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Anger blazed through Artemis, and she jerked her arm in an attempt to free herself from his bruising grip. “Let me go,” she hissed, blasting him with the full force of her she-devil glare. “Leave me be or I’ll scream blue murder.”
“I don’t think so, my dear,” he said. “You’re my insurance policy. You’re coming with me to Bristol.”
“What? Are you planning to skewer with me with the tip of your umbrella?” she snapped back, struggling against his hold again. “I’m not budging, you idiotic arse. I won’t be your damn hostage. You can go to Hades.”
A muscle in Gascoyne’s jaw flickered, and his eyes gleamed with a strange, feral light. In the next second, his umbrella fell to the ground, and he was reaching into his greatcoat pocket. The uncompromising muzzle of a pistol pressed against her side.
Oh no.Artemis froze.
“Perhaps this”—Gascoyne jabbed her with the pistol again—“will change your mind, Miss Jones.” A wolfish grin that was more of a snarl curled his lips. “Unless you want to feel a bullet ripping through your chest cavity and shredding your lungs and heart to pieces, I suggest you start walking.”
“Not bloody likely,” Artemis muttered. Whether it was her instinct to survive or utter stupidity, she couldn’t be sure, but with all of her might, she swung her free arm, and her carpetbag collected Gascoyne in the ribs. Hard.
The viscount emitted anoof, stumbled on the slick cobblestones, and then in the next instant, he was being tackled. Thrown to the ground by another assailant. A man.
Dominic!
Artemis cried out as the sharp crack of a pistol shot rang out. All around her, chaos erupted. Men shouted. Women screamed.
But Artemis was barely aware of any of it. All she could see was Dominic.
Dominic’s prone form on top of Gascoyne.
Her heart stumbled. Her jagged breath sawed in and out. Time seemed to fracture and still.
And then Dominic rolled to the side and, with a deep groan, hauled himself to his knees. Beneath the folds of his greatcoat, Artemis could see that his arm was in a sling, but otherwise he seemed to be all right.
“Dominic! Oh, thank God.” She dropped to her knees beside him, and as the man she loved beyond all understanding lashed her body to his with his good arm, her gaze fell on Gascoyne.
The viscount was dead. His sightless eyes were open, staring up into the leaden sky as the drumming rain continued to fall. A dark, bloodred stain bloomed across the front of his pale-gray waistcoat.
“Don’t look, my love,” murmured Dominic against her sodden hair. “Don’t look.”
“I won’t.” Artemis reached up and gently caught her fiancé’s beloved face with one gloved hand. “All I see is you, Dominic.” She swallowed. Licked her lips and at last found the courage to utter the three words she’d been dying to say to him for so very long. “I love you.”
His beautiful, chiseled mouth tilted into a soft smile. “I know. Entirely and unreservedly?”
“Utterly and completely,” she whispered. “I’m yours forever. If you’ll still have me.” Drawing a shaky breath, she locked her gaze with his. “But there’s something I need to tell you.”
Dominic’s lips parted as though he were about to respond, but then a dark, towering shadow loomed over them.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I’ve got a crime scene to sort out,” said Detective Lawrence. “And Your Grace, you might want to get out of the rain before you catch cold. You’re not going to succumb to another bloody fever on my watch.”
“Nor mine,” said Artemis.
“Good. You can take my coach back to Belgrave Square,” the detective continued as Dominic climbed to his feet with Artemis’s help. “I witnessed everything that happened, and Gascoyne has no one to blame but himself for his demise. Your formal statements can wait until later.”
