Page 119 of A Deal with the Devil

She could, however, punch a vicar right in the mouth.

With no vicar, there was no one able to marry them. It would not solve the problem, but it would buy them time.

Kitty whirled on her heel, closed her fist, and let loose.

The vicar, currently trying to become a part of the furniture along with his wife, yelped. The housekeeper screamed and then fainted. Kitty punched him again even though pain flared through her hand. His teeth cut into his lip with a satisfying rush of blood, and then he too crumpled. She glared at Portsmouth. Even he was shocked that she would dare punch a man of the cloth. She would happily punch anyone trying to hurt her sister. Hopefully not very soon, as her hand hurt more than she would have guessed.

“Well, you can’t marry her now,” she said more smugly that was wise.

“I can do as I like, you stupid chit.” Portsmouth lifted his arm, pistol trained suddenly on Kitty. “Your sister marries me or she watches you die right here. It’s simple enough even for you to understand.”

“Please don’t,” Evie begged. “I’m already here. I’ve already said I’ll marry you.”

Kitty swallowed. She did not know very much about pistols, but she imagined it would be hard for him to miss entirely at such close quarters.

“I’ve made the announcement; there are bets in the books at my club. I have the license and the vicar. I’ve waited long enough—we can wait a bit longer for him to wake up.”

“You’ll have to wait a long bloody time,” Caroline interrupted quietly. “You can’t marry her because you’re still married to me.”

Portsmouth frowned at the sound of her voice. “If it isn’t my missing wife,” he said, eyes narrowing to slits. “You should have stayed missing, my dear.”

“Then your heir would be a bastard,” Caroline pointed out. “What would all of your exalted ancestors say to that?”

The vein on Portsmouth’s temple began to throb. It was an alarming shade of purple. Then he smiled again and Kitty’s spine went cold. When the mask slipped, he was truly terrifying. It was suddenly easy to see his soft and pampered hands covered in the blood of his wives.

“This problem I can remedy easily enough, at least,” he said.

Kitty saw his shoulder twitch before he moved. A tiny, brief warning.

He released Evie and swung the pistol toward Caroline, pulling the trigger.

Kitty was also swinging out, bringing her bruised hand down onto his forearm with all her might. The bullet fired, an explosion of sound and plaster as it hit the wall. A framed portrait fell from its hook, knocking into a glass vase of carnations. Caroline dropped, as did Priya. Kitty could not tell if either of them had been hit.

The pistol skittered under the settee.

“Evie, run!” Kitty shouted.

Evie, being a Caldecott sister and therefore stubborn to a fault, did not run. She merely backed up a step and grabbed for the fireplace poker. Portsmouth did not immediately notice. His ire was focused on Kitty, who had ruined his plans. With glee. And would happily continue to do so for as long as she lived.

Poor choice of words.

While Kitty was glancing between her sister and Priya and Caroline in a heap, Portsmouth launched himself at her. He grabbed the front of her dress and yanked her off her feet, shaking her like a cat with a mouse. Kitty’s head snapped back, disorienting her.

And then she knew exactly where she was, trapped against Portsmouth while he held a dagger to her throat.

He was breathing hard in her ear, furious and frustrated. “This ends now,” he seethed. He smelled like cologne, too sweet and too thick. It made her want to sneeze. She did not dare. “No one cares about a spinster, least of all one like you.”

“I think that’s where you’ll find you are wrong.”