And Then She Fell(110)

Barnaby crisply stated, “We were arguing the merits of breaking down the door over forcing a window when we heard the two shots, and nearly died ourselves.” He eyed the pistol as Henrietta, reminded of it, retrieved it from where she’d left it on the bed. “But I see Penelope took her own precautions.”

“Just as well.” Henrietta tucked the pistol back into her reticule. “But speaking of Penelope, where is she? And the others—Mary, Amanda, Amelia, Portia, and Griselda?”

All the men except James exchanged wary, resigned glances, then Luc admitted, “We insisted they stay in the carriages outside. Speaking of which, we’d better go down and explain.”

And grovel, Henrietta thought, but men like these would always act true to their natures, and, at base, all of them were protective to a fault.

The others clattered down the stairs; she and James followed more slowly, using the lantern to light their way.

In the front hall, they left the lantern on the table, turned down the wick, then walked out of the door and pulled it shut behind them. Or as shut as it would go, given it was hanging half off its hinges.

The small court was filled with the three hackney coaches they’d hired for the night. In the light of the streetlamp, various couples were talking, the men reporting, the ladies reprimanding, yet curious to hear every detail.

Arm in arm, Henrietta paused with James on the top step and looked out at the small army of friends who had helped them. She leaned lightly against James, so very grateful to feel the warmth and strength of him beside her again. “They might not have been there at the critical moment, but knowing they were close and would come to our aid gave me the courage to do what I did.”

“Friends. Family.” James closed his hand over hers, twined his fingers with hers and gripped, met her gaze as she glanced at him. “On both fronts we’ve been blessed.”

Henrietta searched his eyes, then softly smiled. “They’re watching us, you know—all the ladies. They don’t want to interrupt, but they’re dying to speak with us, to fuss over us.”

James let his smile deepen. “I suppose we’d better let them—it’s only their due—but before we do . . .” Lifting her hand, he raised it to his lips and, eyes locked with hers, brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Let me say it again—I do so love you.”

Henrietta’s heart overflowed—with love, happiness, gratitude, and relief. And with joy. Simple, unadulterated joy. She held his gaze and, stars in her eyes, gave him back the words. “And I love you. Forever and always.”

His lips lifted in a smile that held the same joy she felt. “I can barely believe it, yet despite all the hurdles, despite the determination of a murderous villain, we have won through.”

“We’ve won our future.” Henrietta beamed. “And now we get to live it.”

Together, they faced forward, and, arm in arm, went down the steps, out of the gate, and onto the pavement, where, as Henrietta had foretold, they were immediately mobbed by a coterie of curiously garbed ladies. After hugging them both, and oohing and aahing over James’s wound, said ladies dismissed their husbands’ reports as inept and insisted on hearing all in James’s and Henrietta’s own words—once they’d repaired to the comfort of Penelope’s home.

No one argued. Instead, everyone piled into or onto the hackneys, and the company adjourned to Albemarle Street.





Chapter Sixteen



It was after midnight before, between them, James and Henrietta had related their stories to the assembled company, and had in turn heard the tales of the amazingly complex, and at times quite mad, scrambling the others had had to do to follow Affry and Henrietta around the Mayfair streets.

“Keeping you in sight was one thing,” Barnaby said. “Doing it while staying out of his sight was another. He was the hardest quarry I’ve ever had to trail.”

“Still,” Martin said, leaning back in the corner of one sofa, his arm around Amanda, “at least we now understand why he was so desperate to kill you. He would never have been able to have a moment’s rest, forever knowing that at any time you might see something, or hear his voice at some ball, and make the connection.”

“And” Luc said, from his position perched on the arm of the chair in which Amelia sat, “while it would be bad enough for anyone to be convicted of such heinous crimes, for a Member of Parliament . . . the government, the entire ton, and all of society are going to be baying for his blood.”