heavily.
Matthew’s eyes had locked on the unfolding drama. “It’ll be an hour before Cyclops reaches full strength. Regardless, if he drops her in now, there’s no way she’ll escape. She’ll either drown, or be battered to death.”
On Cyclops, Jordan was speaking again. “As soon as that fool Cunningham brings paper and pen, all you have to do is write what I tell you, and sign it.” A smile curved his lips. “I know you all-you’re ‘men of their word.’ You’ll do exactly as I ask so I won’t be forced to let go.” Jordan eased the arm about Jacqueline’s waist-her feet immediately started to slip inward on the sloping side of Cyclop’s funnel-like hole.
Everyone gasped, started forward, then stopped as Jordan laughed and hoisted her up again. “Just so.” He brandished the knife close to her cheek. “Don’t forget-stay back. I’m sure Cunningham will be here soon.”
No one moved. No one said anything.
“Is Jordan insane?” Barnaby asked. “No one’s going to feel obliged to honor a promise given under such duress.”
“He’s not insane.” Sir Vincent looked grim. “Just think of the scandal fighting a written and fully witnessed deed will cause-for everyone.”
“Oh, God!” Matthew grabbed Gerrard’s arm; he pointed out to sea. “Look!”
A summer squall was sweeping in. A stormy, churning dark gray curtain, it steadily advanced, eating up the previously blue sky, the waves changing to slate before it, white crests rising, kicked up by the winds running before the front.
“It’s coming this way.” Matthew’s voice was rising. “It’ll drive the waves before it.” He looked at the two figures on Cyclops, their backs to the approaching danger. “Jordan doesn’t know. Cyclops will blow much sooner than he expects, and much harder. What if he loses his grip?”
Sir Vincent swore. “We’ll have to tell him-”
“No.” Barnaby was staring at Jordan. “If you force him to move away from Cyclops…It’s his weapon. Without it, with just that little knife and a threat, he’ll be vulnerable. He’s liable to panic.”
“He’ll panic anyway,” Matthew said. “I know what happens in storms. Cyclops erupts suddenly, without any gradual build-”
Gerrard clamped a hand on Matthew’s arm, enjoining silence while his mind raced. “While Jordan holds Jacqueline over Cyclops, we can’t do anything, so we’re going to do something to change that-something Jordan won’t expect.”
“What?” Barnaby asked.
Gerrard met his eyes. “I need you and Sir Vincent to go out there and support Lord Tregonning, but not in silence. Jordan is vain-he thinks he’s the victor here. Ask him about the previous deaths, get him to tell you how clever he’s been-you know how to lead men like him to fill the time.” Gerrard glanced at Sir Vincent. “Most importantly, between you, I need you to keep Jordan’s eyes on
Barnaby frowned. “Why?” Suspicion laced his tone.
Gerrard held up a hand. He looked back up the path, beckoned to one of the men surrounding Eleanor.
It was the senior undergardener. He came quickly. “Sir?”
“We need you to keep Miss Fritham there, and keep her
The man glanced at the rock, then saluted, and hurried back up the path.
Gerrard turned to Matthew. “Can we get from here to the cove without Jordan seeing us?”
Matthew frowned. He pointed to the right. “There’s a gardener’s track that swings around that way-it ends at the cove. Because of the dip where the stream runs down, there’s cover all the way.” He looked at Gerrard. “Why?”
His gaze fixing on the figures out on the rock, Gerrard drew a determined breath. “Because I’m going to do the last thing Jordan will expect. I’m going to climb Cyclops from the seaward side.”
“No. You can’t,” Matthew said. “It’s not possible.”
Sir Vincent was shaking his head. “’Fraid he’s right-it’d be suicide.”
Gerrard turned his head and met Barnaby’s eyes. “You often rib me about my county of origin-tell them.”
Barnaby held his gaze, read his resolution, then sighed and glanced at the others. “Peak District. He’s right. If anyone can climb the seaward side of Cyclops, it’s him.”
Like a giant awakening, the rumbling grumble of Cyclops rose beneath Jacqueline’s feet. The blowhole gaped beside her; the powerful surge and swoosh of the waves steadily building within the rock cavern below filled her with terror.
Jordan’s arm was her only link with life. If he let go, poised as she was, she wouldn’t be able to save herself.
She was helpless, and one small step from certain death.
Panic threatened to engulf her. She fought it, but like the wetness seeping up her skirts, despair, cold and clammy, spread insidiously through her.
She had no idea what would happen, how the scene would play out, but the comber of tension running through Jordan’s muscles told her he was nowhere near as in control of himself as he was striving to appear.
What if he fumbled and dropped her?
The rumble of men’s voices was a counterpoint to that of Cyclops. She tried to make sense of the words, but couldn’t seem to tear her gaze or mind from the yawning hole at her feet. It seemed to be waiting to suck her down…
Gerrard. If she slipped and died, losing him and their future would be her last and overwhelming regret; she was determined to fight for the chance to embrace both. That purpose, the certainty of knowing what she wanted, of knowing nothing else was more important in life, had allowed her to think, and delay, and remove Eleanor.
He’d given her a vision of her future to cling to.
Closing her eyes, she let that purpose once more infuse her, calm her.
A stir among those who were circling Cyclops had her raising her head, determinedly refocusing. Barnaby and Sir Vincent pushed through to join her father. Barnaby gripped her father’s arm reassuringly. Her father, stone- faced, gave no sign he noticed, but she knew he had. Barnaby had a plan, but where was Gerrard?
Jordan was wondering the same thing; he searched the crowd, then asked.
Barnaby met his gaze. “He’s injured. He had to stay at the house.”
Her heart plummeted. Barnaby shifted his gaze and met her eyes.
And she knew it was a lie. Gerrard was here somewhere, doing something they didn’t want Jordan to know about.
Her heart changed direction; her spirits soared. She listened, trying to get some idea of their plan. Trying to gauge what her part in it might be, steeling herself to do whatever was necessary.
Barnaby seemed resigned to Jordan getting his way; his conversation was clearly predicated on that. “You’ve planned this well,” he told Jordan. “And over such a long time. But I’ll admit I’m confused-
Jordan hesitated, but couldn’t resist the invitation to gloat before them all. “Obviously because he was about to offer for Jacqueline’s hand, and she would have accepted him. He was about to poach what ought to be mine.”
“Indeed.” Barnaby nodded. “I quite see that. But why, once he was removed, didn’t you ask for Jacqueline’s hand and tie up the business then?”
“I would have.” Jordan’s voice took on an edge. “Except first she went into mourning for the idiot, and later, it became clear she wasn’t likely to accept my suit.”
“But you didn’t give up?” Barnaby sounded intrigued. Jacqueline suspected he was, just not in the way Jordan thought.
“Of course not-I just hunted for another avenue to achieve the same end.” When Barnaby waited, Jordan went on, “Miribelle was encouraging Jacqueline to go to London, but then Miribelle herself handed me the perfect solution. She poked her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been. When she tried to stop Jacqueline riding with us, we realized who’d seen us in the Garden of Night. So Miribelle had to be dealt with, quickly, before she drummed up the courage to tell anyone. And that, of course, was the key.”
“You killed Miribelle,” Sir Vincent cut in, his eyes and tone condemnatory, “and placed the blame on
