Chapter Nineteen
Dear God.
William’s heart plummeted into his stomach when the thin line of blood marred the pale ivory skin of Francesca’s abdomen, but the darling girl provided him with the opening he’d sorely needed. Quickly, he darted forward, and off to one side, away from Fanny. “Enough!” His roar echoed through the frozen room. “This ends now, Miss Newton.” Above all, he had to protect the woman he loved.
No more delays despite the aching stab wounds he’d received. Already, blood had lightly seeped through the cravat he’d wound around his thigh.
“Ah, you finally wish to engage with me, Inspector? I can’t wait to match wits with you, for I’ve certainly kept you guessing these last couple of weeks.” The woman’s madness had sunk into the purr she’d put into her voice. “Or are you only trying to save this worthless excuse of a woman?”
Hiccup!
Hurt jumped into Francesca’s eyes. He could almost see her self-confidence lower as the madwoman continued to taunt, but despite that, those hiccups were endearing. It would kill him to never hear them again.
“She is worth twelve of you.” He needed a weapon, but his pistol was too far away to reach before Miss Newton did something drastic. “However, if you wish to show me that you’re more worthy, I invite you to try.” William spread open his arms and took a step forward. At that point, he didn’t care how many knives she had hidden on her person. His patience had snapped the moment her knife had cut Fanny’s skin. “Come at me. If you can best me in a fight, perhaps you’ll impress me.”
“William, no!” Hiccup. “She’s insane!” Francesca’s frantic cry cut through his remaining reserves. He had to ignore her for the time being, for she was a distraction.
“To get to Francesca, you’ll need to take me down first.” I’ll die before I allow that to happen. Though his pulse roared through his ears, he gestured for her to get on with it. Sooner or later, Chief Inspector Pryce would make an appearance with other agents, and they could put down the threat. Until then, he needed to stall.
“Well, that is easily done. I’ve already wounded you.” Miss Newson batted her eyelashes in some sort of bizarre flirting ritual. As if he could ever find her attractive. “You’ve lost blood. Hardly a formidable adversary, and I know you won’t hurt me.” As expected, she came away from Francesca’s location, and he breathed a tiny sigh of relief.
“Perhaps I harbor a few secrets.” He kept his gaze on that wicked blade of hers.
“That’s what makes you so intriguing.” She lunged and slashed out with the knife. The tip caught at the front of his jacket, severing a button from the fabric. “Just imagine what everyone will say when I finally land you.” Miss Newton thrust again. The blade sliced straight down through his jacket and waistcoat. The pieces gaped open. Only the thin lawn of his shirt separated him from the bite of her knife.
Wild laughter came from Francesca as William advanced, and the madwoman retreated. “William has more integrity in his little finger than you have in your whole body. He’d never lower himself to be with a woman like you.” The chain binding her clanked while she maneuvered herself around to follow their fight.
“Nothing you can say will hurt me, Miss Bancroft. I long ago made peace with who I am. Perhaps you should too.” As if she were fluent in fencing techniques, Miss Newton lunged and thrust, and with each movement she made, it was William who retreated.
The tip of her knife caught his left forearm and left a jagged gash in the fabric, all the way down to his skin. Her next volley nicked his chin, and the warm trickle of blood irritated him. “You must know this won’t end well for you. I’ve been around blades since in leading strings.”
“It won’t end well for you if you continue to fight me.” The woman wasn’t even winded, and as the light of madness gleamed in her eyes, William’s hope of besting her in a fight grew slim. Her strength came from insanity. She wouldn’t give up easily.
Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Otherwise, he’d end this night cut to ribbons, bleeding out alongside Francesca. Could he harm a woman? The longer he stared at Miss Newton, the more he was convinced this person was no longer the woman she’d once been. She was a monster, killing a handful of people—that he knew of. There was no guarantee she hadn’t done a string of murders before that elsewhere.
Then the damned murderess danced close to Francesca once more. She struck out with the knife, slicing through the other side of Fanny’s gown. A thin line of blood welled up from the slash. “Eyes on me, Inspector, remember?”
Francesca whimpered. She tried to move away from the madwoman, but there was only so far the chain at her neck and her toes could gain her.
His heart lurched in time to his stomach. God, she didn’t deserve any of this. The only reason she was in this mess was because he’d shown an interest in her. He’d fallen in love with the shy society reporter with a knack for gritty journalism. And those feelings had landed them both into danger. “Leave her alone. I beg of you.”
“Oh, you’re begging now.” A note of victory threaded through Miss Newton’s voice. “I must say I like that. It will serve us well in the future.” She gave Francesca a hard shove, which set her swinging.
Icy fear shot down William’s spine and twisted through his gut when she gasped for breath and frantically fought for balance on her toes. He had to do something. Perhaps the better part of valor was to play the woman’s game. Holding up his hands, he let his shoulders droop. Damnation, but he hoped she would believe him. “Enough. You win, Miss Newton.”
“What?” The madwoman frowned. She narrowed her eyes on him.
“No!” The word sound dragged from Francesca’s tight throat followed by two hiccups. She struggled in an effort to keep him in her sightline. “William, don’t.” Tears welled in her arctic blue eyes, and he cursed himself for what he was about to do.
To keep her safe, he ignored her and kept his focus on Miss Newton. “You win. I’m willfully giving Miss Bancroft up, for I want you instead.” He heaved out a sigh even as Francesca’s cry nearly broke his heart. “It’s always been you, Miss Newton—Miriam. I just didn’t know it until I saw you at the ball tonight.”
“William, no!” Francesca’s wails battered his chest. “Why would you do this?”
“Ah, now that’s more like it.” The madwoman smiled, clearly mollified by the modification in narrative. “That changes everything, doesn’t it?” Yet she held the knife at the ready.
He glanced at Francesca. Every tear, each sob she uttered cut through his heart as if Miss Newton had stabbed him. Please, love, please understand this is only a bit of Drury Lane fiction. “Indeed.” Slowly, so he wouldn’t startle her, he took a step toward her then another, holding out a hand. By sheer willpower, it didn’t shake. “But we need to leave here immediately. You can either let Miss Bancroft go; I’m sure she won’t talk, or you can leave her here. Eventually, Bow Street agents will be along. You must know that.”
A shrewd twinkle lit Miss Newton’s eyes. “Yes, we’ll go away. Just you and I.” She ignored his outstretched hand. Instead, she ducked around Francesca, darted over to the hoist wheel, and threw the lever into the next position. “We’ll go away and leave her here—dead.” Immediately, the wheel turned with a horrible clacking noise and seemingly in slow motion, Francesca’s toes began lifting off the floor. The madwoman laughed when Fanny cried out in terror, but she made her way back to William’s position. “We’ll have such a good life together, Inspector. Far away from here.”