A Lily Among Thorns(100)

“Sirène, it would be better if I were not taken,” he said gently.

She stilled.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to. But it will be easier this way.”

“Easier?” She sniffled, and that little sound broke Solomon’s heart.

“A trial would be painful for all of us. You would have to testify, your name would be in all the papers. And without a conviction you may not even need those documents to keep the Arms.” His mouth twisted into something like a smile. “I’ll try not to stain the wallpaper.”

“You know I don’t care about any of that,” Serena said quietly. “Not even the wallpaper. Don’t you?”

“I know.”

“Then do it if you want to. I don’t want to see you strung up and sliced open either.”

“Don’t look,” Sacreval said, but Serena never turned her eyes away as he raised the gun to his own temple. Halfway there, he looked at Solomon.

“Elijah works for the Foreign Office, doesn’t he?”

Solomon nodded.

“Tell him—” Sacreval stopped, and gave a glittering knifelike smile. “Tell him I knew all along. Tell him I was a heartless schemer who never loved him.”

Solomon’s eyes narrowed. “Give me that gun.” René obeyed, frowning, but both he and Serena leaped forward when Solomon pointed it at his own arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Serena hissed.

“How much are you willing to wager that Rothschild was right and Napoleon’s been beaten?”

Her eyes widened, some life coming back into her face. “A great deal.”

“Then England doesn’t need Sacreval,” Solomon said. “Enough people have died. You know damn well they aren’t guarding all the doors. If I’m wounded, it’ll distract Elijah long enough for you to get him out the laundry tunnel.”

Serena stared at him, then picked up the knife from his worktable. “Is it clean?” She was so pale that he was reminded of their first meeting, how her skin had looked bluish-white, like arsenic. Only the lamplight gave her any color. But her hand was perfectly steady.

“Of course.”

“Kneel down.”

There was no time to ask why. He did it.

“Whatever you do, hold still.”

He felt her slice lightly along the top of his head. Almost instantly blood began pouring down his forehead. He stood, and she hooked a finger of her left hand into his cravat, pulled him forward, and kissed him, hard. Absolutely without expression, she licked a drop of blood off her lip and handed him the knife. “Thank you,” she said.

The booted feet were almost to the door. She picked up the gun and fired it straight into the wall. Solomon wiped the blood out of his eyes with his sleeve and by the time he looked up, the door to Serena’s room was swinging shut. They’d have to wait in her room until Elijah and his men were out of the hallway, then get out without being heard and go down the back stairs to the kitchen.

Elijah’s footsteps rang in the corridor. “We’re coming in!”

“Wait!” Solomon called weakly. “I’m coming.” Serena wouldn’t be pleased if he let Elijah shoot her lock off.

“Solomon! Are you shot?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I just—” Lying to Elijah was tricky, but it could be done. He concentrated very hard on his fear that the marquis would be caught and Serena accused of aiding him.

He knocked the bottle of Madeira onto the floor on his way to the door. Glass shattered across the floor—that might slow them down if they tried to go for the connecting door. “Sorry,” he called. “Just a little woozy—” He did feel a little light-headed, actually. He turned the key in the lock and then, as Elijah pushed the door open, he collapsed onto the floor with an impressive thud. His elbow jarred painfully.

“Solomon!” Elijah cried wildly, rushing into the room followed by two of his fellow agents. They immediately made for the connecting door. One of them trod on Solomon’s hand in his haste, and he gave a completely sincere groan of pain.

“Have a care, will you?” Elijah said sharply, heaving Solomon up.

“Wait, not that way,” Solomon said weakly, and to his relief they stopped. He tried to sit up as noisily as possible, listening for Serena’s door opening from the next room. Was that it? Elijah started to frantically feel Solomon’s scalp. Solomon knocked his hand away under pretext of trying to wipe the blood away from his eyes with a supposedly shaky arm. “Which way did he go, Sol?” Elijah demanded. “He won’t make it to the gallows, I swear. I’ll kill him myself for this.”