was, apparently unarmed and alone. Bloody hell.

“I don’t approve of shooting women, Morris,” Lacey snapped. “Not even that one.” The sight of Cressida—a Turner—had revived the old man’s bilious spirit.

“Let her go,” said Alec softly. “She had no part in any of this, and knew nothing of it.” Cressida was watching him with wide, frightened eyes, but no panic. He felt an absurd spark of admiration, that she could be dragged about by her neck with a gun to her ribs, and yet not dissolve into panic. Of course, it would have been even better had she kept her promise and stayed safely at Penford. Bloody, bloody hell.

“It appears she’s a lying, sneaking thief like her father,” snapped Lacey.

“Let her go,” Alec repeated, ignoring Lacey. “For your own sake, Morris.”

Morris grunted. He shifted Cressida’s weight more to the side, as if tucking her under his arm. Her feet swung helplessly, like a doll’s, as she struggled. Morris moved the pistol muzzle to her back, right at the curve of her spine. A shot there would leave her paralyzed if it didn’t kill her instantly. “You want to take her place?”

“Lacey,” said Alec in warning.

The old man glowered. “Get her out of here, Morris. I never want to see another Turner on my property.”

The servant grinned. “I’ll put her with the other one.”

“Where is that?” Cressida squeaked. She had begun struggling again at Lacey’s words, twisting against Morris’s thick arm.

Morris’s grin grew wider. “Buried behind the privy, miss, right where he belonged.” He jerked his chin at Alec. “You come along, too. It’s not nice to call on a man and make threats.”

“Lacey,” said Alec again, more loudly. A faint buzzing filled his ears. Not even in the heat of battle had he ever been more focused on killing another person.

“Morris!”

“It’s my duty to Master William, sir,” replied his servant, ducking his head. “I owes him this, too. Never you mind, sir.”

“Let her go, and I’ll come with you instead,” Alec said. Morris was a thug, big and brutal, but Alec had learned more than a few tricks as a spy. The first lesson was to abandon honor at the door, and never mind a fair fight. Morris’s pistol was a single shot. All Alec had to do was make sure that shot didn’t go into Cressida or himself.

Morris laughed. “Eh, no. Got you both, don’t we? Led the young master into trouble for many years, you did; got him killed, too, most like. No friends of the family here tonight.”

“She had nothing to do with Will,” Alec said again. He was slowly moving to the side, to where he could see Cressida’s face. Two spots of red burned in her cheeks, and her eyes were glittering. She was furious, he realized, so furious she wasn’t even frightened anymore. “She never met him or heard of him.”

“But she lived well off his death, and that’s enough.” Morris gave her another shake. “Let’s go, miss. Time to join your papa.”

With a strangled shriek, Cressida threw her head back, cracking into Morris’s chin. She kicked at his knees and scratched at his restraining arm. He cursed, turning his head away from her as she twisted, and almost dropped the pistol. Alec lunged forward to grab it, but Morris, still cursing, raised the gun and tried to aim at him. Alec dodged to the side to avoid presenting a good target, reaching for Cressida at the same moment. But suddenly she crashed to the floor along with the pistol; Morris had released both to grab the rope that had appeared around his throat.

It was the moment