To Distraction (Bastion Club 5)

Slowly, Lowther refocused and met Dalziel’s dark gaze.

There was only one answer he could make.

Deverell cocked his head as he heard the study door open.

He and Phoebe were waiting in the now fully lit drawing room, she occupying an armchair while he paced.

On one level, he wanted to face Lowther and exact vengeance in blood, but aside from him having no intention of leaving Phoebe’s side, given the depth of his cold fury it was perhaps as well that he left Lowther’s punishment to others. Luckily, if there were any man alive he trusted to see justice served, it was Dalziel; he had to be content with leaving the matter in his ex-commander’s experienced hands.

“Lowther!” Phoebe shook her head and sipped the tea the butler had hurried to bring her—after she’d leveled a strait glance his way.

Deverell had noticed and questioned her; she’d confirmed the butler’s involvement and complicity in her imprisonment. Quelling his initial impulse to rend the man limb from limb after he’d delivered the tea, by the time the butler reappeared with the tray, he’d decided on a more fitting course.

Courtesy of the time he’d spent at the agency, he now had a much finer understanding of life belowstairs; he’d suggested and Phoebe had agreed that they should simply mention the man’s behavior to Scatcher and Birtles, and leave them to arrange his fate.

“I still find it mindboggling.” Phoebe set her cup on her saucer. “A law lord, and if your recollection is correct, one specifically involved in drafting the laws on slavery.”

The study door shut; Deverell heard the others’ footsteps nearing.

Halting, he grasped their last moment alone to look at Phoebe—to drink in the sight of her, calm and in large measure composed, safe and unharmed, to let the knowledge wash through him…. He turned as the others filed in.

“No doubt about his guilt,” Christian growled. “It was written all over his face.” He saw Phoebe, smiled charmingly, and sat on the chaise opposite her. “Where was this room he’d locked you in?”

Between them, Deverell, Gervase, and Phoebe explained what had happened regarding Phoebe’s capture and subsequent rescue, then Tristan and Christian described what had transpired in the study.

“Lowther knew what was coming before he’d even sat down,” Christian said, “what with me and Tristan standing there, two peers whose word would be beyond question as witnesses.”

“I’ve never sat through an interview like that.” Tristan shook his head. “When Lowther began, he was convinced he could bluster his way out of any net Dalziel might construct, but even before Gervase joined us he’d tripped himself up twice by reacting to information he shouldn’t have known. Dalziel’s frighteningly acute—he seizes on tiny reactions, and from that seems to know just where to slip in the knife and pry….”

Tristan paused, then went on, “Then Gervase came in, the kid gloves came off, and it was all over.”

Deverell asked about the contact with the slavers; the others had just finished explaining about Lowther’s ward when they all

heard the door of the study open, then almost immediately shut.

All fell silent and listened.

Strolling, prowling footsteps sounded on the tiles, then Dalziel appeared in the open doorway.

He scanned the room; his gaze found Phoebe, and he inclined his head.

She nodded back, not quite smiling. Unsure.

Everyone watched Dalziel. There was a tension in him, one all the other men recognized, one that pricked their instincts and brought them alert in expectation of some greater danger, as if seeing in him a fleeting glimpse of a lethal edge finely honed.

A shot rang out, echoing and crashing in the confines of the house. In the study; there was no doubt in anyone’s mind where the sound came from or what it meant.

No one moved, then shouts and running footsteps rolled up from the rear of the house, spilling into the hall. Dalziel turned his head, looked, then he turned back and met Phoebe’s wide eyes. “My apologies.” The deep voice was even, undisturbed. “But it had to be done.”

Shocked, but puzzled, too, Phoebe held his dark gaze. “You suggested he take his life.” Her tone held no condemnation, only honest curiosity.

He looked at her for a moment, then quietly said, “There are some men we simply do not need in this world.”

The butler hove in sight, all but babbling in consternation. Dalziel turned to deal with him. Christian rose and went to assist.

Tristan and Gervase got to their feet.

Phoebe set down her cup and looked at Deverell.