Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (58 page)

The prince said dismissively, “You have drunk too freely of my champagne, Sir Carter,” but Carter recognized the Regent’s silent plea for assistance.

“Yet, it’s excellent cham...champagne.” He raised the glass as if to examine the crystal; instead, Carter used the glass’s shine as a mirror to examine the room for other accomplices. He permitted his weight to nudge the prince to the right, not an easy task considering Prinny’s girth, but the assailant shifted also.

Fortunately, Prinny honorably excused Lady Shanleigh. “If you will pardon me, my Dear. I must speak to the baronet privately.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” With a deep curtsy to display her full breasts, the woman walked away.

Prinny caught Carter’s arm in desperation, but the prince played his role. “We must find your family, Sir Carter.”

Carter shot a quick glance about the room. He noted his father’s approach, but Law stayed the baron with a whispered warning and a shake of his head. The entire party looked on. He and Prinny played a deadly game of dare, held together in an odd embrace and the assassin pressed closely behind them. “Monroe,” or whatever the man called himself, had said nothing, but Carter could smell the fear on the man’s rapid exhalation.

“It ‘pears, Your Highness,” he said with another hopeful lurch, “my family ‘as deserted me.” He noted Pennington had returned to the front of the gathering crowd. With a nod, he said he had followed Carter’s orders. He hated the fact he could not rush to Lucinda’s side, and he prayed she was not in danger–just a moment for a breath of fresh air–as opposed to Prince George’s life. “What should I do?” he said morosely as if he was a “pity” drunk.

“Remain with me, my Boy,” Prinny said through tight lips and a fake smile.

Through the champagne glass’s shine, Carter noted how James Kerrington had crossed the musicians’ raised dais to stand some ten feet behind the prince’s attacker, and John Swenton approached slowly from the man’s right.

The prince’s assailant hissed, “Walk away, Sir Carter. I recognize your ruse.”

Carter, too, spoke in hushed tones. “You will not live another day.”

“Yet, I will die a happy man.”

Carter heard Prinny’s breath hitch. Unfortunately, Carter was not in a position to reach the gun before “Monroe” pulled the trigger; therefore, he did the only thing he could.

Lucinda paused for a few brief seconds to permit her eyes to adjust to the night’s darkness. She scanned the area. There were no steps to the lower gardens, nor was there a connecting passageway. “Where has he gone?” she thought aloud. Carefully, she sidestepped to the balustrade to search the ground below. Nothing but rose bushes–lovely, but not conducive to Mr. Monroe’s escape. Using the shadows to hide her presence, she traced the half circle of the raised terrace, constantly scanning the grounds, as well as the open door to the ballroom. No music filled the night air, which meant something was amiss–something involving Dylan Monroe. A flicker of light on her left caught Lucinda’s attention. A low-cased window remained open, likely for cross ventilation, but a shadowy figure announced the opening was being used for something more than a cooling breeze.

Silently, she approached the window. It was designed so a person could step through; therefore, she lifted her skirts to enter the space. Inside, it was barely wide enough to stand without bumping the walls. She had never seen anything like it, but she had read of such architectural features–a space between the outside façade and the inside walls–used as an escape in case of fire on the upper levels. A person could pass through the narrow passage quickly if a fire prevented a more conventional escape.

The flicker of light, which had caught her attention previously, showed above her, and Lucinda dropped into the shadows. Her heart pounding a tattoo, she clung to the wall’s sandy mortar. A dark staircase led to an unknown end, and Lucinda debated whether to follow the moving light. Surely her uncle
had warned Sir Carter and his friends. They would search for Mr. Monroe, but what if they had not seen what she had? She must discover the reason for Dylan Monroe’s presence under the prince’s roof and report back. If no one else knew where in Carlton House the man hid, it fell to her to expose him.

With a deep breath to steady her frayed nerves, Lucinda began a slow and careful climb. Using one hand to steady her step, as well as to announce a turn in direction, she searched the blackness for the light and for where Sir Carter’s enemy had disappeared. “Please God,” she whispered. “Protect those who Mr. Monroe hunts.”

Finally, she came to a dead end. For a few panicky seconds, Lucinda thought she had unknowingly sealed off her escape, but then reason arrived. If she were on a staircase, there must be a connecting passageway and a door. Cautiously, she ran her hands over the wall before her–only permitting her fingers to skim the surface–searching for a latch. When she grazed the thin piece of metal, she released the breath she held. Grasping it firmly, Lucinda turned the bar to the right. A soft click set her heart pounding double time, and she paused to listen for any indication of what awaited her upon the door’s other side; yet, no sounds penetrated the space. With another steadying breath, she turned the handle far enough to release the latch.

Again, Lucinda paused; yet, only silence filled the air. With effort, she pushed against the door. It moved easily, but she did not. Fear incapacitated her. A narrow strip of light no more than an inch filled the staircase, and Lucinda took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She peeked through the opening. The passage glowed as if dawn had broken. Multiple lighted candles reflected off highly polished crystal and gold. She was above the ballroom.

Curious, Lucinda edged the door further, as more light invaded the stairway. With cautious steps, she slipped through the opening.

She was on a balcony, overlooking the prince’s ballroom. It was narrow, likely no more than five or six feet wide. In addition to providing a decorative element to the room’s design, the balcony would be used for servants to clean the painted ceiling of pesky spider webs and dust. A similar balcony ran along all four sides of the long room.

Clinging to the wall, Lucinda searched for Dylan Monroe. The glare from the magnificent chandeliers half blinded her, but she found him, squatted by a
support, where those below could not observe him. In his hand, the man she had once thought all that was amiable held a long gun.

A familiar voice said too loudly, “It ‘pears, Your Highness, my family ‘as deserted me.”
Sir Carter
! Yet, he sounded inebriated, something Lucinda thought impossible. “What should I do?”

As she looked on, Monroe edged closer to the decorative balustrade. He cocked the gun’s trigger.

“Remain with me, my Boy!” A voice sounding very much of the prince’s breathy squeak sent a feeling of dread down Lucinda’s spine.
Dear God
! she thought.
Monroe means to kill the prince or Sir Carter, and I am the only one who can prevent the interloper’s success
.

Carefully, she inched closer, assuming cover behind a draped support pole. Lucinda tucked her dark cinnamon gown about her legs to prevent it being seen by Monroe, while she peeked through the draperies’ folds to determine the man’s next move. She held no weapon–nothing but her mind and her determination. If necessary, she would throw herself upon the man. Lucinda could not permit Dylan Monroe to harm England’s future king or Sir Carter Lowery.

When Monroe stood to take a shot, she prepared to propel herself into his back, hopefully knocking Monroe onto the floor below and not following him over the edge. Squeezing her eyes shut to the reality of the situation, she dropped her skirt tail and stepped into the open, but before Lucinda could react a gloved hand covered her mouth, stifling her warning scream. She had failed.

Carter’s hold on the prince’s shoulder tightened. Above all other actions, it was his duty to protect England’s future sovereign.

“You will not live another day,” Carter hissed as the man prodded the prince with both a taunt and a threat.

“Yet, I will die a happy man,” the stranger declared baldly.

“You cannot kill us both,” Carter argued. He searched the area for assistance. All of his men remained too far removed to prevent the interloper from firing.

“Not true,” the prince’s attacker said with confidence. “Look to the heavens, Sir Carter.”

Carter’s heart lurched as his eyes rolled skyward. Above him stood Dylan Monroe, a long rifle held confidently in his former assistant’s grasp. The elder “Monroe” would place a bullet in Prinny’s back, and the Realm-trained marksman would shoot Carter where he stood. Pennington must have followed Carter’s gaze for the Realm’s leader motioned Kimbolt to take the shot to kill Monroe, but Carter knew Kimbolt’s efforts would come too late. Both assailants had known the risks of such a grand plan; they were prepared to die to achieve their goals.

Lucinda thought to struggle, but she opened her eyes to Lord Godown’s beautiful countenance. He motioned her to silence, and Lucinda nodded her agreement. From where he had come, she did not know. She had certainly not heard his approach. He placed her behind him before silently withdrawing a polished knife from a case beneath his jacket. Motioning her to step away, Lord Godown caught the knife by its tip.

“Monroe!” he said with a deep threat. The next few second held pure chaos; yet, she witnessed it all as if in slow motion.

At the sound of his name, Sir Carter’s former assistant spun toward them. He fired, but the bullet lodged in the ceiling with plaster raining down upon them. Amazingly, Lord Godown did not even flinch. He stood before her, a conquering Adonis. A flick of his wrist was all that moved–the knife turning end over end to lodge in the soft part of Dylan Monroe’s throat. Blood sprayed upon the man’s white shirt and footman’s garb. A second shot followed, and a hole opened in Monroe’s forehead; he tumbled over backward, arms spread like a vulture’s wings.

The sound of a collective scream, a third gunshot, and a solid thud announced the crisis was not over. She and Lord Godown rushed to the balustrade to peer over the side. Both the prince and Sir Carter laid sprawled upon the polished floor, which held a trail of blood. Directly below them, Monroe’s contorted body lay sprawled upon the floor. Lord Godown caught her to him,
and Lucinda buried her face into his chest. She could not look upon the broken body of either Mr. Monroe or Sir Carter Lowery.