The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Thoroughly perplexed, Pierce tried pushing the boot in the opposite direction. Then, when that was unsuccessful, he shoved at the other boot. Still, the door remained unbolted.

A sudden feeling came over Daphne, an ominous premonition of danger. Fearfully, she looked about, seeing nothing but darkness, hearing nothing but silence.

Still, the anxiety persisted.

“Let’s go,” she breathed, tugging at Pierce.

He nodded, simultaneously feeling his way along the man’s hat.

The second spring gave, lowering the hat over the man’s eyes and sliding the bolt back into place.

A menacing growl sounded.

“The dog.” Even as Daphne said the words, she remembered the venomous beast she’d seen tearing at Sarah’s gown the night before.

“Come. Now.” Pierce’s fingers bit into Daphne’s arm as he dragged her toward the conservatory.

Violent barking erupted, the sound of racing paws closing in at a rapid pace.

“Dover? What is it?” Viscount Benchley’s sleepy voice emanated from the second-floor landing.

“Hurry,” Pierce commanded as they reached their destination.

“Who’s there?” Benchley evidently heard their running footsteps, for his own approached at an alarming rate.

“Run,” Pierce hissed, scooping up their shoes and boosting Daphne out the window all at once. “Wait for me by the road.”

“No.” Vehemently, she shook her head, understanding instantly that Pierce meant to sacrifice himself to spare her. “I won’t go without you.”

“I’ll be right behind you. Now go.”

A heartbeat later, Daphne felt the cold night air against her skin, the ground beneath her feet.

“Run, damn it,” Pierce ordered through clenched teeth, already hoisting himself through the open window.

He was standing beside her when the shot rang out.

Pierce’s hand flew to his shoulder, a muffled groan escaping his lips.

“Where are you, you bloody bastard?” Benchley bellowed, leaning out to scan the grounds. “You won’t escape. Not this time.”

With all her strength, Daphne flattened both Pierce and herself against the manor wall, holding her breath as she waited.

The moment Benchley’s head disappeared from view, she reached for her husband’s arm. “Are you all right?”

“We’ve got to get off the grounds,” Pierce managed, blood seeping through his fingers. “Before Benchley has time to alert his guards.”

“But you’re—”

“There isn’t time.” Even as he spoke, the house came to life, voices and lamplight splitting the peace of night. “Let’s go.” Fighting the stinging pain in his shoulder, Pierce took Daphne’s hand, keeping her flush to the manor as they sidestepped their way to the building’s edge.

Acres of sprawling land stretched between them and safety.

“We’ll never get past all those men,” Daphne panted, her terrified gaze taking in the immense stretch of gardens, utterly exposed by the moon’s brilliant glow.

“What you suggested earlier,” Pierce muttered unsteadily. “I have an idea.” In one motion he yanked off his mask, reaching over to remove Daphne’s as well. Swiftly, he shoved them inside his coat, then unbound Daphne’s tawny tresses, letting them tumble free to her shoulders.

“Pierce, you’ve been shot. Are you insane?” Daphne gasped.