Yet he had done the noble thing, the right thing. He had sacrificed himself to give her a chance to get away and to bring all that evidence with her so that someone else might achieve what he could not. So that someone might stop the monster before it devoured them all.
She drew in a breath far calmer than she had expected. “Just that. It is out of my hands and on its way to those who can put a stop to what you are doing before you destroy two nations in the name of avarice. The authorities here as well as those in London. The game, as they say, is up.”
A cry tore through the room, guttural and animalistic. Light flashed on something metallic as he drew the blade from its sheath, the same blade she had seen him draw in the study five long months ago. And now that she was closer, she could see it was not just any sword, was not one he had brought with him that day.
It was Papa’s.
She blinked away the tears. “You killed him with his own sword? And then you stole it?”
A wicked smile touched the corner of his lips. “I didn’t have to steal it, you idiot girl. I merely had to ask Lord Fairchild after the funeral if I might keep it for you.” He held it out so that the tip touched her chest. Right under the three pearls of her necklace. What was it Thad and Winter had said about them?
That they were a symbol for how God’s path could be found in the most unlikely of places.
She could think of no less likely a place than this. God of my end, You have brought us back to the beginning. Your will be done.
“You were there.” Her uncle shook his head, a low, menacing chuckle in his throat. “I wondered, when Sir Arthur said you tore from the house as you did. And you are too much your father’s daughter to be bargained with. So I am very sorry, my dear. Very sorry indeed. But I have no choice.”
Gwyneth gripped the trunk and closed her eyes. She could pray nothing but Father!
A shot, and then another shattered the single pulse of silence, so shocking that she jumped and slid and landed in a heap on the floor. Her breath came in gasping heaves, her hands did a quick investigation of her limbs, but she felt no pain. No injury. Which meant—She scrambled up enough to glimpse her uncle on the floor and then sat again.
She had had enough of violence. This was a sight she had no desire to behold. But from here she could see the smoke coming from both the end of Sir Arthur’s pistol and, in the doorway, Mr. Mercer’s.
Arthur glanced to the newcomer. “I thought you were fleeing to Virginia.”
Mercer tucked his gun back into his belt and advanced into the room. Heading straight for Gwyneth, he pulled her up. “Are you well, cousin?”
She may not have been, had he not made a point of blocking her view. But she nodded.
He offered a tight smile. “I had a feeling my father would not take you peaceably back to England. And I had a feeling, too, that you and Thad would have already contacted the authorities. I plan to flee farther away than Virginia and had to stop here first.”
Arthur lowered his arm but didn’t put the pistol away. “Then I suggest you hurry.”
“And leave my cousin with you? I think not. I’ll see her safely back to her husband first.”
Gwyneth wrapped her arms around her middle. Unlikely paths, indeed. Who would have thought that Mercer, of all people, would end up her champion?
Though from the way Arthur’s face crumpled, he was no threat. Not anymore. “I am sorry.” It came out no more than a whisper. “I never meant—He swore you would not be harmed, that taking you home was best, and I…I ought to have known better. I will submit myself to your authorities here.”
Gwyneth loosed a long breath. “Go home, Arthur.”
He shook his head and rubbed at a temple. “I assisted in kidnapping you.”
True. And yet he had done so believing she had been mistreated and had come to begin with in fear for her life. Then he had been rewarded with her scorn. She shook her head. “You came here to save me. And you did save me, just now. Please. Go home. Live your life and be happy. As I am.”
“Gwyn?” Thad’s voice came in a muffled shout from the street outside. Seeking and eager and so very precious.
Gwyneth took a step forward, but Mr. Mercer stopped her with a raised hand. “Allow me.” He disappeared into the hallway.
She looked to Arthur once more. “I say it again, sir—go.”
Though he hesitated, at length he gave a nod. “I wish you all happiness, Gwyneth. If you are certain it is to be found here—”
There was commotion at the front door, Mercer’s voice, and Thad’s in a low threat. She smiled and moved toward the door. “Thad!”
A moment later she was in his arms, and his hands were running over her hair, her shoulders, as if checking for injury. His eyes, when she tipped her head back to look into them, were ablaze. “Are you well? If they so much as…” he halted as he glanced over her shoulder at where her uncle lay. “Gwyn.”