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“Get over there where I can see you,” Crompton was ordering Stacie. “Next to Lady Anastasia.”
Breanna saw Stacie regain control, saw the flicker in her eyes as she reached the same realization Breanna had. She did as Crompton asked, walking slowly, her chin held high. “Next to Lady Anastasia? I am Lady Anastasia.”
“Unless I am Breanna challenged, boldly meeting his gaze.
For the first time, Crompton became aware of their identical appearances and voice inflections, and he hesitated, looking quickly from one of them to the other. “What kind of childish game are you playing?”
“No game, my lord.” Breanna didn't know where she found the strength to confront him. But she did— just as she'd confronted her father last summer.
“It's reality,” she continued, hearing her own voice—no, Stacie's voice, but coming from her mouth. “We're just pointing out that either of us could be Anastasia. Or Breanna. And that presents you with a problem. You did boast you could kill each of us with one bullet—and that the first bullet was meant for Anastasia. Well, how do you intend to manage that without knowing which of us is she?”
Crompton's eyes narrowed. “I've been an expert marksman for more years than you've been alive. I've never been bested, not in or out of battle. Do you honestly believe you—two insignificant little chits—can outwit me?”
“We're not trying to outwit you,” Breanna assured him, curtaining all signs of arrogance. “We're just curious. You've sent us note after note declaring your superiority, vowing your intentions and your capabilities. We're just curious how you would carry out your plan given this particular counterattack. Even if it is being launched by two insignificant chits.”
A muscle pulsed in Crompton's cheek, and he turned his furious gaze on Breanna. “You've given yourself away. Breanna is a mouse. Medford made sure of it. Clearly, you're Anastasia.” He paused, gauging her reaction.
“Maybe I am,” Breanna agreed.
“On the other hand, maybe not,” Stacie posed. “After all, my uncle has been in prison for months now. Breanna has come into her own during that time. So how can you be sure I'm not Anastasia? You disappoint us, my lord. You've never relied upon inferior tactics such as badgering people into providing you with answers. You've always found your own answers. Anyone can make a lucky guess. But you've always been so certain.”
“You have us at your mercy” Breanna admitted with a sad shrug. “We know that. We realize we're both going to die. We only want to know how you're going to kill us without risking your entire reputation.”
There was a wild light in Crompton's eyes now. “Damn you both. I won't forfeit my rank and position. I'm the ultimate marksman. I can outmaneuver anyone.”
He broke off, sweat beading on his brow, the tension in his arm easing a bit as his deranged but brilliant mind raced for answers.
For an instant, Breanna thought they had won, that he was actually going to crumple before their eyes.
She was truly considering lunging for his gun, when he snapped back to attention. A sudden triumphant smile curved his lips, and his self-control reasserted itself, the wildness in his eyes dimming. His arm stiffened, his fingers gripping the pistol even more firmly than before.
“Very well,” he said silkily. “Let's have it your way. I won't waste a bullet. I'll just designate a third—one per person. After all, there is a third person here to consider.” He lowered his pistol a n
otch, aiming for Breanna's abdomen. “My first bullet will go to your child. Your unborn child.” He jerked his wrist sideways, shifting to aim at Stacie's abdomen. “It will die before its mother. So bid it farewell.” His arm lurched back and forth, alternating between the two women.
It was Stacie who acted, instinctively leaning over to shield her unborn babe, covering her abdomen with both hands.
Crompton inclined his head in mock tribute. “A touching show of maternal protectiveness, Lady Sheldrake. And an ingenious approach on my part. Now I am certain.” He turned his gun on her, gestured for her to straighten. “Now that we've established my superiority and resolved this amusing deception, I can finish my business and be gone.”
He raised his arm a notch, aiming for her heart.
Without thinking, Breanna lurched to the left, planted herself in front of Stacie. “The only way you're going to kill my cousin is through me,” she announced in a murderous tone that was totally foreign to her. She reached around behind her, held Stacie's arm so she remained firmly in place. “I can't stop you from killing us. But I won't give you the satisfaction of doing it the way you planned. You're going to fail, Lord Crompton. At least on some level. I'm going to die first. You won't rectify last summer's mistake beforehand. Nor will I watch Stacie die. So, once again, you'll be bested.”
With a vile oath, Crompton strode over, grabbed Breanna by the throat, his fingers biting into her as he flung her aside. “No, you little bitch, I won't.” He moved quickly, before she had an opportunity to catch her breath much less rise. He lowered his booted foot to her chest and pressed, pinning her painfully to the ground. “Say good-bye to your cousin,” he commanded, raising his pistol and pointing it at Anastasia. “She's about to die. And then I'll finally, fi nally have the ultimate pleasure of blasting away your life.”
“Think again, Crompton.”
Royce's voice rumbled out of nowhere, and Crompton whipped around, pistol raised.
He was still in motion when Royce's shot rang out.
The bullet pierced Crompton's chest, sent him jerking backwards from the impact.
A look of utter disbelief crossed his face.
Then, he slumped to the ground, less than a foot away from Breanna.
Royce walked over, his pistol still aimed and ready. He bent over Crompton's body to make sure he was indeed dead. Satisfied, he helped Breanna to her feet held her tightly against him as he stared down at the blood seeping through Crompton's coat, soaking the fine wool.
