Never Kiss a Rake (Scandal at the House of Russell 1)

“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. He couldn’t have lied to her, made love just days after slaughtering his wife.

“Women are such fools—they’ll believe anything a man tells them. It would have been far better for you if you’d simply gotten on that train—yes, I was watching you then. I could have taken care of this business neatly and quickly, but instead you go running back to him. I imagine he finds it almost as tiresome as I do, though he did have the advantage of your pussy. Which must be quite remarkable, to keep him so enchanted. I never could understand why men got so entranced with feminine parts—there must be some magic spell on yours.”

She hid her expression. What the hell was he talking about? Magic body parts? At least it settled the question of whether she’d foolishly returned to face her own demise. He had been ready to kill her on the train. Coming back hadn’t made any difference.

“Why don’t we wait until Kilmartyn returns?” she said in a r

easonable voice. “If he’s your confederate then he should have some say in the matter.” Was it possible that she’d be wrong, that her blind faith had, in fact, been blind? Could Adrian look at her and sentence her to death? Would he be the one to kill her?

“You surely don’t think I’d listen to what he has to say? To be more accurate, he’s not my partner in crime, he’s my minion, and he’ll do what I say. There’s too much money involved for him to be sentimental.”

A spark of hope suddenly appeared in the bleak, empty landscape of the future. Adrian was nobody’s minion, especially not this smiling, prancing lunatic. She tried to think of something, anything to distract him, slow him down. Scotland Yard couldn’t keep a peer of the realm, even a lowly Irish one, without just cause, and he would come straight back to her, she knew he would.

Wouldn’t he?

“Time to go, Miss Russell,” Rufus Brown said cheerfully.

“And if I refuse?”

He moved with such grace she didn’t realize what was coming until he slammed the gun against her wounded arm, slapping a hand across her mouth to muffle her scream of pain.

Everything went black for a moment, and she was afraid she was going to vomit from the pain. His hand was smothering her, but she stayed very still, and after a moment he stepped back. “I trust you understand me,” he said in his light, charming voice.

“Absolutely,” she said grimly, trying to catch her breath.

“Then get up.”

“Give me a minute.”

“Get up.”

She rose. She’d overestimated her strength, or maybe it was simply the aftereffect of the blow against her recent wound. It was bleeding again—she could feel the blood beginning to run down her arm, and she let it drop, painful as it was. If she could leave a trail of blood Adrian would come after her. He would save her.

Or he would kill her.

She swayed slightly, then stiffened her back. “May I ask where we’re going?”

“Certainly, my dear. You’re going home.”

“To Renwick?” she said, astonished.

She didn’t even see the blow coming, his hand holding the gun, slamming it across her face, knocking her against the wall, and it was sheer force of will that kept her standing. That, and the small chair she clung to. Pretty Mr. Brown was ugly now, red and blotched with rage, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Renwick isn’t yours. It’s never been yours, your father stole it!”

He was mad, she reminded herself dazedly. He was making no sense at all. “What does Renwick have to do with anything?”

His laugh was just slightly off. “That proves what a fool you are. Renwick is everything. That’s what this is all about.”

He was making no sense, and she didn’t want to give him another excuse to hit her. She wasn’t quite certain how much more she could stand. “Then where are you taking me?” she asked in what she hoped was a soothing voice.

He calmed himself, and while his smile was strained, it was an attempt at his usual insouciance. “To Curzon Street. To the burned-out ruin of your old house.”

“But… but there’s nothing there,” she protested.

“Oh, that’s not true. Lady Kilmartyn and her obstructive maid are there. And that’s where I intend to leave you. It’s an excellent spot, and eventually it will be demolished and be covered over completely. Maybe a hundred years from now someone will find your bones and little scraps of your clothing and wonder who you were, but that’s the best you can hope for.”

She would vomit, she absolutely would. “And Kilmartyn? What happens to him?”