The earl ducked and the glass shattered against the chalky walls, splashing hot oil and flames over his coat. A spark set off his weapon, the bullet ricocheting off the ceiling with a thunderous bang.
“Sandro!” cried Arianna, struggling to get free of her bonds. Gavin had snatched up the scalpel and hurtled a fallen chair. Plumes of silvery smoke spun through the slivers of wildly flickering light and shadow. “Watch out! He has a blade!”
The earl dodged the oncoming attack, moving with catlike quickness despite his lingering limp. A swing of the pistol butt smashed the nearest sconce as he danced away from the arcing steel.
Gavin slipped on the spattered oil, swearing a savage oath.
“Déjà vu,” called Saybrook as he ducked low and pulled a knife from his boot. Patches of red-gold fire burned on his coat, painting him in a demonic glow. Sparks flared, catching the curve of his mouth.
Good God, was he actually grinning? Arianna blinked. That long-ago day of the kitchen duel he had looked like hell, while now—now he appeared a lithe, long-limbed Lucifer. An avenging dark angel.
“Watch out!” she cried again, seeing Gavin take up a jagged hunk of broken globe and fling it at the earl’s face.
“Don’t worry, sweeting.” For an instant, a wink seemed to hang on his dark lashes, and then he whirled back with a deft sidestep, letting the missile fly harmlessly over his head. “I’ll not need you to pull my cods out of the fire today.”
Glass crunching under his boots, he angled away from the wall, forcing Gavin to retreat several steps. “Give it up. I’m not going to let you escape.”
Sweat sheened Gavin’s face and the glint in his eye reflected a rising panic. “Give it up? For what—Newgate and a date to dance the gallows jig?” The scalpel slashed through the air, a feint one way and then a quick cut that lanced to within an inch of the earl’s chest. “I’ll take my chances with a sodding cripple.”
“It’s your choice,” said Saybrook, parrying the thrust. His own blade swooshed back and forth. “I daresay I’d do the same. A noose takes a long time to choke the life from a man.”
With a snarled oath, Gavin suddenly pivoted and lashed out with a hard kick, desperation giving his attack added force. “The pistol, Charles, the pistol!” he screamed over his partner’s mewling moans. “For God’s sake, shoot him!”
As the earl’s leg buckled, Cockburn started crawling across the floor.
Saybrook dropped to a knee, but as Gavin raised his weapon and cut an arcing downward slice, he caught the other man’s wrist and gave a vicious twist.
A last frantic jerk and Arianna finally broke free of her bonds.
Too late? Too late?
The marquess was already reaching out for the weapon. . . .
Gulping for air, she dove for the table.
Struggling to break free, Gavin hammered a flurry of punches at Saybrook’s face. The earl countered by smashing the hilt of his knife into Gavin’s nose. Flailing and kicking, the two of them tumbled to the hard stone floor, tangled together in a bellicose blur of fists and steel.
Arianna dared not focus on their fight. Her fingers found the chamois and its bevy of lethal implements. Thank God for the theatrical tricks and circus games needed to keep a restive pirate audience amused in her former life. In one sweeping motion, she plucked up a slim two-edged blade, whipped around, and let it fly.
The point spun a quicksilver trail through the dancing dust motes and buried itself deep into bone and flesh.
Cockburn’s hand spasmed, then went slack as he screamed and collapsed in a dead faint.
Arianna rushed to retrieve the pistol.
“Here, here, I’ll take charge of that.” Saybrook wiped a bloodied palm on his torn trousers. “Your hands are shaking so badly that I fear you might accidentally fire at me.” He gently peeled away her fingers. “However unorthodox, we seem to make an effective team in fighting miscreants. Gavin is no longer a danger.”
A lick of light caught the gleam of steel protruding from the dead man’s throat.
She looked away. “Poetic justice, I suppose.”
“Or divine retribution,” said Saybrook with unholy satisfaction. “The deities do not like it when mere mortals play God.”
Her lower lip was cut, and as she swallowed, the acrid taste of blood, salt, and grains of gunpowder stung her tongue.
“True,” she whispered, and then was suddenly aware of another soft sound melding with her sigh. The slither of wool.
A wave of fury washed over her and for a moment she saw red—a deep, viscous bloodred.
Her kick hit flush on target, but bare toes didn’t manage the desired wallop.
“Allow me.” Saybrook drew back a booted foot. “Always aim for the jaw. It is a far more effective way to knock a man senseless.”
Cockburn twitched as the muddy leather connected with a sickening thud, and then went very still.
Despite the swelling on her cheekbone, Arianna managed a lopsided smile. “Gracias.”
“De nada,” replied Saybrook with a soot-streaked grin. And then enfolded her in his arms.
25
I have mixed up a fresh pot of glue, and Luisa has wielded her scissors with great care, trimming the last batch of my recipes so that I may paste them into these pages. They shall fill the rest of this journal, for I have become quite loquacious in my old age and rambled on longer than I intended. Tomorrow, I shall start a new notebook, for there is still much I wish to record. . . .
1 tablespoon unsalted butter plus additional for greasing ramekin
⅓ cup heavy cream
2 ounces fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweet-ened or extra-bitter), chopped
1½ teaspoons sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
⅛ teaspoon cayenne
1 large egg, lightly beaten
¾ cup cubes (1/2 inch) firm white sandwich bread (from about 2 slices)
1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Generously butter ramekin or 1 muffin cup.
2. Cook butter (1 tablespoon), cream, chocolate, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, cayenne, and a pinch of salt in a 1- to 1½-quart heavy saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly, until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in egg until combined. Fold in bread cubes and let stand 5 minutes.
3. Fill an 8 ounce ramekin with bread mixture and bake until puffed and set around edge but still moist in center, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool 5 minutes before serving. Serves one.
The thump of approaching steps jarred her out of a dreamlike haze. She raised her cheek from Saybrook’s shoulder and stepped back. “What—”
“Reinforcements,” murmured the earl.
Before he could elaborate, Henning burst out of the darkened tunnel, brandishing a cavalry pistol. Behind him was a band of ragged men armed mostly with cudgels, though one or two naval cutlasses glinted in what light was left.
Skidding to a stop, the surgeon surveyed the chaos. “Hell and damnation. I promised the laddies that they would get to kick a few lordly arses, and here you have gone and spoiled all the fun.”
“My profound apologies.” said Saybrook dryly. “Next time I shall be more considerate of your men’s tender sensibilities.” He nodded at the ex-soldiers and sailors. “You can still lend a hand by carrying this corpse outside.”