Ruby was so thunderstruck by the appearance of their crew that she almost did not see it happen. In one graceful motion, Penney spun, tore the rifle out of Gerry’s hand, and lifted it to point at Archer.
Or at least, he would have lifted it. He was halfway through the motion when Archer stepped forward and slammed his fist into Penney’s face.
Penney dropped like a stone. Archer yanked the rifle out of his grip, leaned down, and smashed it deliberately across Penney’s windpipe.
“That,” he said, very low, “is for my wife.”
Penney didn’t even struggle. He blinked once up at Archer, his face going purple and then, slowly, white. Archer held the rifle’s barrel across the admiral’s throat for a long, long moment, until Penney’s supine body relaxed into unconsciousness.
And then he held it there awhile longer.
“Good heavens,” Alice said finally from the kitchen. “Do you need a knife as well?”
Archer cleared his throat. His eyes found Ruby, lingered on her cheek, then shifted back to Alice. Carefully, he raised the rifle and set it beside Penney’s limp figure. “Don’t tempt me.”
As if his words had lifted whatever force had kept them still, Gerry and Eugénie rushed into action. They hastily bound the admiral hand and foot and tossed him unceremoniously into the kitchen beside his batman.
And Ruby, seeing that her husband’s hands were free, seized the opportunity to throw herself headlong in his direction.
He caught her. He wrapped his arms around her and held on.
His heart beat loud and steady beneath her ear. His shirt was dotted with bloodstains, and her cheek ached where she pressed against him, and she didn’t care—only gripped him tighter.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured.
“Pet,” he said. He reached down to catch her chin, turning her face up to his battered one. “You’ve no idea what I would do for you.”
He looked like he’d been three days in drink. His left eye had a starburst of blood in it, and they both smelled horribly of port, and her knuckles were raw, she realized, where her hand was fisted in his shirtfront.
It didn’t matter. He wassafe. Somehow, despite the admiral’s very best efforts, Malcolm was here, in her arms, and he was all right.
She went up on her toes and kissed his mouth.
He kissed her back for an endless moment, until, belatedly, he seemed to remember their circumstances.
His arms still wrapped around her waist, he lifted his head and addressed his crew. “Eugénie,” he said, “is there anyone else in this house who might be poised to sneak up on us with a weapon?”
“The house is safe,” Eugénie said firmly. “There were a handful of servants, but they didn’t seem particularly loyal—they all fled around the time Lady Alice started brandishing cutlery.”
Alice blushed charmingly and waved the carving knife.
“Good,” he said. “That’s very good. And now if you’ll forgive me for asking—what the devil are all of you doing here?”
It was Gerry who answered his captain—quiet, steadfast Gerry. “We waited. You two never came back out. Surely you didn’t think we’d leave you here alone.”
When Archer spoke, his voice was uneven. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I never did.”
Ruby was pondering whether she could use her port-soaked frock as a handkerchief when a polite knock sounded at Rear Admiral Lord Penney’s back door.
She froze. Her eyes went to Archer. Who could it be, here at Penney’s house at dawn? Could it possibly be Verdura?
Very slowly, with his eyes still resting on the unconscious admiral, Archer moved to answer the knock. His crew turned as one to guard his back; Ruby located her stave and held it carefully at the level of her chest.
But the stave, it turned out, was not required.
At the back door stood Cassandra, Signor Neri, and Lamentation. And in Lamentation’s arms was a filthy, flower-dotted, snarling Zenobia.
With a bark of pure canine glee, Zenobia wriggled out of Lamentation’s arms and hurled herself at Gerry.
