A deathly silence ensued—broken only by the jeers outside.
But Lawrence had no time to consider his next option. He was about to storm into the drawing room when a sound in the yard caught his attention. Cavanagh had scaled the wall, was in the process of assisting a constable to his feet.
Bradley’s sinister laugh rent the air. “You may as well show yourself, Mr Trent, though I must admit to being surprised you found us so quickly.”
Lawrence snatched the pistol from the floor and strode into the room. “While I am not surprised to see you here, Bradley, I am taken aback by your lack of a stoop.”
“Lawrence!” Verity gasped as their gazes locked.
Bradley pointed his pistol at Verity’s head. “Men do what they must to deter the curious from ruining their plans.”
“Did you honestly think you’d get away with murdering Layton and Miss Vale?” Lawrence aimed his gun at the rogue, hoped Bradley hadn’t noticed he’d not cocked the weapon. With luck, Cavanagh and the constable had their ears to the door.
With an arrogant sneer, Bradley said, “I can still play this game to my advantage.”
r /> “I don’t see how. I’ll shoot you before you shoot Miss Vale.”
While Bradley kept his pistol trained on Verity, he gave Lawrence his full attention. “You’ll be lucky to cause any real damage from that distance. Whereas Miss Vale will be dead the moment I pull the trigger.”
Lawrence glanced at the woman who sat quietly watching the proceedings. Fear distorted every beautiful line on her face, but her warrior spirit still prevailed. Indeed, the lady gestured covertly to her left thigh, which was where she usually strapped the blade.
Verity moved to sit. She drew her legs to her chest and hugged her knees. The action was that of a woman in the grip of terror, yet Lawrence knew she was reaching for the weapon.
With an inconspicuous shake of the head, he tried to tell her there was no need to take risks. At any moment, the constable would enter the room and catch Bradley in the midst of the morbid scene.
“What sort of man points a pistol at a lady’s head?” Lawrence said, intending to give the constable information regarding the current dilemma.
“Don’t pontificate to me. What’s the difference between killing a woman and ruining her?”
Lawrence took a step forward, froze when Bradley turned the gun on him. “A man cannot ruin a woman he intends to marry.”
Bradley laughed. “And a man cannot marry a woman if she’s dead. But perhaps we might make a trade.”
Events took a sudden turn.
Everything happened so quickly Lawrence’s mind struggled to process what his eyes were seeing.
Bradley grabbed the collar of Verity’s pelisse and continued waving the pistol back and forth. The constable decided that was the moment he would enter the room and apprehend the fiend. Verity’s hand slid under her skirt. With lightning speed, she drew the blade and stabbed Mr Bradley in the thigh. The man crumpled to the floor, howling in pain, but still, he kept a firm grip of his weapon.
Cavanagh raced to the front door, dragged the bolts and turned the key.
Chaos erupted.
Deafening shouts preceded the heavy thud of footsteps as three constables burst into the room. A man couldn’t hear his own thoughts through the commands for Mr Bradley to throw his firearm to the floor and raise his hands high.
Verity struggled to her feet. She darted across the room straight into Lawrence’s embrace.
Bradley raised the pistol.
“No!” Lawrence wrapped his arms around her, shielded her from the lead ball Bradley was about to discharge.
Panic reached fever pitch.
The police waved their hands and cried their demands.
A sinister smile touched Bradley’s lips. He pressed the muzzle to his temple, and in a calm voice said, “Cowards die many times. The valiant taste death but once,” before pulling the trigger and flopping to the floor—dead.
Chapter Twenty-One