Read Sweetest Little Sin Online
Authors: Christine Wells
Sweetest Little Sin (36 page)
Jardine hissed in disgust. “Ripe for the picking,” he muttered. He glanced back at Louisa. “Stay here and cover me. If anyone approaches you, shoot them on sight.”
Ducking low, he made his way through the thicket, and she realized he meant to circle the house, rather than approach it directly.
Louisa lost sight of him almost immediately. She turned her gaze to the clearing around the cottage, her heart beating in her throat.
What she needed to do was give herself as much cover as possible and present the smallest target she could to anyone firing back at her. A prone position would be best.
She managed to find a suitable spot that had the added advantage of a large boulder behind which she could retreat in case of return fire. She sat on the grass with her back to the boulder, to wait.
The day waned and the sun hung low in the sky. How long would Smith wait to make his move? Until nightfall? With the summer twilight, that was likely to mean an extended vigil.
She didn’t know how many men Smith could command. Three of his rough henchmen were already accounted for. Radleigh was still on the loose, though.
She shivered and clutched her shotgun tighter.
Suddenly, there was a loud crack. Louisa twisted and peered around her concealing rock, to see one of the card-players jerk and fall backward, toppling his chair. The other player leaped up, grabbed his shotgun, and ducked out of the lantern light. She could see his outline as he dived for cover behind the table.
The shots came from the other side of the house, about three o’clock to where Louisa now waited. She didn’t return fire immediately, however. She waited until a dark-headed figure she recognized as Jardine slipped from the undergrowth.
Louisa didn’t know exactly where her target lay, but she knew the general direction. She sighted, fired, bit off a grunt of pain at the hard kick of the butt against her shoulder. She reloaded and fired again.
Jardine had made it to the house.
There was no answering shot. Perhaps whoever was out there was too surprised by the unseen opposition.
She listened, but all was still.
Then a crunch of boot on fallen leaves sounded behind her. She swung around, shotgun at the ready.
And there, in her sights, stood Radleigh.
JARDINE heard a shot and a startled cry behind him as the second guard fell.
What had happened to Louisa? The cross fire from her hiding place on the ridge had ceased. Was she having trouble reloading? He hoped to God that’s all it was. A string of oaths ripped from his lips.
The front of the house was entirely exposed. Jardine flattened himself on the ground to present and slithered to wrest the rifle from the fallen guard. It was loaded. That was something.
From the ground, he sent a shot in the direction from which the enemy fire had come. No time to find more ammunition. He threw down the spent rifle and drew his pistol.
Then he took his chance and ducked around the side of the cottage.
A shot whistled so close, he imagined he felt its tail wind brush his ear. But he reached safety, crouching behind a large beer barrel. Smith, or one of Smith’s minions, would have to come out in the open to rescue his brother. Jardine would pick them off, one by one.
“My lord Marquis.” The deep, resonant voice sounded close by. Smith emerged from the thicket, holding his hands up high.
“Don’t move.” The need for information warred with the impulse to simply kill Smith and be done.
Smith spoke again. “I sent Radleigh after your sharp-shooter, Jardine. Judging from the lack of fire from that direction, it seems he must have caught him.”
Rage roared in Jardine’s ears. Louisa! No, Louisa had a gun and she knew how to use it. He had to put his faith in her. He must.
He heard scuffles, then, coming from within the cottage. The back door . . .
A swift glance toward the sound, that moment’s inattention, brought Smith into action.
As Smith whipped his own pistol from his pocket, Jardine’s instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, Jardine fired. The villain’s entire body jerked and flailed as he fell.
Smith’s pistol went off, and the barrel beside Jardine split. Beer gushed from the hole in the barrel’s side, the scent of hops mingling with the acrid stench of gunpowder and blood.
Jardine dropped to his knees beside the dying man and gripped his lapels. “The list. Who wrote it? Who gave it to you? Tell me!”
Smith’s response was a choked laugh. “That, my dear Jardine,” he panted, “is the cream of the jest.”
The crack of wood splintering caught Jardine’s attention. He dragged Smith toward the back of the house, but he was too late. A man, presumably Elias Smith, shot out of the door, stumbled, regained his feet, and kept running.
“Elias! Elias, help me!” Smith’s hoarse cry arrested the fellow in his tracks. He looked back, hesitating but an instant, recognition illuminating his thick features. Then he turned and kept running.
Jardine took one look at Smith’s stunned, ashen face and gave a grim smile.
Twenty-five
“RADLEIGH.” It amazed Louisa that she could speak at all, yet her voice held not a tremor.
The taste in her mouth was an acrid mix of gunpowder and fear. The only sound she heard was her own heart’s frantic beat.
There was a brilliant, excited look in Radleigh’s eye, the one she’d seen shortly before he’d cut her. Only, now she held a gun on him and all he had was that pathetic little knife. He hadn’t even bothered to arm himself with a pistol. That oversight infuriated her.
“You look awfully cocky for someone who is about to die.” Her finger caressed the trigger. The butt of the gun felt solid and sure against her shoulder.
“Ha. You won’t kill me. Even if you could hit a barn at ten paces with that thing, which I doubt, you wouldn’t have the mettle to kill me.”
His words touched a chord of doubt. This confrontation was far beyond the range of her experience. Hunting was one thing. Could she shoot a man?
He stepped closer. She had to act. One step more and he’d reach out and take the gun.
One more chance. She threw as much authority into her voice as she could. “Stop now. Turn and lie facedown on the ground. Or I
will
kill you.”
will
kill you.”
He paused, tilted his head. “I’ve never met a woman like you. The others . . . they all sniveled and cried. Except the last one, and Smith put an end to my fun with her far too soon. But
you
, my dear. You are strong. And I’ve learned I like strong women. They’re so much more amusing to break.”
you
, my dear. You are strong. And I’ve learned I like strong women. They’re so much more amusing to break.”
Fear reached up to grab Louisa’s throat. Despite the fact that she was the one holding the gun, she was petrified.
She made herself speak. “I don’t want to hear this. I might shoot you just to stop your mouth.”
“You know, I really don’t think you would.”
Could she? Before this moment, she hadn’t doubted she could pull the trigger to defend herself, to end a life force as evil as Radleigh.
But her body was cold with fear, paralyzed with it. The same feeling of helplessness when he cut into the tender flesh of her cheek pervaded her now.
“See? You can’t shoot me. Despite your courage, you’re a woman, and women’s hearts are too tender for killing.
Now
.” He smiled. “I’m going to tell you all about what I did to your little friend.” He took a step, reached out. “And then I’m going to do it to—”
Now
.” He smiled. “I’m going to tell you all about what I did to your little friend.” He took a step, reached out. “And then I’m going to do it to—”
The shot blasted, obliterating his final word. Louisa had no memory of pulling the trigger, but she must have, because the stench of gunpowder filled her nostrils and the recoil of the shotgun knocked her off balance. As she regained her feet, Radleigh staggered back, crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.
She watched him, saw the stain of blood spread over his chest. He didn’t move.
Louisa swayed, put her hand out to clutch the tree next to her to hold herself steady.
Her mind was blank. Breathe, she told herself, but she felt as if she were sinking beneath water, suffocating, drowning.
Gunfire cracked below.
Jardine.
Her numb mind snapped into action. She fumbled in her pouch for a powder cartridge, took it out, and ripped it open with her teeth. Her hands were shaking; it took too long to load the gun, but finally, she was ready, stretched out at her vantage point.
She could make out nothing at first. The two guards lay dead in front of the cottage. Jardine was nowhere to be seen.
Footsteps running toward her along the ridge caught her attention. She scrambled to her feet and aimed, ready this time to shoot without hesitation.
“Louisa.” Jardine erupted into her hiding place, grabbed the shotgun from her, turned, and fired. She couldn’t even make out a figure, but an agonized cry told her he’d found his mark.
He gripped her hand and yanked her along, and they ran full tilt through the wood. She stumbled over her skirts, and he jerked her upright, giving her no quarter until they came to their horses.
“Up with you.” He threw her into the saddle and mounted his own horse.
“Smith?” She choked out the word.
“Dead. I think we’ve accounted for the rest. We’ll make for the cottage. Come on.”
JARDINE doubted Smith’s remaining henchmen would follow once they realized their master was dead, but he took no chances, riding across country most of the way, eschewing major thoroughfares and high streets.
Finally, they arrived back at the cottage, weary, their horses blown. They stabled the horses and walked toward the house. Neither spoke, but anticipation crackled between them like twigs in a bonfire.
Jardine breathed in the soft summer air with a sense of freedom he hadn’t experienced in eight years. The twilight had all but softened into night. Birds still twittered madly in the trees.
He stopped and turned to Louisa, drew her into his arms.
She clung to him, shaking. “I killed him, Jardine. I shot him and I—He’s dead.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Not sorry he’s dead, not that. Sorry that you had to be the one.”
Violently, she shook her head, shuddering again. “I’m glad he’s dead. I don’t feel one speck of remorse.” She lifted her face to look at him.
He regarded her with understanding. “It is no small thing to kill a man.” He thought of Smith, of the look on his face when his brother turned his back and left him to die. The brother he’d waited eight years to avenge. “Not even to me.”
“I know.” She swallowed hard. “Jardine? I—”
“Never mind that now.” He slid an arm around her waist and they walked together toward the cottage.
At the door, Jardine halted, frowning. He thought he’d seen movement within. A flutter of curtains.
Louisa stopped also, tilting her head. “Ives?” she mouthed.
“Perhaps.” But he didn’t think so. He didn’t think he’d mentioned the location of this house to Ives.
Maybe it was their friendly landlady, come to see that they had everything they required. But she was in the service’s employ. She ought to know better than to enter the house when it was in use.
Other books
Heat Stroke by Rachel Caine
My Life as a Cartoonist by Janet Tashjian
The Journey to the End of the World (Joel Gustafson Stories) by Henning Mankell
The Changing (The Biergarten Series) by Wright, T. M., Armstrong, F. W.
At Home With The Templetons by McInerney, Monica
Gallows Hill by Margie Orford
Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand by Delany, Samuel R.
The Vengeful Vampire by Marissa Farrar
Monster by A. Lee Martinez
Blessed Are Those Who Mourn by Kristi Belcamino