She’d not only hurt him, but now she was killing him. He’d die with her. Like a fool, he’d die with her.Felton, no.
Because Breage was holding a gun to his head and Bowles was already pivoting.
With the knife.
“Well, Nephew, I could say I am quite surprised to see you.” Bowles spread his legs. “But I am not.” The knife was red, dripping—dripping with blood. Eliza’s blood.
Felton’s gut clenched as he roved his gaze up and down her. Fetal position against wooden chests. Slashes on her arms, blood on her face, rips in her drenched clothing.
And her hair. Littered across the muddy floor of the cave, the precious locks, some of the strands still in the fist of the man who had cut them.
Felton quivered in the center of his being. The fury scorched him. He snagged his uncle’s eyes—the ones that so reminded him of Mamma—and wished to heaven he could dull them with death. “I’ll kill you.”
“A pleasant thought, no doubt. One that has been entertained by others, many times, without ever having come to fruition.”
“Felton, no.” A broken sob. Eliza pulled herself up and collapsed against stacked crates. “Felton, leave. Please.”
“Very gallant, is she not?” Bowles smiled at the man with the gun. “Leave us, Breage.”
“But, sir—”
“A trivial matter, I assure you. I can handle it. Now go and make certain my darling nephew did not bring more unwelcomed visitors behind him.” His brows furrowed. “You did not, did you, Felton?”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You are very imprudent. You would kill me for what I have done to Miss Gillingham, and in the process entirely overlook what you have just stepped into.” Bowles wiped the knife against the lapels of his tailcoat. He glanced to the table and chairs. “Shall we sit?”
Felton’s eyes sought Eliza’s again—stricken, dazed, brimming with tears. He would have died to keep her away from—
“Inconsequently, how did you find me? I do not suppose Martha aided your search, did she?” He kicked out a chair. “Never mind. It does not matter. All that matters now is that you are here, Nephew, and you should be made aware that you have a family prospering from very rich endeavors. Whether you join said endeavors or die trying to stop them is entirely up to you.”
“Men are on their way.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
Bowles sank into the chair. It creaked beneath his weight, and somewhere above, the flapping and scratching noise of bats echoed throughout the cave room. “I know ways of escape. I know many things, despite the fact that Martha seems to believe the only one among us with any intellect is herself. We both know, however, that is untrue.” His gaze rolled to Eliza. “I leave no witnesses to my own murders.”
“I don’t think you heard me, Bowles. I said men are coming. More men than you can fight or run from.”
“What do you expect me to do? Get on my knees and beg for mercy?” He sprang back to his feet. “On the contrary, Felton. People beg mercy fromme.Now move beside her.”
Felton hesitated, mind racing, heart pummeling the cage of his chest.
“Now!”
He shuffled in Eliza’s direction, close enough that he could hear shallow breathing, and braced himself in front of her. He waited, waited, waited.
Bowles paced a half circle around them. He grinned, then frowned, then glanced back at the room’s exit as if contemplating the truth of Felton’s words. “My guards will take care of any men.”
“One of your guards is down. The other is wounded.”
“By you?”
“Yes.”
“It does not matter. Breage will hold them off, and we can take sail on theCélestine II.” He tossed the knife into a crate on the other side of the room, then sprung a pistol from his coat. “Miss Gillingham, it seems there is always occasion not to kill you. I am in need of you yet longer, in the event escape becomes arduous. Move aside.” He raised the gun. “Apologies, Nephew. This one is for Martha—”
