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“I won’t go with you,” Beatrice said very clearly. Her eyes were steady upon Edmund Lacy’s face. She repeated, more forcefully, “I won’t go with you. I cannot believe I was so deceived in your character, my lord.”

“A pity about my character, but I fear you have no choice, my dear,” Edmund said. He indicated the pistol in his hand. “Come here, Bea, now.”

“You betrayed me, you used me,” Beatrice said. “You killed my brother.” She drew a deep breath. “You will have to kill me, for I will not come.”

Edmund Lacy looked startled for a moment. “Such fire from you, my dear. Dempsey, keep that pistol of yours trained on the marquess. Any of you try anything, and the old man will die.”

Edmund grabbed Beatrice and pulled her roughly against him, trying to still her flailing arms.

Beatrice struggled, her nails raking his face. Edmund raised his hand to strike her, then froze. In that instant, there was an unearthly shriek—a woman’s shriek.

Amalie jumped on Lord Dempsey’s back, her hands clamped about his jaw, jerking back his head.

Then there was pandemonium.

Frances blinked at the sight of Beatrice smashing Edmund’s jaw with her right fist with incredible strength and venom. He reeled and was caught by Mr. Uckley.

Dempsey, a wild woman on his back, struggled, cursed, tried to aim the pistol, but Hawk was on him, forcing the pistol upward. The pistol fired and hit the unfortunate Mr. Timmons in the arm.

Beatrice, Marcus, and Mr. Uckley were pounding Edmund to his knees.

Hawk drove his fist into Lord Dempsey’s jaw. The man groaned and slipped to the straw-covered floor, unconscious.

Hawk pulled Amalie to her feet and brushed her off. He was grinning widely into her flushed, triumphant face, until he heard his wife say, “Thank you, ma‘am, you saved us. Who are you? How are you here?”

He cursed softly, the full import of Amalie’s rescue bursting into his now-uncluttered mind.

He cleared his throat. “Frances, my dear, this is a very good friend of mine. Let Mr. Uckley fetch the magistrate, then the three of us will enjoy a comfortable talk.”

It was another hour before Hawk, Frances, and Amalie were ensconced in the parlor. The marquess had escorted Beatrice to her bedchamber. Lord Delacort had most solicitously looked after poor Mr. Timmons, yelling at the hapless doctor each time Mr. Timmons happened to make a sound.

“This is Amalie,” Hawk said simply.

Frances knew, of course. She gazed at the beautiful Frenchwoman, and without a word, walked to her and embraced her. “You are very brave and we thank you. For everything.”

Hawk breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded with manly stupidity to blunder. He grinned, and drawled with woeful cockiness, “Everything, Frances?”

Both women turned on him.

“You will not act the bastard, Hawk,” said Amalie, “or I shall regret saving your English hide.”

She shot a look at Frances, caught her nod, and Hawk felt his arm suddenly jerk behind his back by Amalie. He shot her an incredulous look, then yelped, doubling over, pushed to his knees by Amalie as Frances’ right fist connected with his belly.

Frances was dusting her hands together, a smile of smug enjoyment on her face. “I was almost as good as Beatrice, I think,” she said.

“He perhaps deserves more,” said Amalie, releasing his arm. She stood over him, her hands on her hips.

“I rather like a man on his knees,” said Frances.

Hawk didn’t move. He wasn’t that stupid. They were killers, he knew it. He looked from one to the other, and threw up his hands. “Ladies, I surrender!”

“A bit of groveling might save you further mortification and pain, my lord,” said Frances, enjoying herself immensely.

This was too much. Hawk roared to his feet, grabbed his wife against him, only to feel Amalie’s very strong fingers in his hair, pulling with all her might.

He gritted his teeth and felt his eyes water. Escape, he thought. Only a complete fool would stay. He quickly released Frances, fought free of Amalie’s very strong fingers, and fled from the parlor.

He came to an abrupt halt in the outside corridor, frowning ferociously as he heard the gales of laughter from the two women.


Tags: Catherine Coulter Magic Trilogy Romance