Not even the steep rear staircase slowed Amon’s headlong dash. A pained yelp and a woman’s scream greeted him at the second-floor. Josephine.
Judgment Day could not have kept him from her room, but the tableau inside froze his heart.
Jenny lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Napoleon snapped and snarled about the ankles of Josephine’s cousin, weaving in and out to avoid haphazard kicks.
White-knuckled fists clutching the duvet on either side of her voluminous skirt, Josephine faced the French fop from the bed. The defiance she wore like a shield would do her no good against the derringer in the man’s hand.
Bouchard’s soulless gaze never left Josephine’s face. “Stay where you are, monsieur, unless you wish to see the little tramp’s blood.”
When Amon took a step forward, Bouchard raised the pistol in a steady hand. Amon froze. With extreme effort, he smoothed a growl from his voice. “Put down the gun, Bouchard. You’re outnumbered.” He took another step.
A predatory grin snaked across the Frenchman’s face. “There is but one of you…and I have the only weapon.”
Bootsteps thundered down the hallway. Amon flung a hand above his shoulder to halt the reinforcements.
His brother’s disbelief hurtled into the chamber. “What the devil?”
“Easy, Ben.” Amon tamped down the fear gnawing his gut. “Meet Monsieur Bouchard.”
A hard-edged laugh erupted from some cold, dark hole inside the Frenchman. The madman’s gaze raked Amon and his brother, but the pistol didn’t waver. “Okay, now there are two of you—and I still have the only weapon.” His eyes narrowed. “Move away from the door, mes amis. I’ll not be denied what I paid to possess.”
Paid. The word rifled through Amon’s head. Napoleon snapped at Bouchard’s ankle. A vicious kick sent the tiny terror rolling under the bed with a single, high-pitched yelp. He did not reemerge.
Josephine bolted from the mattress. “Coward.”
“Josephine.” The stormy Gulf gaze that collided with Amon’s shredded the warning he meant to speak. He swallowed the fragments and put the plea on his face.
Returning his entreaty with one of her own, Josephine folded onto the duvet.
“I see we all understand one another. Move away from the door.” Bouchard’s thinned lips peeled back from his teeth. “Now.”
Amon cast an over-the-shoulder glance at his brother. His face betraying nothing, Ben sidled into the room. Hoping his expression didn’t reflect the sick churning inside him, Amon followed.
Bouchard yanked Josephine to her feet. Her cry spurred Amon forward.
His brother’s fingers dug into his elbow. “You’re not leaving here with my bride.”
“Your bride.” Another feral laugh burst from the Frenchman. “Not even on this pathetic frontier do men marry high-yellow trash like this.”
The spear that impaled Amon pierced his brother as well. Ben clutched Amon’s arm with bone-crushing force.
Josephine lowered her head and shrank into herself.
His eyes glittering with triumph, the weasel ushered her toward the door. “Ma chérie, shall we go?”
A click in the doorway drew the Frenchman’s attention. Pa’s level baritone stopped him cold in mid-step.
“Monsieur Bouchard, I believe I have you outgunned.”
In the heartbeat before Bouchard could react, Amon launched himself at the Frenchman. They tumbled to the floor together. The derringer fired. Glass shattered.
The rage in Amon’s fist broke the monster’s glass jaw. Bouchard went limp.
Chapter Seven
One of these days, Dumont’s closets would explode. The skeletons just kept stacking up. Some still had flesh on their bones.
Amon locked the small storage room and flung the key down the hall. When Bouchard came around, he wouldn’t be able to do more than scratch his nose in a hole that size, and the sturdy door would keep him out of trouble long enough for Amon to untangle the mess in Jo’s bedchamber.
I’ll not be denied what I paid to possess. The words scraped the brand on Amon’s soul. If Bouchard told the truth, Ben must be boiling.
His brother barreled into him in the hallway, sidestepped, and shoved past. “Out of my way.”
“Ben?” Amon’s call stopped his brother at the top of the stairs.
Bennett’s rigid shoulders slumped. Exhaustion riddled his tone. “Thanks to the accident of your birth, I’ve spent my whole life trying to hold my head up in public. I’ve built a name, a reputation, a position.” The gaze that collided with Amon’s hung halfway between fury and defeat. “And with the stroke of a pen, your father nearly ruined me.”
A knot formed in Amon’s gut. “He’s your father, too.”
Ben’s teeth flashed. “Not anymore.” He shook his head on a long release of breath. “I’ll maintain the fa?ade in public. If you have any decency, you will, too. But I’ll never set foot on this cursed land again.”
His boots pounded down the steps.