The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“Lock the door,” was all he said as he darted from the room.

Lillian paced the floor. Fabian had left without a sword or pistol. What use were fists if the beast had a weapon? She would call Mackenzie if only she knew which room was his.

Knots formed in her stomach. The Lord saw fit to punish her at every turn. Was she to lose her husband, too? She clutched the locket at her throat. Many times she’d been powerless to prevent Fate’s cruel hands. But she was tired of being weak and vulnerable.

With steely determination, she strode through the connecting door and into her chamber. She found the mahogany box, removed and loaded the pistol. With no time to dress she returned to Fabian’s room, pushed her feet into her slippers, grabbed his damp coat from the floor and shrugged into the garment.

The corridors were empty. No one stood guard at the gate. Relief flooded her chest. Surely Fabian’s man had accompanied him in his pursuit of the stranger. Lillian slipped out into the night, realising her mistake as soon as she crossed the heathland and spiky sprigs of heather stabbed her toes. Silk slippers were no match for sturdy boots when it came to midnight hikes.

Still, she fought on, eager to find Fabian.

Gruff shouts reached her ears. Squinting in the darkness, she noticed two black figures in the distance. Only when they merged into one did she realise they were wrestling. Lillian cocked her pistol and crept closer.

“You’ll tell me what I want to know damn it.” Fabian punched the man hard on the jaw. The beast stumbled back but kept his footing and followed with a right-handed jab Fabian was agile enough to dodge. “What is she to you?”

Bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, Fabian dealt the man a blow to the stomach. The figure groaned but lunged forward. He grabbed Fabian around the waist and tackled him to the ground.

Lillian thought to take aim as a warning, but she had one shot and knew to use it wisely.

The men rolled around amidst the low growing vegetation. Punches flew. Despite numerous grunts and groans, it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand. If this were a boxing match, she’d put her money on Fabian. But based on brute strength, the pockmarked man was a force to be reckoned.

“Go near her again and I’ll kill you.” Fabian’s threat hung in the air. He pushed the rogue onto his back and struck him hard on the nose. A sharp cracked accompanied the spurt of blood and an agonising howl.

“Not if I kill you first.”

A flash of light caught Lillian’s eye. Only when the rogue raised his hand did she notice he’d drawn a blade. With no time to think, she aimed and fired. The ball flew through the air at lightning speed, hit the metal tip and sent the knife flying out of the man’s hand.

“What the—? You almost blew my damn fingers off.”

“Trust me. Had that been my intention I would not have missed the target.” Arrogance infused her tone. “I could put a ball between your eyes from a hundred yards.”

Fabian’s head swung around in her direction. “Lillian?”

Having fired her only shot, she had but one option open. She stepped forward, thrust the pistol inside her coat and pretended to pull another. No doubt the beast was too stupid to notice. She aimed it at the man’s head. “Would you care to put me to the test?”

The man raised his hands. “Don’t shoot. I’m just the hired help. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Fabian stood and scoured the ground for the blade, finding it amid the heather.

The beast scrambled to his feet. The deep indentations in his skin made him appear all the more dark and menacing.

“What are you doing here?” Lillian stared at him over the barrel of her pistol. “You’ve been following me around London. Why?”

Fabian came to stand at her side. He had a cut across his cheekbone, blood on his lip. For the tenth time in as many hours, her heart softened at the sight of him.

“Who hired you?” Fabian demanded. “Was it Doyle?”

The beast shrugged. “I’m paid to follow Trevane and his sister. I’m to report on their whereabouts.”

Lillian took a step forward. “Report to whom?” Lord Martin was dead. After all this time, did his accomplice still bear a grudge? Was it his sole intention to cause mischief?

The beast pursed his lips

. “That I cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?” Fabian challenged. “Do you fear this man?”

“I ain’t afraid of no one, save perhaps a woman with a pistol.”