That the erratic hard pounding of his heart didn’tcause the building to shake on its foundation was a wonder. Ignoring the bushes’ determination to detain him, he moved swiftly to the window and peered through the thin slit.
Like some untamed creature, he nearly howled in fury and fear. She was there, inside, bound to a chair. Alone.
No, not alone. A man walked by her and whatever he said caused her to pale. Had he threatened her? Christ, he was going to tear him limb from limb. She looked to the side toward the entryway. Quickly, he put the stethoscope into his ears and pressed the funnel to the glass.
“—for a footman to fetch my valise.” He recognized the voice, even though it was somewhat distorted. Mrs. Mallard.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ava. We don’t want anyone to know we’re leaving, or more importantly, that we have her. I’ll get it.”
With him going up the stairs, leaving the women alone, Bishop knew the moment had arrived to strike in order to ensure victory.
Chapter 23
“I don’t understand,” Daisy said softly, nonthreateningly, wanting to establish a more friendly rapport with the widow. “You were seeking a divorce. Why kill your husband?”
Mrs. Mallard looked at Daisy as though she was a simpleton. “It was never about getting a divorce. That takes too long and is no guarantee of freedom.”
“My father struck you. What makes you think he won’t do it again?”
The widow’s cheeks turned pink and she glared as though she wished a hole in the floor would open up and swallow Daisy whole. “There was a purpose to his action that night. He didn’t want to hurt me, but Mrs. Winters had told me that Bishop was very protective of his ladies, and we needed him to have a public confrontation with Bertram so suspicions for my husband’s murder would fall on Bishop. Only for a time, only so no one was watching me. Until everything was in order, and we could leave. I daresay Bishop won’t hang.”
She couldn’t be sure of that outcome, nor could she guarantee it. The woman was a fool to believe this mad scheme could have a satisfactory ending. Even ifBishop was spared, the uncertainty regarding his involvement in murder would serve to tarnish his reputation to a greater degree than it already was. Daisy suspected her father’s charms had blinded Mrs. Mallard to reality. “Wasn’t your husband surprised to receive a blow and a threat from a complete stranger who accused him of striking his wife? Wasn’t he confused? Didn’t he question you?”
“He was in too much pain to do much of anything other than take the laudanum I offered him. I kept pouring it into him until the following night, when Lionel carried him down the stairs to the library.”
“What a coldhearted bitch you are.” The words rang out, frigid and menacing, sending an icy shiver down Daisy’s spine. She jerked her head around to discover Bishop, standing in the doorway like some god of wrath.
“Lio—”
Before Mrs. Mallard could fully scream for her lover, Bishop was on the termagant, his hand effectively covering her mouth. Lifting her easily as though she was a rag doll, he flung her onto a sofa, stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth before she had a chance to recover from his unexpected rough treatment of her, and then pulled her arms behind her back. He glanced around feverishly.
“They used the drapery ties to bind me,” Daisy told him.
With a nod, he stood, pulling his captive along with him. While she struggled, he managed to reach a window, where he yanked a woven cord free. Quickly, he bound her hands before grabbing another makeshift rope, lowering her to the floor, and wrapping thebraided strands around her ankles. He rushed over to Daisy and began untying the knots at her right wrist.
“You should prepare to ambush him. He’ll be back any—”
As though her words had conjured him, she heard the footfalls echoing along the stairs.
With a curse, Bishop sprinted to the doorway and pressed his back against the wall. He’d undone the knots enough that Daisy was able to further loosen the binding by moving her arm back and forth. She went still when her father, holding a large leather valise in one hand, appeared in the doorway. He seemed to quickly take in that something was amiss, probably because the lower half of Mrs. Mallard resting on the floor was revealed as she was striving to inch her way out in very caterpillar-like movements from behind the sofa. “What’s this, then?”
Bishop leapt at him, but her father twisted around and swung the valise at his assailant’s head. Ducking, Bishop still took the brunt of the assault on his shoulder, and it slammed him against the wall. It didn’t escape her notice that these two dueling men each had a lover in the room, a woman they would defend to the death, that they would move heaven and earth to save—
Only suddenly her father was dashing for the entryway door, abandoning the woman with whom he’d not only committed a crime but was planning to run away. In spite of saying earlier that he’d wanted her, had he deserted Daisy in the same manner when she was a child? Was that the reason her aunt had been forced to raise her? Because he was a coward?
Without hesitation, Bishop flew after him, in pursuit.
Daisy managed to free her right arm and immediately went to work on the knots keeping her left wrist secured to the chair. Hearing grunts, groans, and flesh hitting flesh, she couldn’t imagine her aging father was any match for a younger man who kept his muscles toned so he could defend women. Then all went quiet except for loud, angry voices trailing in through a door that she was relatively certain had not been closed, although she couldn’t discern the distant words.
Finally freeing her arm, she quickly released the bindings around her ankles, jumped up, scurried outside, and nearly smashed into Bishop, who’d been loping up the steps.
His arms, steady and sure, came around her, his breaths harsh and heavy from his exertions, as he brought her in close. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Leaning back, she scrutinized his features. “But you are. You’re bleeding.” Just above his brow, a trail of blood coated the left side of his face.
“The valise clipped me, but I’m all right.”
Looking past him, she saw her father was being held by two uniformed constables. Inspector Swindler was standing nearby. “What are they doing here?” she asked.
