She regained her wits when Edgerton was easing open the nursery door. “Come now, Evangeline, I didn’t hit you against the wall all that hard. You’re awake again and chastened, I hope. Now, which way is Edmund’s bedchamber? Ah, I keep forgetting you’re blessedly mute. Perhaps behind that door on the left?”
He slowly eased the door open. He heard nothing. He stepped inside. He saw Edmund lying there, surrounded by piles of pillows. “Edmund,” he called out softly. “Edmund, come, lad, it’s time for you to wake up.”
Edmund sat up, scratching his head, then rubbing his eyes. “Who is it? Where is Ellen? Oh, no, what’s happened to Eve?”
“Come up, my little lordling. I’ve got your cousin Eve over my shoulder. She’s all trussed up because I can’t trust her to hold still and be quiet.” “Eve? Are you all right?”
She tried to rear back, but Edgerton twisted to the side, nearly slamming her head against the door.
“Come now, Edmund, the three of us are going to take a little trip.”
Edmund looked at Eve, helpless, silent, slung over Sir John’s shoulder. He raised his chin. “No, sir. I won’t go anyplace with you. You will lower Eve now, very gently. If you don’t, my papa will hurt you.”
Edgerton laughed. He took two steps toward the little boy, who was standing by the side of his bed, his nightshirt long to his ankles and white, his small hands fisted at his sides.
Evangeline wanted, quite simply, to die. Once again, she reared up, knowing he just might end it and kill her now. She dug her fingers into the small of his back. He yelled, distracted.
Evangeline thought she’d heave with relief when she heard, “I believe that’s plenty fur enuf, sir.” It was Mr. Bullock. “Sorry, I didn’t git ye right away, missus. I ‘ad to wait fer ye to get beyond me and now, finally, the bighter ‘as. Lay ‘er down, sir, or I’ll blow a ‘ole right through yer ear.”
Edgerton was cursing, but Mr. Bullock just shook his head. “No, sir, don’t say such things in front of the little sprat. ‘Is pa wouldn’t like it attal. Lay down the gun, now.”
“No!” Edgerton shouted. He whirled about, ran straight into Mr. Bullock, and threw Evangeline off his shoulder and against Mr. Bullock’s chest, sending him crashing to the floor. Mr. Bullock’s gun went off loud and raw in the small bedchamber.
Mr. Bullock cursed, pulled himself from under Evangeline and ran through the open door into the nursery. “Stay down!” he yelled back at Edmund and Evangeline. “‘Old up, yer blighter! Now, or else I’ll shoot ye where ye stand, right in front of that nice globe what belongs to the little sprat.”
Edgerton stopped in his tracks. Finally, his head bowed, he dropped the gun. Slowly he turned to face the little man who shouldn’t have been more than an insect to crush underfoot. He’d been brought low by an illiterate, pathetic little man. No, he’d been brought low by a lying, betraying bitch. He saw Evangeline standing in the bedchamber doorway, Edmund held close to her side. The boy had untied all the knots and she was again free.
“Take a step back. That’s right. Now sit down in that chair.” Edgerton sat.
Edmund tugged at Evangeline’s hand. “You’re all right, Eve? He didn’t hurt you? Oh, goodness, look at your jaw. He hit you.” Edmund suddenly got a look on his face that mirrored his father’s. He rushed at Edgerton and slammed his fists into his chest. Edgerton tried to grab him and Mr. Bullock shouted, “Lord Edmund, get back now!”
Edmund jumped back before Edgerton could grab him.
“Edmund,” Evangeline said very calmly, very quietly, “come here, love, and help me. I’m not feeling very well right now. I stood up too quickly. I’m not sure I can remain standing up without your assistance. Yes, come here. That’s right. Now, let’s have you help me stand here all straight and tall and face this awful man who would have hurt us.”
Once Edmund was safely beside her again, Evangeline felt both immeasurably better, and immeasurably mean. She wanted to leap on Edgerton herself and strangle the life out of him. She felt Edmund take her hand.
“Mr. Bullock,” she said, “thank you, sir, for being alert. Now, shall we tie this bastard up? Or perhaps can you give me your gun and I can shoot him?”
“Let’s shoot him, Mr. Bullock,” Edmund said, standing there with his nightshirt flapping around his ankles, his hair, black and thick as his father’s, sticking up around his head. “He’s a bad man. He hurt Eve. Yes, I want to shoot him like I would a highwayman. I’ll get my gun.” Edmund dashed back into his bedchamber, ran to his bed, reached under his pillow and pulled out his wooden gun. He was back into the nursery, aiming it directly at Edgerton.
Evangeline laughed, actually laughed. “You see his toy gun? It was a gift from me upon my arrival here at Chesleigh. You recall who procured it for him, do you not?”
Edgerton looked at her with such dull hatred in his eyes that she nearly yelled with the pleasure of it. “Nothing matters now except that you’ll no longer be in our lives. You’ve lost, sir. Finally, you’ve lost.” “Conan DeWitt was right about you,” he said. “Oh, yes, indeed he was,” Evangeline said. “But you know, truth be told, it was you yourself who brought the whole thing to an end.” “Impossible,” Sir John Edgerton said.
She just smiled at him. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”
“Now, missus,” Mr. Bullock said to Evangeline, “it’s time fer me to tie this feller up real tight.”
“Allow me, Mr. Bullock.” Evangeline said. “Edmund, keep your gun pointed at him while I tie him to that chair.”
When the duke, Drew, and six soldiers arrived four hours later, the duked was so frantic, he nearly crashed through the front door. He was met by a smiling Evangeline, and his son holding his toy gun, his small face wreathed as well in smiles. The duke, so relieved that she and his son were safe, drew them both up against him and simply wouldn’t let them go until Edmund said, “Papa, my ribs are bent inside out. Goodness, Eve and I are heroes. We let Mr. Bullock help us, too.” The duke released his son. “What happened here?” “Papa, come with Eve and me. We’ve got a surprise for you. It’s almost better than my gun. Come, Papa.” The duke and Drew Halsey followed Evangeline and Edmund into the library, where Mr. Bullock stood beside a seated John Edgerton, his gun pointed at Edgerton’s head. “I didn’t want to take a chance,” Mr. Bullock said. “This fellow’s a shifty worm.” He grinned widely and stepped back. John Edgerton was all trussed up, his face pale with fury. Thankfully, he was blessedly gagged.
“It’s over,” Evangeline said, and walked to the duke and wrapped her arms around his back. “It’s over. We won.”
“Tell me,” the duke said, and she did, with Mr. Bullock and Edmund weaving in and out, some of their details, Edmund’s primarily, not all that valuable or pertinent, but it didn’t matter.
As for Drew and the duke, they’d gone to Edgerton’s house to put their plan into action, only to find him gone. “I can’t recall ever being quite so scared,” the duke said. “Someone warned him in the nick of time. I died a thousand deaths between London and here.” He shook his head and hugged Edmund so tightly that his son squeaked. “Dear God, at least we’ve got him and it’s over now.”