Tempting Taffy (House of Devon #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,45
relief, there was. But as she rolled it in, the maid suddenly rushed in with knife in hand and attempted to stab her.
Taffy grabbed the lid off one of the salvers and smashed it against the maid’s hand, trying to knock the blade out of her grasp. Oh, Lord! What was she thinking? This was no woman, but Lord Gordon in disguise.
She had to lure him deeper into the room so Rafe could make his escape. She prayed the boy would not be paralyzed with fear upon realizing this was no game.
The sight of Lord Gordon was truly frightening. He was dressed as a maid even down to the mobcap on his head. He had a scruff of beard since he’d obviously not shaved in days, and his eyes glittered as though possessed by demons.
He stalked toward her, waving his knife with menace in front of her and enjoying her fear. She now played it up, taking slow steps back to lure him further into the room before she gave Rafe the order to run. “How did you get in? The Bow Street runners are watching every entry.”
“Those fools! Do they think they can keep me out?” He looked around. “Where’s the boy?”
Rafe was still hiding behind the door. “He isn’t here.”
“Liar!” He lunged at her again and she struck him again with the salver. Unfortunately, she held it in her right hand, which was her strongest hand, but it was also the one she needed to have free to reach for her pistol.
“He’s with his father.”
This enraged him all the more. “You lie! Falkirk walked out alone!”
“You’re wrong. They’re playing hide and seek! Hide and seek!” she shouted again and became the aggressor, swinging at him repeatedly with the salver’s lid until she saw Rafe safely dart away.
Please, hide.
She prayed fervently the boy would be safe.
Hopefully, he would run into his father or Mr. Barrow. They would immediately realize what had happened and rush to her rescue. But she had to fight as hard as she could to stay alive until then. She had to keep him distracted from hunting for the boy.
She went on the attack, managing to land a solid blow to his face, smashing the lid with all her might against his nose and hopefully breaking it. Of course, the Duke of Devon’s salvers were made of finest silver and were quite heavy. You could drop them, jump on them, and they would not dent. They were as good as carrying a shield into battle.
She kept hitting him as hard as she could, knowing he had to be dazed from her blows. When his knees began to buckle, she tossed aside the salver and reached for her pistol. Before she could draw it out, he lunged at her again and stabbed her.
A blinding pain tore through her shoulder, a pain that intensified as this monster gleefully twisted the blade deeper into her shoulder. She had no time to withdraw the pistol from her pocket. She fired through the pocket straight into his gut.
He cast her a look of disbelief, his eyes wide and demonic as he fell to his knees.
She tried to run away, but her legs would not move. All her limbs felt leaden. The room began to spin, now whirling faster and faster. She heard a great, pounding roar in her ears, like the pounding of ocean waves into a cave.
Everything turned dark.
“No. No.” She fought to stay alert, but it was a losing battle.
She did not care for herself, only for Rafe. Was he safe now?
Had she killed Lord Gordon?
CHAPTER TWELVE
GAVIN HAD JUST walked out of the library with Mr. Barrow and Mick when he saw Rafe running toward him in his nightshirt and floppy socks. “Rafe! Where’s Taffy?”
He picked up his son and held him tightly in his arms. “Rafe? Answer me, lad. What are ye doing running through the halls?
“It’s our game, Papa. Remember? Taffy told me to hide in my secret place and not come out until she called me.”
His heart began to pound a hole in his chest. “Why did she say that?”
“Because that maid was hitting her.”
“Blessed saints!” He handed his son to Mick. “Guard him with yer life.” He took off as fast as his legs would carry him, racing for his bedchamber.
Mr. Barrow carried a whistle on him and now blew it so that every Bow Street man would be on alert. They would not leave their posts, except for the runners who were off shift.