All About Passion (Cynster 7)

The men shifted uneasily. The scrawny one cleared his throat. “You say the pretty lady’s his wife-and he’s an earl?”

Gyles looked at the men. “How much is she paying you?”

The men eyed him warily. “Promised us a hunnerd, she did,” the scrawny one said. “But she only paid a guinea down.”

Gyles reached into his pocket, drew out his card case, extracted a card and pencil, then scribbled on the back of the card. “Here.” He slipped case and pencil away and held the card out at arm’s length. “Take this to the address written on the card and Mr. Waring will give each of you one hundred pounds.”

“No!” Franni cried.

The men glanced at her, then at Gyles. “How’d we know that’s what’ll happen?”

“You don’t, but if you don’t take the card and go now, I can guarantee you’ll get nothing-and if you’re still around by the time I’m free, I’ll hand you over to the watch for questioning about a carriage that was recently attacked in Highgate Wood.”

One of the beefy men stirred, glanced at his companions, then lumbered along between the pews. He took the card, frowned at the writing, then glanced at his fellows. “ ‘Carn-let’s go.”

The three turned and tramped out of the chapel via the second archway.

“No, no, no, no, nooooo!” Franni wailed. She gnashed her teeth, stamped her feet, and backed until she met the altar. Her head swung wildly; the pistol waved, too, but she corrected it, brought it to bear on Francesca, sighting-

Gyles pushed the front pew forward and stepped across Francesca. “Franni! Enough. Things are not going to happen the way you thought.”

“Yes, they are! Yes, they are!”

Her heart in her mouth, Francesca stood. “Franni-”

Gyles turned his head. “Sit down!”

Francesca did. Forced herself to do it. Franni only had one pistol, one shot. Better he faced that one shot than her-she knew that was how he felt. It wasn’t how she felt, but… she was no longer in a position to think only of herself. She made herself sit still, fists clenched in her lap. She listened to Gyles talk calmly, as if Franni wasn’t bordering on hysteria with a loaded pistol in her hands.

“Listen to me, Franni.” Gyles cut off Franni’s wailing assertions. “I know you’ve been trying to make things happen. I want you to tell me all the things you’ve done. Was it you who stretched the rein across the path up to the downs at Lambourn?”

Francesca frowned.

“Yes, but it didn’t work. It didn’t make her fall from her horse and die.”

“No.” Gyles trapped Franni’s gaze and grimly held it. “But Franni-I use that track more than Francesca. I was the one who found the rein stretched across the path. It was pure luck I wasn’t riding at the time, or I might have fallen and died.”

Franni’s jaw slowly fell. Her mouth worked weakly as she sought for words. “I didn’t mean that to happen-it wasn’t supposed to be you. It was supposed to be her. I put a stone in her little mare’s hoof so she’d ride one of the big horses and fall for certain.” She blinked blankly. “I did everything right, but it didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t. Was it you who tore up Francesca’s riding cap and stuffed it in the vase?”

“Yes.” Franni nodded; the movement rocked her whole body. “It was a silly hat-it made her look nice. Interesting. I didn’t want you seeing her in it.”

“And was it you who put the poison in Francesca’s dressing?”

Franni frowned. “Why didn’t that work? It’s hers-no one else uses it.”

“I did-and I smelled the poison.”

“Oh.” Franni looked crestfallen, but she’d yet to lower the pistol. She stared at Gyles. “I always tried to do things that would hurt only her-I didn’t want to harm anyone else. I didn’t even want to harm her, but she has to die-you do see that, don’t you?”

The sincerely beseeching look in her eyes made Gyles feel ill. Poor Franni. He understood Francesca’s protectiveness, and Charles’s and Ester’s… ”How did you hire the men?”

Smugness returned to Franni’s eyes. “Ginny’s old. She sleeps a lot. Especially when I slip some of my laudanum into her tea.”

“So you drugged your maid and slipped out. What did you do then?”

“I asked a coachman to take me to a place where I could find men who would kill others for money.”