A Portrait of Love (The Academy of Love #3) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,127
pointed out.
“I’m going to follow the hedge in the other direction for a bit and see if there is a spot we might push through. You should wait here.”
“We’ve got two guns and there is only one of him,” she said. “Couldn’t we rush him and—”
“Lady MacLeish said she saw his man Taft last night, didn’t she? What if he’s over there somewhere, too?”
Honey grimaced; he was right.
“Just give me a moment to go see.” He cut her a pleading look. “If I can’t find a way, we’ll try our luck getting to that tree.”
Honey nodded and Heyworth trotted off to the right.
The moment he was out of sight, Honey crept to the left, away from the protection of the hedge.
Right now, Raymond’s side was to her; if he turned, he would see her.
He dropped into a crouch, doing something she couldn’t see. In that position, his back was mostly facing her. If she made a run for the house she’d only be out in the open for a few seconds before she reached—
“I know you can hear me, you’d better answer me, Simon!”
Honey jumped at the sound of Raymond’s voice.
Simon was inside that building!
Honey swallowed, forcing herself to remain still and listen.
After a long moment, a voice came from inside; it was Simon’s voice but she wasn’t close enough to understand the words.”
Her husband was alive. “Thank God,” she murmured.
But her relief was short-lived.
“You know there’s no way out!” Raymond leapt to his feet. “I can’t let you live. But I can give you both a much less unpleasant death.”
Honey gasped at his words. Even though she’d mobilized Bella and Heyworth and had ridden like mad to get to Lindthorpe, she’d not really believed that Raymond was behind all these seeming accidents.
For the whole ride there, she’d worried that she was making a dreadful mistake and that the duke would be furious when he learned that she’d sent Bella to tell strangers that his cousin—his land steward—was a murderer.
And yet it was the bloody truth: Raymond was trying to kill Simon. And Raymond had said that he would kill both of them; so, the duke was in there with Simon.
It was like something out of a fantastical nightmare.
Raymond was now kneeling in front of whatever he had on the ground.
It’s now or never, Honey.
With the gun in one hand and her skirts clutched in the other, she ran.
A voice came from inside the house when she was halfway there.
Raymond pushed to his feet. This time, instead of pacing, he marched toward the house, laughing.
Honey made it to the tree just as his voice rang out.
“Good God but you two must think I’m an idiot,” Raymond yelled. He’d stopped a few feet from the house.
From where Honey now stood, she could see that he was facing a window.
“Why would I take exile in bloody America when I’m going to be the Duke of Plimpton? I’ll give you five minutes to say your goodbyes,” he shouted.
From where Honey was standing, she could see that Raymond was shaking with anger.
She could also see what he held in his hands: a lantern, of sorts, with a white cloth hanging from it. The cloth was burning and a thin whisp of black smoke was spiraling upward.
A muffled shout came from inside the house.
Raymond snorted. “I’m going to burn you both alive. That’s what I’m going to do, dear cousin.”
Honey bit down on her lip to stifle a gasp.
Simon called out something.
“No, I won’t,” Raymond yelled back, his tone one of excitement and triumph, “because I’m miles away, on my quarterly journey to visit the duke’s estates. And I have a witness who will swear to it. Everyone will know that you came charging here in a rage—infuriated that your brother had impregnated the love of your life.” He laughed, the sound chilling. “You’ve helped out immeasurably by tearing about the countryside with dear Bella, behaving like her devoted swain. Ah, poor foolish Simon. How we laughed at you—Bella and I—”
Honey blocked out his voice and looked down at the gun as she considered her few options.
Raymond was just too far away; there was no way she could hit him from this distance, especially when he kept jumping about.
She needed to get closer.
When she looked up, she saw that he was holding the flaming lantern—or whatever it was—in his left hand and a gun in his right.
“You have three minutes!” he screamed, his words jolting her out of her contemplation.