“Careful,” Greengrass grunted, his face a rainbow of bruises.
“Don’t touch your weapons, Evans,” Lord Neville said behind her. “That would be very unwise. Especially now that I have two hostages.”
Genevieve stared at Richard, despising her impulsiveness. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll be fine,” he said softly, his grip on her hand firming.
Genevieve found her balance and turned to Lord Neville. Sirius strained choking at the rope. “I’ll give you the jewel. Let Sirius go.”
“Here, hold the mongrel.” Lord Neville thrust the leash at Greengrass.
“Genevieve, don’t do this.” Richard shifted to stop her approaching Lord Neville.
Evading him, she fumbled in her pocket. When all was said and done, the jewel was only metal and glass. It wasn’t worth blood. “I have to.”
“I knew you were a sensible woman.” With sickening greed, Lord Neville’s eyes fastened on the object in her palm.
“You won’t have it for long,” she retorted. “I’ll report the theft.”
He sniffed contemptuously. “I’m a Fairbrother. Nobody will believe I stole it.”
“They will when you display your ill-gotten gains.”
“You mistake the collector’s passion. The joy is in ownership.” He grabbed the jewel as if afraid she still meant to keep it. “This perfect object belongs with me. Unlike its slut of a custodian.”
“Mind your tongue, sir,” Richard said sharply, shifting toward Genevieve. His protection sparked a tiny ember of warmth, even in this fraught moment. “Last night you wanted to marry the lady.”
“Marry that round-heeled trull?” Lord Neville’s eyes glittered with malice, while Greengrass’s snicker made her gorge rise. “The trollop fucked a scoundrel instead of accepting my honorable offer.”
“Abduction and assault don’t count as an honorable offer,” she snapped, even as shame speared her.
Lord Neville’s expression settled into a smugness that made her wish she’d clawed his eyes out, not merely bloodied his cheek. “It’s more of a proposal than you’ve received from this knave, I’ll warrant.”
Her heart leaped to think that Richard might claim her. Although surely the magnificent Sir Richard Harmsworth would never stoop to wed a dowdy vicar’s daughter with an unfeminine interest in people dead before 1600.
“Enough.” Richard’s voice was a whiplash. “You’ve got the jewel. I want my dog and I want you away from Little Derrick.”
Genevieve’s surge of illogical, irresistible hope shriveled. How stupid to expect a declaration. Especially at such a time.
Mesmerized, Lord Neville studied the jewel. “It’s exquisite.”
“A fine example,” she said coldly.
He looked up, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Better you’d taken the money.”
She ignored his jeering. “Untie Sirius and let us go.”
Lord Neville’s hand closed around the jewel. “That’s not convenient.”
“Not convenient?” A quick glance at Richard revealed no shock on his face. He’d expected double dealing. She was a fool that she hadn’t.
Suddenly Lord Neville’s cool response to her threats of exposure struck her as ominous. Fairbrother or not, if she alerted the law, he couldn’t be sure of emerging with reputation intact. A premonition of disaster pressed down and she edged closer to Richard.
“As you pointed out, you and your lover can cause me a deal of trouble. Easier by far to dispose of you.”
“What… what do you mean?” she asked shakily. Richard’s hand gripped hers. While she knew he couldn’t save them, the contact was welcome.
“Genevieve, Genevieve, I really will consider your cleverness overrated if you can’t work out that it’s better for me if you two are dead.”