And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

“He was at Marchmain House,” James said. “Someone pointed him out to me there.”

“And he was definitely at the gala,” Barnaby said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Stokes said. “He’s done his dash. He’s not going to be able to escape the gallows over this.” Reaching down, Stokes hauled Sir Peter unceremoniously to his feet, then, with a distinct lack of gentleness, propelled the injured MP through the door into the waiting arms of two burly constables. “Take him to the Yard and charge him. Get the doctor to bind him up properly, but keep him under lock

and key at all times. I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, sir.” The constables looked thoroughly thrilled with their captive. They cinched a rope around his wrists, then, each taking one arm, ignoring Sir Peter’s moans and weak protests, they half carried, half dragged him away toward the stairs.

James felt light-headed, but he didn’t think it was from blood loss; euphoric relief was nearer the mark. But he remembered enough to turn to Stokes and say, “He admitted to killing Lady Winston.”

“Good.” Stokes met James’s eyes. “Will you testify, if it comes to that?”

Grimly, James nodded. “Yes. Definitely. I want him to get his just deserts.”

“Don’t we all,” Barnaby said. “At least we now know why he was so hell-bent on hiding his identity. M’father mentioned something about him being considered for Cabinet.”

Stokes looked around the circle, his gray gaze coming to rest on Henrietta and James. “I’m going to need statements from all of you, but if you like, we can put it off until tomorrow.”

They all looked at each other—Simon, Barnaby, Charlie, Martin, and Luc, as well as James and Henrietta—then Martin grimaced, and put what they were all thinking into words. “The others—and the elders—aren’t going to appreciate that they were left out of this. I vote we adjourn to somewhere more comfortable and get all the statements and explanations cleared away tonight, then we can tell the others about it tomorrow, when it’s all done and finished with.”

Agreement was unanimous. Stokes nodded. “I’ll need to go back to the Yard and see him charged, and make sure they understand to hold him regardless of what he says, then I’ll come and interview you.” He glanced at them inquiringly. “Where?”

They decided Barnaby and Penelope’s house in Albemarle Street would be best.

Stokes left, and the others all gathered around. James was amazed at their disguises, while they wanted to know what had happened to him.

Henrietta cut all explanations short with the demand, “What I want to know is what took you so long?” She looked pointedly at Simon. “You knew we were here—I expected you to arrive and overpower the fiend much sooner.”

“Yes, well.” Simon looked sheepish. “He’d put an extra lock on the front door—a bolt. We were intending to pick the lock and creep up on him in case he had a gun—which, as it transpired, he did—but the bolt meant we had to break the door down, which he would have heard . . .”

Barnaby crisply stated, “We were arguing the merits of breaking down the door over forcing a window when we heard the two shots, and nearly died ourselves.” He eyed the pistol as Henrietta, reminded of it, retrieved it from where she’d left it on the bed. “But I see Penelope took her own precautions.”

“Just as well.” Henrietta tucked the pistol back into her reticule. “But speaking of Penelope, where is she? And the others—Mary, Amanda, Amelia, Portia, and Griselda?”

All the men except James exchanged wary, resigned glances, then Luc admitted, “We insisted they stay in the carriages outside. Speaking of which, we’d better go down and explain.”

And grovel, Henrietta thought, but men like these would always act true to their natures, and, at base, all of them were protective to a fault.

The others clattered down the stairs; she and James followed more slowly, using the lantern to light their way.

In the front hall, they left the lantern on the table, turned down the wick, then walked out of the door and pulled it shut behind them. Or as shut as it would go, given it was hanging half off its hinges.

The small court was filled with the three hackney coaches they’d hired for the night. In the light of the streetlamp, various couples were talking, the men reporting, the ladies reprimanding, yet curious to hear every detail.

Arm in arm, Henrietta paused with James on the top step and looked out at the small army of friends who had helped them. She leaned lightly against James, so very grateful to feel the warmth and strength of him beside her again. “They might not have been there at the critical moment, but knowing they were close and would come to our aid gave me the courage to do what I did.”

“Friends. Family.” James closed his hand over hers, twined his fingers with hers and gripped, met her gaze as she glanced at him. “On both fronts we’ve been blessed.”

Henrietta searched his eyes, then softly smiled. “They’re watching us, you know—all the ladies. They don’t want to interrupt, but they’re dying to speak with us, to fuss over us.”

James let his smile deepen. “I suppose we’d better let them—it’s only their due—but before we do . . .” Lifting her hand, he raised it to his lips and, eyes locked with hers, brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Let me say it again—I do so love you.”

Henrietta’s heart overflowed—with love, happiness, gratitude, and relief. And with joy. Simple, unadulterated joy. She held his gaze and, stars in her eyes, gave him back the words. “And I love you. Forever and always.”

His lips lifted in a smile that held the same joy she felt. “I can barely believe it, yet despite all the hurdles, despite the determination of a murderous villain, we have won through.”

“We’ve won our future.” Henrietta beamed. “And now we get to live it.”