Cold fury surged through Gavin’s body, through every cell, every vein. He reined it in, held it under tight control. Anger would serve no purpose. To the contrary, it would prove a distraction. He had to keep his wits about him. Sophie’s life depended on it.
The trust in her eyes gutted him. An emotion unlike any he’d ever felt washed over him. Her faith in him seemed a shield these bastards could not penetrate.
Lillian’s rouged lips stretched wide. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I would do such a thing?”
He clenched his hands at his sides. How could he have ever seen beauty in her cold eyes?
“Nothing you might tell me could convince me he deserved his fate.”
“Sadly, I must agree,” Lillian said. “Mr. Garner was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn’t supposed to be at Trask’s studio that night. Trask had known to stay away. Valentina had become a problem—one McNaughton knew how to solve. She was still alive when Garner walked in. He came to her defense, but in the end, he couldn’t even save himself.”
“If it’s any consolation to you, the bloke gave me this break in my nose. It’ll never be the same,” McNaughton said with a travesty of a smile.
“He did not suffer,” Lillian added. “I injected him with a serum. The chemical rendered him unconscious. The river did the rest.”
Gavin bit back an epithet. “And the others—why did you decide they had to die?”
Lillian toyed with the cameo pendant at her throat. “I suspected your motives had nothing to do with the supernatural. Miss Beddingham was good enough to provide the proof of your connection with Mr. Garner. We could not take the chance you might stumble upon the truth.”
“What of Eversleigh and Fenshaw?” Sophie asked. “Why were they targeted?”
Lillian’s visage darkened. “They betrayed me. We’d formed an elite society, practitioners of the occult arts. Our plan would have elevated us to the highest ranks of Her Majesty’s inner circle. Persuading the queen to accept communiques from her dear, departed husband would be a simple enough matter. But they were cowards…all but Mr. McNaughton. One by one, they feared discovery. The cravenhearted fools rejected their sworn oaths. The bastards threatened to expose us. They left us no choice.”
The words slammed into Gavin. How many had died because of Lillian’s evil scheme?
“As you might imagine, you will not be leaving this place,” she went on. “I despise feeling as though I’ve misled you, but I do have such an aversion to leaving loose ends.” Moving to the door, she turned to McNaughton. “You know what to do.”
The door closed behind her. Faint taps of her heels clicking on the stairs drifted through the panel.
McNaughton lunged, reaching for Sophie. Gavin whipped forward, blocking him.
“I’ll kill you if you touch her.”
“Now that would be quite the trick,” McNaughton said, coldly evil. “I should’ve slit your throat when we were at the bridge. I was a fool to trust those blokes to do the job.”
The sun’s waning rays glinted off the gun in his hand, a finger on the trigger, the barrel aimed at Gavin’s heart.
“No!” Sophie leaped and crashed against the man’s massive frame. He grunted, stumbling sideways.
A gunshot roared.
Pain exploded in Gavin’s shoulder. The impact tore through him, and he gasped. Despite his agony, he welcomed the searing pain. Dead men felt nothing, not misery, not pleasure. He was alive. Sophie had jarred McNaughton’s aim, sparing his life.
His knees buckled.
Bugger it.
He sank to the floor, struggling to focus his vision.
McNaughton stalked after Sophie. He seized her by the shoulders. With a vicious shake, he shoved her toward the tower wall. Toward the edge.
Gavin pushed himself to his hands and knees. A fresh wave of pain washed over him.
God above, I have to get to her. Have to save her.
His hand closed around the dagger strapped above his boot. He dragged in a raw breath. He’d have one chance…one chance to get this right.
Concealing the knife behind his back, he managed to pull himself upright. “It’s me you need to kill. Not her.”
