The Lady Chosen

standing directly before the door. “Perfect,” he hissed. “If I lock you two up, just like I locked the others up, then I can take the formula and be on my way.”

Jeremy stared at her. “Don’t be stupid.” He meant every word. Then he glanced at Mountford. “Anyway, there’s nowhere he could lock us up—this is the only room on this floor with a lock.”

“Indeed!” Humphrey puffed. “A nonsensical suggestion.”

“Oh, no,” she warbled, and prayed Mountford would believe her act. “Why, he could lock you in the broom closet across the hall. You’d both fit.”

The look Jeremy sent her was furious. “You fool!”

His reaction played into her hands. Mountford, so nervous he was jigging, jumped on the idea. “Both of you —now!” He waved with the knife. “You”—he pointed at Jeremy—“get the old man and help him to the door. You don’t want your sister’s lovely face scarred, do you?”

With a final glare at her, Jeremy went and took Humphrey’s arm. He helped Humphrey to the door.

“Stop.” Mountford pulled her around so they were directly behind the other two, facing the door. “Right—no noise, no nonsense. Open the door, walk to the broom closet, open its door and walk in. Close the door quietly behind you. Remember—I’m watching every move, and my dagger is at your sister’s throat.”

She saw Jeremy haul in a breath, then he and Humphrey did exactly as Mountford had ordered. Mountford edged forward as they went into the broom closet directly across the wide corridor; he glanced down the corridor toward the front hall, but no one came from that direction.

The instant the broom closet door shut, Mountford pushed her forward. The key was in the lock. Without releasing her, he turned it.

“Excellent!” He turned to her, eyes feverishly bright. “Now you can get me the formula, and I’ll be on my way.”

He pushed her back into the library. He closed the door and hurried her to the desk. “Where is it?”

Leonora spread her hands and shuffled papers, confusing what little order there had been. “He said it was here…”

“Well find it, damn you!” Mountford released her, ran his fingers through his hair.

Frowning as if concentrating, disguising her sudden spurt of relief, Leonora drifted around the large desk, spreading and sorting papers. “If my brother said it was here, I can assure you it will be…” She continued rambling, just like any of the dithery old dears she’d helped over the years. And steadily, paper by paper, worked her way around the desk.

“Is this it?” Finally opposite Mountford, she picked up one sheet, squinted at the receipe, then shook her head. “No. But it must be here…perhaps it’s this one?”

She felt Mountford quiver, made the mistake of glancing up—he caught her eye. Saw…

His face blanked, then rage poured into his expression. “Why you—!”

He lunged for her.

She weaved back.

“This was a trick, wasn’t it? I’ll teach you—”

He would have to catch her first. Leonora wasted no time arguing; she put her mind to dodging him, darting this way, then that. The desk was big enough that he couldn’t reach her over it.

“Ah!” He launched himself over the desk at her.

With a shriek, she whisked out of his reach. She glanced at the door but he was already scrambling to his feet, his face a mask of fury.

He raced at her. She ran.

Around and around.

The door opened.

She rounded the desk and fled straight for the tall figure who walked in.

Flung herself at him and clutched.

Tristan caught her, then caught her hands, pushed her behind him.

“Out.”

One word, but the tone was not one to disobey. Tristan didn’t look at her. Out of breath, she followed his gaze to Mountford, leaning, panting, on the opposite side of the desk. He was still holding the dagger in one fist.

“Now.”

A warning. She backed a few steps, then whirled. He didn’t need her there to distract him.

She rushed out into the corridor, intending to summon help, only to realize Charles and Deverell were there, standing in the shadows.

Charles reached past her, caught the door, and pulled it shut. Then he leaned nonchalantly against the frame and grinned somewhat resignedly at her.

Deverell, his lips curved in the same, almost reminiscent wolfish smile, leaned back against the corridor wall.

She stared at them. Pointed to the library. “Mountford’s got a dagger!”

Deverell raised his brows. “Only one?”

“Well, yes…” A thud reverberated from behind the door. She started, swung around and stared at it—as much of it as she could see past Charles’s shoulders. She glared at him. “Why aren’t you helping him?”

“Who? Mountford?”

“No! Tristan!”

Charles screwed up his face. “I doubt he needs help.” He glanced at Deverell.

Who grimaced. “Unfortunately.” The word “pity” danced in the air.

Thuds and grunts issued from the library, then a body hit the floor. Hard.

Leonora winced.

Silence reigned for a moment, then Charles’s expression changed and he straightened away from the door.

It opened. Tristan stood framed in the doorway.

His gaze locked on Leonora, then flicked to Charles and Deverell. “He’s all yours.” Reaching out, he took Leonora’s arm, pushing her down the corridor. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment?”

A rhetorical question; Charles and Deverell were already slipping past him into the library.

Leonora felt her heart thudding; it still hadn’t slowed. Swiftly she scanned Tristan, all of him she could see as he drew her down the corridor. His face was set and definitely grim. “Did he hurt you?”

She could barely keep the panic from her voice. Daggers could be deadly.

He flicked her a narrow-eyed glance; if anything his jaw set harder. “Of course not.”

He sounded insulted. She frowned at him. “Are you all right?”

His eyes flared. “No!”

They’d reached the front hall; Tristan threw open the morning room door and propelled her in. He followed on her heels, all but slamming the door. “Now! Just refresh my memory—what was it I warned you—only yesterday, I seem to recall—never, ever to do?”

She blinked, met his barely restrained fury with her usual steady gaze. “You told me never to go into danger.”

“Don’t. Go. Into. Danger.” He stepped closer, deliberately intimidating. “Precisely. So”—his chest swelled as he dragged in a desperate breath, felt the reins of his temper slither free regardless—“what the devil did you think you were doing by following us next door?”

He didn’t raise his voice, rather, he lowered it. Infused every last ounce of power into his diction so the words cracked like a whip. Stung like one, too.

“I—”

“If that’s an example of how you intend obeying me in future, of how you intend going on, despite my clear warning, I take leave to tell you that it won’t do!” He ran a hand through his hair.

“If—”

“God! I aged a decade and more when Deverell told me he’d seen you out there. And then we had to subdue Mountford’s cronies before we could get at the locks, and