Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle (45 page)

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'I say!' St John half-rose in his seat to protest the intrusion.

'You'll say nothing more until I command it!' came the reply.

Sitting to the right of St John, Brandon felt the tension he'd been carrying between his shoulder blades all evening dissipate in anticipation of what was to come. The Cat had arrived.

The trap-laying in wait for The Cat to come-had been sprung, only now it seemed more to her advantage than to theirs.

The investors' plan seemed silly in the wake of the reality playing out before him. They'd thought to catch her by changing the St Johns' weekly schedule and being at home when The Cat came calling. They had not planned for the con-tingency of The Cat confronting them directly. The servants were supposed to have subdued the intruder.

That
worried him. What would she do when the servants stormed the dining room? She couldn't hold off the entire staff. But then, The Cat wouldn't leave such a detail uncovered. Perhaps there would be no staff.

covertly around

the room, it became clear that the footmen were not going to leap to St John's aid. Maybe no one else would either. Brandon relaxed. The odds were

up.

Now, the investors' very nemesis danced on the table and held them at gunpoint against the odds of ten to one. Silently Brandon applauded her tenacity but he didn't want to see her hurt and he'd prefer not to be compromised by coming to her defence. Although, at the moment it didn't look like she needed much protection.

His conscience mocked him. It was a bit late in the game to be worrying about compromising situations
now.
Besides, he'd chosen to put himself in this predicament by coming to dinner at all. His curiosity had gotten the better of him; had Nora believed him and used the information he had given her to protect herself or had she been filled with the same doubts that plagued him and come anyway,

he had lied for his own benefit?

Pickpocket Countess

Tonight would be a litmus test. If she stayed away, it meant she trusted him. If she came.. . Well, then he'd owe Jack twenty quid and Nora would owe him an explanation about what exactly she thought had transpired between them.

Oh, indeed, his curiosity had led him to St John's dining room. Inarguably it certainly had gotten the best of him. Now, as he watched Nora hold court on St John's damask cloth, he hoped curiosity wouldn't

The Cat.

With nimble steps, Nora stepped towards St John and presented him with a black bag. 'Pass the bag about the table and deposit your jewellery and effects into it,' she snapped, giving one of the guns an ominous wave.

St John was too flustered to do anything but comply. He fumbled with the ruby cravat pin he wore and put it in the bag.

Mister Flack on his left had no such compunction.

'Now see here, you insolent bastard, you cannot commandeer us in such a fashion!

She cocked the pistol, an unmistakeable sound. 'Can I

'Damn it all, man,' Flack beseeched the host. 'Call for your servants.'

Eyes blazing at the man's insistent mutiny, Nora over his crystal goblet of red wine and let the burgundy stain seep into the pristine cloth. 'Better wine than blood, wouldn't you agree, Mr Flack? At the next

I shoot. Don't

take any notions about servants coming to your rescue. They have been effectively subdued thanks to a wee potion in their afternoon tea.' She hoped that

cowed

Flack. She

would rather not shoot anyone although, if it came to it, a flesh wound to the shoulder might do some of them good.

The women put up no resistance as she trained the pistols on each guest in turn, causing them to make their donations quickly so that the pistols might be turned on their neighbour instead. The bag came to Brandon last. Her eyes locked on his,

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compelling him to keep her secret.
Don't make me have to try
to shoot you.

His gaze was riveting and demanded her attention, which almost cost her. In order to keep the bag and Brandon in sight, she turned her attention slightly away from the other half of the table. Brandon's face saved her at the last moment. His sharp eyes slid to the left and she whirled with his gaze, hearing the noise as she did so.

Stinging from the loss of his diamond cravat pin, Witherspoon tried to play the hero. A gentleman's derringer flashed in his hand. Only his penchant for the dramatic bought her the needed extra seconds. If he had shot first and talked later, the outcome might have been vastly different.

'Drop your weapons!' Witherspoon bellowed.

Nora laughed fearlessly. 'Drop
your
weapons, sir!'

'I am not afraid. I don't think you'll shoot,' Witherspoon retorted.

'How willing are you to risk your companions on that bet?

For instance, would you be willing to risk the Earl?' She turned one of her pistols on Brandon. Damn the seating arrangement.

She had no choice. The shattered door lay to his right-her escape and he was in the way. She wished it was anyone but him. This was the very scenario she wanted to avoid. If she couldn't shoot him, she would have to take him with her.

She started barking instructions while the table erupted into muffled shrieks of horror at the possibility of a murdered Earl.

'My lord, take the bag and start

towards the door. Do

not try to run. I will use my second pistol to shoot you down in your tracks. To the rest of you, I command you to stay seated in your chairs for ten minutes. Do not follow me. My lord is my hostage. It will go poorly for him if you attempt any more heroics

To her relief, Brandon moved towards the door. She backed up, using a careful sidestepping motion to keep both him and

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the table in her line of vision. It wouldn't do for Brandon to play the traitor now. For good measure, Nora fired a shot at the chain holding the chandelier, sending the Venetian crystal con-fection crashing on to the table, scattering china.

'What do we do now?' Brandon asked once they cleared the house and were out in the street.

'I've a horse hidden down the street. I don't expect those idiots in there to actually wait ten minutes before they come hunting.' She stuffed the guns into her belt. 'Now we mn.'