Page 88 of The Best Marquess

“Can’t have that,” he said, his gaze tender yet understanding. Then he opened the gate and dashed down the path to the townhouse.

The weak afternoon sun offered no warmth at all, yet Pippa felt perspiration trickle an itchy path down the back of her neck. The wait was almost unbearable, the silence heavy and tense as they watched Finn unlock the door and peer inside. But soon, he beckoned them forward. After entering the house, the four of them tiptoed down the narrow hallway; each creak of a floorboard, faint tap of a shoe heel, and rustle of fabric seeming louder than a brass band parade. However, worse lay ahead, for two footmen were sprawled in the entrance hall, one holding a bloodstained cravat to his cut forehead and the other clutching at his knee.

So. There had been violence already.

Pippa pressed a fist to her mouth as bile threatened to erupt. One of the injured young men pointed at the parlor and held up three fingers.

What did that even mean? Three wretched skunks who didn’t belong here? Or three people in total? Damnation. When faced with disasters like this, heroines in novels were always bold and innovative. She just felt like vomiting. Much like storms, real life could be terrifying, even when one’s opponent was an older baron who had a dish of moldy syllabub where his brain should be.

As they crept closer to the parlor, voices became audible through the ajar door. A calm woman. Abby. And a few angry men who couldn’t seem to agree on what to do next, which might have been reassuring except if they didn’t have a plan etched in stone, they could be unpredictable.

And unpredictable people caused the worst kind of chaos.

Oh God.

Finn halted and held up a hand. Then he inched closer and briefly peered into the room before flattening himself against the wall and leaning down to her ear. “Xavier is in there.”

Her jaw dropped in shocked confusion, but thankfully no sound emerged.

What the bloody hell?

Her twin was one of the puritans who hated Bliss? That made no sense whatsoever. Had she and Xavier drifted so far apart that she didn’t really know him at all? The thought rocked her to the core.

“Also, Campbell and Sir Edwin,” Finn continued in a low whisper. “Abby and four maids, three footmen. I don’t…I don’t know where Nessie is.”

Rage boiled inside her when Finn’s voice broke. All this fright because of some damned puritan’s scratched pride. Lady Campbell might have earlier requested no shooting or stabbing, but that promise was no longer on the table. Although, it would be a toss up to see who she flew at first; Lord Campbell or her damned twin. The fact that Xavier was here and part of this debacle, made her even angrier.

It was time for action.

Hitching up her gown, Pippa started for the parlor door. But a beefy hand curled around her upper arm, and she looked up in affront to see Mr. Gordon shake his head then mouth one word: gun.

Pippa’s eyes widened. But before she could relay the message to Finn, he’d pushed past her and barged into the parlor.

“No! Finn!” The words tore from her throat, but were almost lost in the pandemonium that broke out. Sir Edwin yelled even louder, and for a moment she wondered why no one stopped him, especially when there were several footmen in the room capable of throwing a punch. But when she moved closer and peered through the door, understanding dawned.

Lord Campbell held Abby’s arm in a bruising grip, while waving a small pistol in her general direction. “Lord Pinehurst! You’ve finally joined the party. And whom have you brought? I hope the catering is sufficient.”

Then he chuckled, and Pippa’s fists clenched. Shooting or stabbing was far too good for this sewer rat. “Three more,” she announced, sauntering into the room as though not possessing a care in the world. “Myself, Mr. Gordon…and your wife.”

For a moment, the baron seemed to falter. “Iris?”

Lady Campbell glared at him. “You are making an utter fool of yourself. Let the woman go. Let everyone go. And for the love of all that is holy, put down that pistol.”

“You don’t understand. I’m doing this for your own good. Before Pinehurst corrupted you with his smooth words and charm, you were a biddable wife. But now you read the worst kind of trash!”

“I read romance novels,” she snapped. “Something that makes me happy, because there is certainly no romance in my life. Now, put down that pistol.”

“Listen to your wife,” said Xavier, his tone bored, as though commenting on an empty field or cloudy sky. “No need for weapons, especially when you’re agitated.”

“I am not agitated!” the baron bellowed. “I am perfectly calm, you insolent pup!”

Pippa hopped from one foot to the other. For heaven’s sake, she’d witnessed volatile situations before, even in Hanover Square residents lost their temper or got into fistfights, especially after a few drinks. Perhaps she could lower the temperature by asking questions. Wasn’t that supposed to be a good tactic? To get a criminal talking and distract them?

“Perhaps, Lord Campbell,” she said carefully, “you might share your exact grievance with the business? Is there a compromise that could be reached?”

But the baron wasn’t distracted. Faster than she thought possible, he shoved Abby to the floor, marched forward…and pointed the pistol directly at her instead.

Oh God.