Up ahead, yellow lamplight spilled across the cobblestone from around a sharp turn. His assailant would want to catch him before he reached the light. The footsteps grew louder and Kiernan yanked free the pistol stuffed into his waistband, and turned. The man stopped ten feet away. Kiernan glimpsed a glint of metal an instant before the man drew back his hand, knife poised to throw.
Another man stepped into view behind Kiernan's assailant in the instant before Kiernan fired. The killer jerked to the left and hit the wall. Kiernan's mind registered the knife flying through the air toward him and he dove to the right. A shadow fell across his path and another shot blasted. The ping of metal striking metal whizzed an inch past his ear. He hit the ground and rolled. Boots pounded on cobblestone as he shoved to his feet. Two Metropolitan Police officers were yanking the man to his feet. Kiernan turned as two more officers rushed around the bend where Mather stood, his revolver pointed heavenward.
Kiernan scanned the cobblestones and spied the knife a few feet away. He took two steps, scooped up the weapon, and strode to Mather. Kiernan held the knife to the light. A small chip was visible in the hilt.
He looked at Mather. "You always were a good shot."
"A necessity, sir," he replied, and Kiernan knew he meant, you really are a pain in the arse.
*****
Phoebe ducked her head down behind the couch. Her heart thundered. What was Ty doing here? What should she do? She had no weapon, hadn't thought she needed one. If she remained quiet, he might not discover her. Once he left the room, she could alert someone to his presence.
She willed her heart to stop its panicked rhythm and worked to slow her breathing. Ty would be rifling through the duke's desk for one reason only: he believed the duke knew something—no, not the duke, she realized. Kiernan. But what? Her confrontation with Kiernan a few hours ago slammed into her memory. He had taken the Blunderbuss and his father's letter. Surely those items weren't what Ty was looking for. They weren’t incriminating enough for him to risk sneaking into the duke's home, and he couldn't know that she had taken them.
Her cousin had been acting strange of late. She'd seen no dark mood from him as she usually did when he gambled. He'd been more responsible, even concerned for her marriage, her inheritance. "Ashlund is filthy rich," Ty had said. "How could he possibly need your paltry fifteen thousand pound yearly income?"
The memory made her realize that Ty never courted any of the ladies who could bring to him the modest inheritance a baron might expect. Surely, he must want a woman who could bring something to the marriage. Perhaps even a fifteen thousand pound yearly income? Her stomach clenched. It was too coincidental that her aunt's lover Clive was the highwayman who escaped, and Ty had miraculously arrived in time to save them from the brigand. Dear God, they had to be in league together. But that didn't explain why he'd killed Adam.
A shadow fell across her, and Ty came into view standing behind the couch. She gave a cry.
He placed his palms on the top of the couch and leaned forward. "Enjoying spying on me, Cousin?"
Her mind jumped to a dozen different answers before she recalled they were in the duke's home and they both knew he had no reason to be there.
Phoebe shoved off the couch as Ty grabbed for her. She thudded onto the carpet, then seized the bottom of the couch and heaved with all her might. He slammed onto the carpet, the couch on top of him. Phoebe sprang to her feet and lunged past him for the door, but iron fingers seized her ankle. She crashed to the carpet, kicking. The heel of her free foot landed a blow to his jaw before he grabbed the foot. She screamed. Ty was on her in an instant. His hand clamped over her mouth, pinning her to the floor. The pistol in his waistband dug into her hip.
"Where is it?" he hissed.
She shook her head to say she didn’t understand.
"Don't toy with me, Phoebe. I want that letter."
She grabbed the wrist of the hand over her mouth.
"Stop it or I'll kill you right here," he snarled.
She stilled.
"Now, I'm going to remove my hand," he said. "Scream and I'll knock you from here to hell and back. Understand?"
She nodded.
Tentatively, his hold loosened. Phoebe made no move to scream and he lifted his hand from her mouth.
"You fool," she said. "My husband will return any moment and when he does—"
"The letter," he hissed.
Her heart pounded. Ty showed no fear that Kiernan might arrive. Terror twisted through her. She recalled the highwayman who, without provocation, intended to shoot Kiernan. Her chest constricted. Ty had sent them—paid them—to kill her husband. And she didn't have to wonder why. If Kiernan died, she would be a very rich woman. Her fifteen thousand pound yearly income would, then indeed, be paltry. But that didn't explain Adam.
"Why?" she demanded.
His face contorted in fury. "He intended to force to go to Gretna Green with him."
Phoebe closed her eyes. Ty had known exactly who the why referred to. She opened her eyes. "You miscalculated."
"I won't make that mistake again."
She started to tell him there wouldn't be a next time, but he cut her off.
"Where's the letter Phoebe? Tell me or I kill you, then your husband."