Avery should have been filled with regret, with sorrow for his actions that had brought him to this untimely end. But as Prachett leveled the pistol at him, all the valet could think of was her.
Leah. His angel.
She’d freed him of his torment after all.
Even as he turned to run, he knew it was futile. At this range, the man would not miss twice. When the shot rang out, Avery let himself fall forward.
“I love you,” he whispered into the floor. “Leah, I love you.”
Leah stopped suddenly, causing Ella to plow into her. She clutched at her chest, trying to steady the ragged thumping of her heart. Something was wrong. Something horrible had happened.
“Pawpaw,” she whispered, tears tracking down her cheeks. “No.”
“Leah,” Ella said. “My phone is gone. It was here a second ago.”
“Did you drop it?” Leah tried very hard to concentrate, but her head was in a fog of distress. God, if it wasn’t Pawpaw, what had happened? It was almost like someone was breakdancing on her grave.
“No, I didn’t. My thumb drive’s gone too.” Ella swayed, clutching her temples. “I’m sorry, but I feel so freaking weird right now. I’m dizzy, kind of sick.”
“I am too.” Leah’s stomach dropped. A sudden thought speared her, and she dug in her bag for the leather pouch she’d brought with her. It was gone. But she’d placed it in the bag only moments before they’d run from Lady Chesterfield’s house, so where could it be?
Her fingers grazed over a glossy paper in the bottom of the bag. She snagged it and brought Pawpaw’s picture into the sunlight. It faded into nothingness in her hand, as if it had never been there at all.
“Shit. Ella, what the hell is happening?” Leah tried to keep hysterics out of her voice, but she wasn’t that successful. Panic ruled her brain. “Everything we brought with us from home is gone. What does it mean?”
“The mirror,” Ella whispered as she absently rubbed at her pocket. “Something must have happened to it.”
They looked at each other for a split second, then took off at a dead run for Granville House. Leah tried not to think of what it all meant. She tried not to imagine the worst. She tried to keep a level head as she and her friend wound their way through streets crowded with horses, carriages, and pedestrians.
She failed miserably.
People stared at them as they ran. Some shouted, others cursed, but none stopped them, a fact for which Leah was incredibly grateful. After all, two unescorted women running headlong in the nicest areas of London was a sight that nobody was used to. Damn it, if only Avery were with her! She could take all this shit if she knew that he’d be there for her.
But he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t ever be again because he thought she’d chosen the duke over him.
“Slow down,” Ella gasped behind her. “I can’t breathe.”
The ache in Leah’s side intensified, and she slackened her pace to match her friend’s. The air burned in her lungs as her slippers pounded against the cobbles. Ella’s too-large slippers, borrowed from Leah’s closet, as was the gown she wore, caused her to stumble. Leah grabbed her friend’s arm and the two rounded the corner to Grosvenor Square.
“There,” Leah panted, pointing. “That’s Granville House. Third one on the right.”
The last few feet seemed interminable, but they finally descended the steps to the servants’ area. Leah pounded on the door as Ella bent over, trying to catch her breath.
“Cook! Mrs. Harper!” Leah’s hand stung with the blows she landed on the door. “Please, somebody open up!”
Nobody came. Leah kept pounding, but eventually Ella grabbed her arm. “Nobody’s answering.”
Leah shoved the door open and led Ella through the empty kitchen. There were pots on the stove, bubbling away. The whole place looked like it had been deserted suddenly. What the hell was going on?
Leah shook her head and kept moving. They had to get upstairs to the duke’s bedchamber and get to the mirror. Either they had to get through it and back home so she could say her good-byes to Pawpaw, or the thing was broken and they were totally fucked.
The house was unusually quiet for midday, and the silence worried Leah. There should have been servants everywhere, going about their normal daily duties. But they’d wound their way through the back stairs, the length of the hallway, and made it to the duke’s chambers before they saw anyone.
“Leah, look.” Ella pointed.
Leah squinted down the main stairs. Smythe’s back was to her, and he and two of the footmen were carrying something large down the stairs. A rolled-up rug? She shrugged.
“Quiet,” she told Ella. “Follow me.”
Leah pushed open the duke’s bedchamber door. She clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her desperate cry.
The mirror had been shattered, and most of the pieces were missing.
She and Ella were stuck in 1817.
The mirror’s broken pieces clinked softly in the sack across Avery’s back. Wincing, he pulled the stallion up, forcing the beast to slow from a headlong gallop to a walk. Even though he must hurry or risk capture, he could not afford to damage the mirror further.
He’d never expected for the last hour to proceed as it had.
When he’d landed on the Aubusson carpet of His Grace’s bedchamber floor, he’d believed himself to be dead. It had taken several heartbeats for him to realize that he’d not been struck by the bullet.
“Russell.” The duke’s voice, tremulous but triumphant, wrenched Avery upright. His Grace stood by the doorway, a smoking derringer in his hand. Prachett had slumped to the floor, blood pooling out from the wound in his skull.
Avery’s legs trembled as he pulled himself upright. “Your Grace. Why?”
The duke dropped the gun and wiped his hands on his waistcoat as if to remove the invisible blood from their surface. His eyes, though aged, were clear and untroubled. “Did you think that I’d allow him to harm you any further? Lad, you have borne too much for too long.”
Avery took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
“None are necessary. I only wish that I could have stopped his evil before it progressed as far as it did.”
Gesturing to the corpse on the floor, Avery said, “What are we to do now?”
“You must go.” His Grace pulled the bell rope. “After the altercation at Jackford, they will suspect you first, being a fighter yourself. I shall rid us of the body and inform the other servants of the need for silence.”
Moved beyond words, Avery bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He tilted his head toward the shards of glass behind him. “May I have the broken mirror? It is very important.”
The duke laughed. “Have whatever you like, lad, but be quick about it.”
Avery had gathered as many pieces of the mirror as he could before stealing away on one of the duke’s horses.
He entered the outskirts of St. Giles with both relief and trepidation. Such a fine horse would surely draw attention in this part of the world, but he had no other choice. If he were to have any chance of restoring Leah to her true home, he must see Mrs. Comstock as soon as possible.
The horse snorted as Avery pulled back on the reins. He tossed them and a coin to a nearby lad with the promise of more if the beast was still there upon his return. Carrying the sack as gently as he would a newborn babe, he ascended the stairs to his aunt’s chambers.
“Mrs. Comstock?” His soft-voiced question floated through the close room. “Are you about?”
The woman rose from his aunt’s bedside, a basin in her hands and a cross expression on her face.
“What’ll you be wantin’? She’s no better, if that’s the word you’re after.”
