And it was Noah’s fault, too. He should have forced Eva to remain in the carriage. He should have conducted a thorough search of the trunks and crates. Daventry was right. But he’d been so blind with rage upon seeing the snake slithering in his bindings he’d lost focus.
Hemming edged out of the door, dragging Eva with him.
Noah followed slowly, mindful not to make any sudden movements.
“Don’t take another step,” Hemming said, guiding Eva sideways down the first few steps. “Move, and I’ll shoot her.”
Their descent was awkward and clumsy. It proved almost impossible to navigate the dark stairway while holding a woman hostage and pointing a pistol at her head. Eva stumbled, but the devil caught her.
The choking lump in Noah’s throat pressed against his windpipe. History often repeated itself. Families tended to suffer the same crippling blows. A man might be destined to lose every woman he loved. Perhaps it was foolish to hope, to dream.
But there was a stark difference in this scenario. Noah’s mother had smiled and professed all would be well. Eva’s ghostly complexion and trembling lips spoke of terror. She wanted to live. The truth of it was plain to see.
Amid the gloom of the stairwell, their gazes met.
No doubt she could sense his torment as clearly as he sensed her fear. Perhaps that was why she made the sudden move, took advantage of an opportunity. When she drew a deep breath, he knew she was about to do something reckless.
“Don’t,” Noah mouthed, shaking his head.
But he was too late.
The moment Hemming moved to step down, Eva elbowed him so hard in the stomach the man lost his footing.
In the sudden panic, the pistol flew out of Hemming’s hand and bounced down the stairs. The succession of loud thuds echoed and would surely alert Bower.
Arms flailing and nostrils flaring, Hemming tried to grab onto something stable.
Aware of the imminent danger, Noah raced forward just as Hemming grabbed the back of Eva’s pelisse to prevent himself from falling.
Time slowed.
Bile lodged in Noah’s throat as he watched Eva stumble back. The look of horror on her face cut through his heart, sharper than any blade. No. It could not end like this. No. He could not watch another woman he loved perish. It would be the end of him. The end of everything.
Eva managed to grip the handrail with her left hand. She reached out to Noah with her free hand, a desperate plea for him to save her. He was able to grab hold of her wrist seconds before Hemming lost his grip of her pelisse and tumbled down the stairs.
Relief stole the strength from Noah’s legs. He flopped down onto the step and dragged Eva into his arms. Their breathless pants mingled as they embraced. He stroked her hair, muttered thankful prayers. He felt so blessed to have a second chance he almost forgot about Hemming.
“Watch out!” Cole cried, throwing himself on top of them as the shot rang through the stairwell.
In those few seconds when no one moved, a man couldn’t help but fear the worst. Cole was deathly still as he smothered them with his muscular body. Noah was aware of the rise and fall of Eva’s chest, aware that he had escaped being hit by the lead ball. And the hurried thud of footsteps retreating on the stairs spoke of Hemming’s escape.
“Eva, are you all right?”
“Yes, though I fear Mr Cole is hurt.”
“Cole?”
Silence.
“Cole!”
A groan rumbled deep in his friend’s chest.
“Good God! Have you been hit?”
“No.” Cole released a painful moan as he attempted to stand. Dust clung to the shoulders of his black coat. The lead ball must have hit the plaster somewhere above their heads. “It’s just my damn leg.”
The old war wound plagued him during the winter months and those times when he exerted himself.
“You risked your life to save ours, Mr Cole,” Eva said, somewhat in awe of the man. She came to her feet, though her limbs still trembled. “You might have died.”
One would expect to see a flash of relief in Cole’s eyes, but it was the opposite. He looked disappointed, disappointed the Lord had not claimed his soul and saved him from his torment. For a while now, Noah had feared that Cole’s acts of bravery stemmed from a desire to die.
Shouts from the ground floor reached their ears.
“That must be Bower. He must have caught the devil.”
They descended the stairs with care. Eva gripped the handrail as if she feared she might fall again. Cole hobbled slowly behind them, though he had taken to suppressing his groans.
Bower was alone in the alley leading to Tavistock Street.
“Where the hell is he?” Noah glared at Bower. “Tell me how in blazes he escaped!” Was there to be no end to the fiend’s tricks?
Bower caught his breath. “He’s on the street, sir. He came a cropper—”
Noah didn’t wait to hear the rest. He captured Eva’s hand and led her out onto Tavistock Street.
A thick trail of burgundy blood led from the wrought-iron gates, past the goldsmith shop and stopping at Hemming’s lifeless body sprawled on the pavement. People congregated a few feet away, pointing, staring, whispering amongst themselves, while two constables tried to edge them back.
Amid the chaos, Daventry hurried across the road with Sir Malcolm. The portly, grey-haired magistrate looked at Noah, his expression oddly grave. Noah could have sworn he noticed a hint of pity swimming in both men’s eyes. Strange.
“What happened to Hemming?” Noah said as three more constables came running from the direction of York Street. “He threatened to kill Miss Dunn before shooting at us on the stairs.”
Perhaps the fool had fallen awkwardly, though that still didn’t account for the excessive loss of blood.
“A man stepped up to Hemming at the gates just as we arrived,” Daventry said.
