The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,111
she looked up to find Tristan had managed to throw Poole off, and they were now circling each other. “You’ve made a mistake tonight, my lord. The last one you’ll ever make.”
“You’ll hang for certain if you murder an earl, Poole, but then you’re going to hang anyway, aren’t you?” Tristan appeared calm, his tone faintly mocking, but his body was tensed as he waited for an opportunity to strike.
He was the bigger of the two men, but that advantage was more than offset by his lack of a weapon, and Poole knew it. He grinned at Tristan as he toyed with the dagger, tossing it lightly into the air, then catching it by the hilt again. “Not if I kill you. I’ve never heard of a dead man testifying in court, Gray.”
“Another murder won’t help you this time, Poole. Lady Clifford knows all about you and Peter Sharpe and Lord Everly, and you can be certain she’s told Kit Benjamin. Your neck is destined for a noose whether you kill me or not. Or perhaps she’ll simply turn you over to Daniel Brixton.” Tristan’s lips stretched in a bloodthirsty smile. “I’d rather face the noose, myself.”
Poole’s face paled with fear. “Then I may as well kill you. I don’t have anything to lose, and I’ve never liked you much, Gray. Always so grand, thinking you’re better than the rest of us.”
Tristan laughed. “Better than you, certainly.”
This taunt had the intended effect. Poole let out a snarl of fury and lunged at Tristan. Sophia’s heart rushed into her throat as the dagger arced through the air. Anger made Poole clumsy, and Tristan dodged him easily, but it was only a matter of time before Poole struck again, and the next time, Tristan might not be so lucky. All it would take was one well-aimed blow, one slice with the blade, and it would be over.
She staggered to her hands and knees, her first thought to crawl behind Poole and grab him around the legs, but Tristan kept his body in front of her, shielding her as he shifted in a wide arc around Poole. He was doing everything he could to protect her, which put him at a further disadvantage. How could he fend off Poole if part of his attention was focused on her?
A weapon. Tristan needed a weapon, but what? Sophia scrabbled blindly at the ground, praying she’d come across a loose rock or even a branch, but she found only dirt and a few loose pebbles. It wasn’t much, but if she could get close enough to Poole and catch him unawares, she might be able to blind him.
Sophia snatched up a handful of the dirt in a tight fist and scrambled into a crouch, ready to scurry around Tristan to get to Poole, but a grunt of pain stopped her. She stumbled to her feet just in time to see Poole drag the edge of his blade across Tristan’s forearm.
“That one’ll bleed nicely.” Poole sprung back with a bloodthirsty smirk and flicked his gaze over the blade of his dagger, his mouth curling with satisfaction at the blood dripping from the tip. “Not feeling dizzy, are you, Gray? It’ll be your chest next time.”
Sophia watched in horror as blood spurted from Tristan’s wound, turning the sleeve of his white shirt a dark red. Nausea swamped her, nearly sending her to her knees again.
Tristan pressed his other hand against the wound to staunch the flow, but he didn’t waste his energy replying to the taunt. His gaze darted from Poole’s face to the dagger in his hand as he and Poole continued to circle each other.
Poole lunged again, missed, then lunged a second time, aiming his blade at Tristan’s chest. Tristan dodged at the last minute and the strike flew wide. Before Poole could regain his balance, Tristan charged at him, grabbing him around the waist and knocking him onto his back on the ground. The breath left Poole’s lungs in a stunned whoosh. Tristan fell on top of him and closed his hands around Poole’s throat, but Sophia could see his wounded arm was stiff. He was weakened by blood loss, as well, and Poole managed to throw him off.
Sophia rushed forward then, ready to blind Poole with the dirt in her hand while he was down, but for all that Poole lacked cleverness, he was a skilled fighter, as deadly with a dagger as he was vicious. He was up again in a flash, rolling