Dear Impostor (54 page)

          Barrett was striding back to face them; he had
sent one of the men out of the room, heaven knew for what ungodly purpose. Percy
looked up. “I say, Barrett, I think I’ll just start back to London with Miss
Hill,” he said, his tone almost normal. The doubts that Gabriel had induced
were beginning to work, but it was too late. Everything was too late.

          Gabriel felt his chest tighten with fear and
building anger. How dare Barrett plot to harm the woman that Gabriel adored,
the lady who had imbued him with the courage to love again. Whatever else
happened, he had to see that Psyche emerged from this peril alive and unhurt. He
struggled again against the ropes that held him; he thought that the knots
slipped just a little, but not enough.

          Barrett glanced at him warily, then looked
back to Percy. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” the man said, his tone full
of oily politeness.

          “Why not?” Percy was sweating now; droplets
formed on his forehead, and his tone was not as sure.

          “Because I fear that the lady would never be
silent; she has formed a
tendre
for this rascal, as women usually do for
a pretty face. They seem reluctant to realize the true nature of a man’s
worth.” Barrett lifted his sharp chin and stepped closer to Psyche.

          She shuddered. “I think I know your true
worth,” she told him, her voice commendably steady.

          Sweet Psyche, who had the mettle of a lioness,
Gabriel thought. He had let her down again by allowing Percy to lead them into
this trap, and he would never forgive himself, for however many minutes he had
left to live. He would deserve the deepest circle of hell for that foolish
error alone.

          Barrett snorted. “I should like to take the
time to teach you otherwise.” He leered at the smooth curves of her bosom. “Unfortunately,
the longer we linger here, the greater the chance, however remote, that some
passerby might notice that my hulk of an estate boasts occupants, and that is
so unusual it might stir talk in the neighborhood. I fear we must dispose of
these troublesome trespassers, and if a blaze should break out in an empty
house, ah well, the evidence will soon be destroyed.” He turned his pistol
toward Percy, who shrank back in alarm, and Psyche, who stood her ground,
though her expression was somber.

          Gabriel felt himself go cold; he stopped his
useless struggle against the ropes and prepared to launch himself toward
Barrett. He knew that he could not reach the villain in time, but it might give
Psyche a few moments to escape.

          Outside, wind gusted, and a branch from an
overgrown tree rattled the window. Barrett jumped. Psyche glanced toward the
window and her glance swept over the cowering Percy, who had gone quite white.

          “This is all your doing,” she snapped. She
moved suddenly to strike his cheek, and everyone else, even Barrett, blinked in
surprise. Her blow left a red imprint upon Percy’s white face.

          “C-cousin,” he protested. “I didn’t mean–I
never thought–”

          Ignoring his words, Psyche pushed him with all
her strength, and Percy jerked backward, hitting the window with a crash. He
cried out, and the pane splintered and then fell to the floor in jingling
shards. Percy slipped down atop the splinters, his expression dazed.

          Everyone else stood as if frozen by the sound
of the crackling glass–everyone but Psyche. Throwing her hands to her cheeks in
seeming horror, she dashed to where Percy lay slumped under the broken window. Bending,
she yanked him into a sitting position.

          “Dear God! What have I done? Forgive me,
Percy.”

          Gabriel watched in confusion as she fussed
over the bemused form of her cousin. Soothing and clucking over him, she drew
her handkerchief out of her sleeve and whisked it over Percy’s face and hands,
which showed several small cuts.

          Barrett smiled.

          “Perhaps you have not made a conquest after
all, Sinclair. Perhaps
all
your skills are getting rusty.” He gestured
to Psyche. “You should know better than to trust a woman, Sinclair,” he
taunted. “They’re weak. And they always side with the familiar. In this case,
her family.”

          Psyche whirled to face Gabriel.

          “None of this would have happened had you not
made poor Percy crazed with jealousy. He only thought to protect my honor–the
honor you stole from me in yet another of your casual seductions!” Her chest
heaved with barely restrained emotion, and her cheeks had gone scarlet.

          Barrett arched a heavy brow. “Oh, very good,
Sinclair. I was almost disappointed in you. How unlike you to not sample such a
lovely morsel. And after I kill you, it will be my turn.”

          Gabriel strained at his bonds, his hands
aching to slam themselves into Barrett’s face. This vermin had no right to
breathe the same air that Psyche breathed, let alone speak of her in such a
way. Psyche was neither weak or disloyal. He would not believe she could
abandon him. Nor had what they shared been sordid or casual.

          Psyche had been crouching beside Percy, but
she stood slowly when Barrett stopped speaking. She faced Barrett with grim
disgust. “You may have the final pleasure of killing this rogue, but not before
I have my satisfaction.”

          Barrett’s remaining man took a step toward
her, but Barrett’s raised arm halted him. “No,” he said slowly. “This could be
entertaining.”

          Gabriel stared intently into Psyche’s stormy
eyes as she moved purposely toward him. Her lush lips were pulled into a firm
line; her cheeks had faded to a dull rose. As she stepped closer, he saw the
way she was holding the blood-stained handkerchief close to her waist. With the
barest flicker of her wrist, she exposed what was cupped in the cloth.

          Pride rippled through him in waves. What had
briefly reflected the pale yellow rays which made their way through the
dirt-encrusted windows was a thick shard of lethally sharp window glass.       

         
That’s my smart girl
, he thought,
containing the grin that wanted to spread across his face. An answering twinkle
echoed in her beautiful eyes for just a moment, accompanied by the most
alarming amount of trust he had ever seen. It, more than any fist or weapon
ever could, almost brought him to his knees.
She trusts me to resolve even
this
, he thought wonderingly. The realization was humbling. He drew a deep
breath; he could not disappoint her.

          She stopped just in front of him. “So, you
thought you could steal my heart as well as my reputation?” she demanded.

          Gabriel tried to look suitably downcast; he
felt the slightest whisper of sound as she sawed at the thick rope that bound
him. Her hands were hidden from the others’ sight by her body, and she
continued to look him in the eye, her expression revealing only her feigned
scorn.

          “Miss Hill, you mistake my motives–” Gabriel
tried to play his part, while his whole body was taut with anticipation of his
moment of impending freedom.

          Psyche leaned even closer, and while one hand
sawed at the rope, the other lifted to pause dramatically just in front of his
face. “You, sir, are the cause of all this heartache. How many other maidens’
affections have you trifled with?”

          Despite the deadly peril of their situation,
Gabriel had to fight hard to hold back a swell of mad laughter that bubbled
inside him. What courage Psyche had–what quick wits. “Not that many . . .
maidens,” he answered after a thoughtful pause.

          “You cad!” She swung the flat of her hand
against his cheek, producing more sound than actual force. Gabriel blinked,
though he had felt little pain. Behind them, Barrett cackled with glee, and his
henchman guffawed. Even Percy, who had staggered to his feet at last, permitted
himself a prim smirk. Her cousin had stepped back, closer to Barrett, as if to
remind the mastermind that Percy was on his side, not a threat. Would Percy
allow Psyche to die, if doing so would save his own misbegotten hide? Gabriel
would not be surprised. The anger he felt fueled the resolution inside him. He
strained against the ropes as Psyche’s rough blade sliced at them, and at last
he felt them give.

          Only a thread of the rope was still intact,
but he could not reveal that he was virtually free, not yet. Barrett had a gun.
Gabriel pressed his wrists together as he met Psyche’s clear blue eyes briefly;
a flicker of understanding passed between them. He thought that she understood;
they had to play for time.

          “How many other reputations have you
besmirched?” As she continued her tirade, Gabriel watched Barrett from the
corner of his eye. Barrett seemed to be enjoying Gabriel’s denouncement. He
stood several feet away from them; how could Gabriel cross that much space
before Barrett could lift his pistol and fire? And with Gabriel dead, Psyche
would be helpless. He would have willingly died here and now to save her, but
it would be useless if she were left at Barrett’s mercy, with no one but the
faithless coward Percy to plead her case.

          If only they could induce Barrett to come
closer. Even as he thought that, Gabriel heard Barrett speak again.

          “As entertaining as this is, I fear, Miss
Hill, that we must bring this little closet drama to a close.”

          Psyche whirled to face Barrett. “How can you
belittle my suffering? Surely, you–as a gentleman–must feel incensed over the
wrongs this man has done me?”

          “Really, Miss Hill,” Barrett purred. “A moment
ago, you were calling me a murderer. I fear I have some doubts as to your
motives–”

          She threw herself at him, and Barrett raised
his pistol in alarm. But Psyche paused just in front of him, to wring her hands
in a most un-Psyche-like pose. “Please, you must have pity! You do not know what
I have suffered at his hands.”

          Gabriel was almost forgotten; he was able to
flex his arms and break through the last shredded filament of the rope. He had
a sudden premonition of what Psyche meant to do, and it turned his blood to
ice–no, no, he wanted to shout. It is too dangerous!

          But Psyche was intent only on the villain who
eyed her, his expression skeptical. “I fear that you could not be trusted to
hold your tongue, my
lady.
” He made the last word a mockery, but no one
seemed to notice, least of all Psyche. “It’s nothing personal, you understand,
just a natural inclination to tidiness and a keen attention to my own well-being.”

          Psyche sobbed and lifted one hand to her face,
as if in despair. But the other hand, which still clutched the handkerchief
with its sharp fragment of glass, flashed toward Barrett’s throat.

          Gabriel was already in motion, but Barrett
swung the pistol toward Psyche, and as Gabriel threw himself at the man, he
heard the gun explode and smelled the gunpowder. He had his hands around the
villain’s throat, now, and he grabbled with the man, who was stronger than one
would have suspected, his small frame full of wiry strength. Psyche, where was
Psyche? Was she hurt, killed? If she was, Barrett would not leave this room
alive, Gabriel vowed. His desperation gave him strength, and in another moment,
he had forced the other man to the floor. Gasping for breath, Barrett collapsed
into a semi-conscious heap. The just-fired pistol fell to the floor unheeded;
as Barrett’s coat fell open, Gabriel saw a matching pistol, the other half of
the pair. He grabbed the loaded gun to thrust into his own waistband, then
turned quickly to find Psyche.

          She was holding the shard of glass to the
remaining ruffian’s throat; the man looked dumb with surprise and fear. Trust
Psyche to keep her wits about her!

          Weak with relief, Gabriel took out the pistol
and pointed it at the man, so that Psyche could lower her hand, which showed
the slightest inclination to tremble. He reached for her and pulled her against
him with his other arm.

          “Thank God you are safe,” he whispered into
her hair as she hid her face, for an instant, against his chest. “If you had
been hurt, or worse, I would have gone mad with grief!”

          “Hush.” She raised her head, lifting her hand
to touch his cheek. “We are both here, more or less sound, and–”

          He glanced down and saw the stain of blood on
her arm. “Psyche! You are hit!”

          “Just a scratch, I believe you would say,” she
told him, calm once more. “But I think we should make a strategic retreat, do
you not agree? One or more members of Barrett’s gang still linger about the
estate.”

          “Yes.” Gabriel lifted her forearm to inspect
it; the bone seemed unbroken and the flesh wound appeared superficial; the
trickle of blood was already slowing. He would bind the wound as soon as they
left the building. He almost groaned at the thought of Barrett’s plan to burn
down the house–his house. Yes, despite everything, he still considered it his
property. If he had been alone, he would have gone after the other henchman,
but getting Psyche away from danger was more important.