Chapter 16
Captain Adams’s pistol fired.
Sparks leaped in the air.
The sound rang through her ears, and the splintering of wood burst through the room.
Phillipa jumped but did not let go of her blade, which only caused Captain Adams’s eyes to bulge further with his astonished horror.
His mouth opened like a fish, shocked at what she had done to him. Wide-eyed, he gazed down at her hand, unable to comprehend that a lady, a young lady, the lady he thought was in his power, had stabbed him.
And stabbed him, she had.
Her blow had struck home.
And his shot was wasted.
He had not known she had such strength, power, or accuracy in her. Instinct had driven her to bring the knife from downward rather than up above. She had not tried to swing her arm over her head, but rather, because of her position, she had turned, twisted, and shoved upward.
Which meant the knife had had exceptional force and found a solid mark.
Now she stood, shaking.
Blood slid over her hand, and Adams staggered back.
She let go, and he tripped backwards, falling to the ground with a crunching thud.
She let out a cry, hating the fact that she did so, but unable to stop herself.
Her body began to quake with the enormity of the moment.
She leaned down over him, her gaze darting over his abdomen. She yanked the knife from his stomach.
She then grabbed onto a bit of her skirts and ripped it, so that it tore free. Frantic, she pressed it to his wound, desperate to save his life. Needing to at least do what she deemed honorable.
After all, she had not wished to kill him, but she certainly was not going to allow herself to be killed or hurt to protect him.
No, she would not give up her life over a man like him. She’d have been a fool to trust he would not harm her or Grey, if she hadn’t confronted him.
Though she loathed what she had had to do, she was not going to allow herself to be a sheep, bullied and maneuvered and forced about, at some man’s will because his ego had been hurt. Because his reputation had been tarnished.
Because he had done truly horrible things.
Her heart hammered in her chest so harshly it hurt, and she could not draw breath.
Even so, she tasted the acrid powder of the gunpowder in the air. She blinked the tears from her eyes and smelled the sharp smoke surrounding them.
He gazed up at her with wild eyes. “You,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “How could it be you?”
“Because,” she said with stunning clarity, “I would not tolerate your cruelty, and no one should have to. Ever again.” She pressed harder on his wound, locking gazes with him. “I am sorry for this,” she continued. “But I am not sorry that I did not let you hurt me.”
Those wide eyes of his stared at her in wild disbelief.
His mouth opened and closed several times, and then his face turned towards the wall. She lifted a hand to her lips and covered them, stifling a scream.
Although she hated her own sense of dramatics, there was every reason to feel horror. She had never hurt anyone in her entire life, let alone killed someone.
This was too much to bear, was it not?
And yet, she knew it had been the right thing. She was not willing to sacrifice herself on some altar of male privilege to protect his life, while she herself, had to put herself at risk.
No, this had been the right decision.
Even so, she trembled.
Even so, her stomach twisted and heaved. But she took in a long breath, knowing at least, she was safe from a man like him. At least Clara would be safe from a man like him.
For, knowing someone like Adams, he easily could have hurt Grey’s sister.
And now, thanks to her, luckily, Grey would never be hurt by Adams.
More importantly, neither would boys like Joe.
Joe, who she had never known.
Boys like he? They would never be tortured by Adams again. As the last breath slipped past Adams’ lips, she let her hands drop from her ripped skirt pressed to his abdomen.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway.
A servant threw open the door, and not far behind him, Clara and Grey staggered in.
Grey was holding onto Clara, moving as quickly as he could, and Clara’s face was whiter than the cream served at breakfast with tea and coffee.
Phillipa turned to them. “I killed him,” she said flatly.
“Are you unharmed?” Grey asked, his face strained and his voice deep with fear.
She nodded, wordless.
“Thank God.” Grey breathed.
Clara stared at the body on the ground and brought a hand to her face. “He is gone.”
Phillipa nodded again. “He was going to kill me. I think he intended to use me as a pawn to get you in a situation more favorable to him.”
Grey crossed over to her, hobbling, his leg barely able to bear his weight. No doubt, the long walk he had taken himself on this morning had left him exhausted.
Even so, he pulled her into his arms. “I can never forgive myself for putting you in this position.”
“You?” she said, not understanding. “It is not you. It was him. You did nothing. He is the one who was awful. His behavior was his own. It had nothing to do with you.”
“It did,” Anthony gritted. His eyes filled with terror. “If I had not exposed him, if I had not tried to ruin him.”
“Think of all the people who would be still hurting, if you had not,” she protested, determined to make him see reason. “You did the right thing, and I am glad we were able to end this. For, if he had just gone to a court of law, perhaps one day he would have been freed. Or as you said, perhaps he never would have been brought to justice at all.”
“But because of what you have done here, he has received justice,” Grey replied
