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“Why should I believe you?” she cried out, knowing Brown was behind her, the gun trained on her. She could
feel the floor shifting beneath her, creaking dangerously. At least this way it would be fast, she thought miserably, and she might take Brown with her.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said, his voice cool and emotionless. “But you’re going to—”
There was a sudden terrific creaking noise behind her, and Brown’s high-pitched laugh was eerie. “I do believe we’re running out of time. I had hoped for more heartwarming theatrics, but I’m afraid this place isn’t going to be standing for very much longer. If you won’t shoot her, Kilmartyn, then I will.”
Bryony didn’t move. She could see that Adrian held a gun, and it was pointed in her direction. Or was he pointing it at the man who stayed at the top of the stairs, still in the shadow, her body shielding him?
“I’m not going to shoot her,” Adrian said flatly.
“You don’t need to pretend anymore, Kilmartyn. I’ve told this little fool the truth.”
“What truth?” Adrian snarled.
“That you were using her. That you lied to her, seduced her, while all the time you were covering up your involvement in her father’s murder.”
“And why would I do that?” Adrian sounded very calm, and through the miasma of doubt and pain Bryony felt the faint flowering of hope.
“For entertainment, of course. But this grows tedious, old man. Enough is enough.”
She heard an ominous clicking sound, and she froze, knowing she was going to die, when another gust of wind hit the side of the house, shaking the entire building. There was a sudden great rending noise, as if the world were being split in two, and then his scream, high-pitched and panicked. She whirled around, looking for the monster who’d brought her to this death trap, but the stairs were empty. In fact, the stairs were gone, taking Brown with them, and she stared in horror, feeling the floor shift beneath her feet.
“What was that?” Adrian snapped, moving closer.
He was still holding the gun, she realized. Would he be able to hit her from across that open stretch of flooring? Would it matter? There was no way out for her.
“The stairs have collapsed,” she said in a dull voice. “I’m afraid your friend is gone.”
“He’s not my goddamned friend. I have no idea who that man is, and I don’t care. If he’s gone then there’s nothing to stop you from coming over here.”
She gave him a look of stark disbelief. “Are you mad? There’s a gaping hole between us that goes all the way down to the basement and the bodies of your wife and her maid. You’ll just throw me down there anyway—why not save you the trouble and wait for the floor to finish collapsing?” Her voice was bitter.
“If you keep talking we won’t have long to wait,” he snarled. “You have to trust me. In truth, I don’t care whether you do or not, I’m not going to stand here and watch you plummet to your death. Get on your feet and jump, damn it, or I’ll come over there and get you.”
“Even if I wanted to I don’t think I could,” she said, and the numbness that plagued her feet seemed to have traveled to her heart. She no longer cared what happened to her, what happened to him. She’d given up fighting. She sat back, sticking her bloody feet out in front of her. “You were supposed to follow my bloody footprints. If I knew you were going to be here anyway I wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to slice up my feet.”
“Get up,” he said, his voice so cold and lethal that she found herself reaching for a handhold automatically, starting to pull herself up, only to feel the fragment of floor tip forward, a few remaining pieces of charred furniture sliding down the angle and plummeting into the darkness. “Now move as far back as you can go. Carefully.”
For a moment she didn’t move, staring at him. “You must be mad.”
“You have no choice, Bryony. You can trust me, or you can take your chances on the house not falling down.” There was no gentleness in his voice, no persuasion. Simply a statement of fact. “Which do you think is more likely?”
“Give me one good reason to trust you,” she said, gimlet-eyed.
“I can’t think of one,” he said. “Except that I love you. Now run, damn it, and jump to me.”
She stared at him, shocked. “Now’s a fine time to tell me,” she finally managed to snap back.
“I’ve been busy,” he growled.
“I suppose you expect me to tell you I love you too.”
“You could,” he agreed. “I’d much rather have you move your bloody arse and get over here and we can argue about the details later.”
“Let me think about it.”
He cursed, the words so foul she was impressed. “If you don’t move now you won’t have a chance to ever have a thought in your clever little brain again.”
