A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 28

Francis couldn’t believe the words. He flicked his gaze toward Phoebe, seeing her on her knees on the floor, her hair mussed around her shoulders and her face flushed red with fear. He would have done anything to pull her into his arms and hide her from this mess, but it was not possible now.

Surely, she didn’t say that!

“No, Phoebe,” he whispered, pleading with her. She flicked his gaze to him, then quickly returned it to Lord Ridlington. The brevity of that look hurt as much as the words. “You cannot go back to him.”

“I have to,” she said quickly before addressing her husband alone. “Please, Graham. Do not hurt them, and I promise to come with you now.”

Francis winced, covering his face at the words. She was going to exchange her life for theirs, just to keep them safe.

You deserve a better world than this, Phoebe.

“At last, she speaks some sense,” Baron Notley said, reaching for his daughter’s arm. He took hold of her, under the shoulder, and wrenched her to her feet. She staggered for a second, before reaching out, away from her father, and placing a hand on Graham’s shoulder. It was such a soft touch, that Francis expected Lord Ridlington to react in some way, but he didn’t. He continued to stare down the barrel of the pistol, straight at Francis.

“Lord Ridlington,” Baron Notley was pleading with him this time, though his voice was a lot harsher than his daughter’s. “You do not need to pull that trigger.”

“Need to and want to are two very different things,” Lord Ridlington said and lifted the pistol a little higher, so that it was no longer pointing at Francis’ chest, but at his face.

Francis lowered his hands from his face, staring back at Lord Ridlington. He tried to ignore the frightened whimpers of Diana a little distance behind him and the pleading desperation of Josiah. He glared back at the Viscount, certain that if Lord Ridlington dared to hurt him, the man would suffer for it.

“You have one shot before you would have to reload,” Francis said, muttering in anger. “How good an aim have you got?”

“At this distance, even I think I could hit you,” Lord Ridlington said, taking another step toward Francis.

“Graham, please!” Phoebe begged, stepping forward again. Even Baron Notley let his daughter move forward this time.

“I will not go to the gallows for murder, you fool,” Baron Notley said. “We have her back. Do not pull the trigger or you condemn us both to death.”

“He took my wife from me,” Lord Ridlington snapped, so angrily that spittle hung from his lips. Francis stared at him, unblinking, realizing what truly bothered the Viscount about this situation. It wasn’t that Phoebe herself had left him; it was the idea that another man had taken what he considered was his possession. Francis’ gaze turned to Phoebe, knowing with horror how awful it was for the Viscount to think of her as a ‘possession’.

“I left,” Phoebe said, pulling on the Viscount’s arm. “Francis didn’t take me, I left!”

Francis flinched, hearing the mistake that she had made. As did the Viscount, who snapped his gaze toward her.

“You called him Francis,” he said, shaking his head. “Not Your Grace, not the Duke of Hayward, but Francis.” Phoebe reared back slightly, away from his anger, yet she collided with her father. The Baron shoved her in the back, holding her in place. Lord Ridlington snapped his gaze to Francis. “You really did make her your whore, didn’t you?”

“I did not,” Francis insisted.

“Graham, please!” she begged. That pistol was getting closer and closer to Francis’ face. Even Francis knew the inaccuracy of the pistol or the shooter would be offset by this close distance. He felt the muscles in his neck twitch out of fear.

I cannot die like this.

He started looking around, desperately seeking a way out of this mess, for all of them, but no ideas were occurring to him.

“I’ll come with you,” Phoebe said, stepping forward again and addressing Lord Ridlington. “I’ll come now, and I’ll be a proper wife, and I promise…I will not leave you again.”

Those words tore at Francis’ chest. It was like the bullet had been fired after all, landing somewhere near his heart as he turned his eyes on Phoebe.

“All this talk of divorce will be over?” Baron Notley insisted from behind her. “You will withdraw the paperwork?”

“I will.” Phoebe nodded with the words.

“How can I be certain you will not run again?” Lord Ridlington asked, his tone demanding.

“Because I put my friends’ lives above my own. I’ll come with you, but you must promise not to hurt them.”

Francis opened his mouth to object, but the pistol just got nearer to his face, silencing him.

“Then we have a deal,” Baron Notley said. “Lord Ridlington, lower the pistol.”

Yet the Viscount didn’t appear to hear the words, for his gaze was still on Francis and the pistol. Francis stood a little straighter, realizing that no amount of persuasion was going to make it through the red mist of anger that had descended on Lord Ridlington now.

“If you are going to shoot me, then do it,” Francis said darkly, “I do not see the point of dragging out the moment.” His words were met by exclamations of horror from Diana and Phoebe.

“Do not shoot him, you fool,” Baron Notley said, his voice getting louder.

“There has to be a punishment,” Lord Ridlington said. “No, there has to be…”

The pistol was inches from Francis’ face as Lord Ridlington took a step forward.

“No, Graham!” Phoebe screamed, placing her hands over her face. Francis turned his gaze on her, wanting his last look in this world to be of something that he loved. Her green eyes were full of unshed tears and her skin had turned pale.

Then she reared forward.

Francis wasn’t prepared for it, but the pistol went off. He ducked down to avoid the fire, but he only just missed it as Phoebe had tackled Lord Ridlington. Francis looked up, feeling a hand going straight for his head, for the bullet had whistled through his hair, missing him by the skin of his teeth.

Lord Ridlington was falling over from where Phoebe had shoved him, trying to dislodge his hold on the pistol.

She saved me!

Francis went to help her, to grab Lord Ridlington and put this matter to rest.

“My Lord!” There was a cry from the footman. Francis glanced round in the commotion to see the footman throwing another pistol toward Lord Ridlington, this one clearly loaded and ready to fire.

Lord Ridlington snatched it from the air, just as he dropped the other one to the ground.

Francis could see where he was turning that pistol – straight toward Phoebe. Francis leapt forward, grabbing Phoebe around the waist before her father could get to her, and dragging her further back in the room, until she was firmly behind him with his body shielding hers. Her hands were buried in his arms, clinging to him, with her front pressed to his back.

Lord Ridlington lifted the second pistol and turned it back to Francis.

“I will not let you hurt her again,” Francis said.

“Then I’ll have to shoot you to get to her,” Lord Ridlington said, his finger reaching for the trigger.

“Stop!” The shrill cry that went up made them all flinch. Francis felt the way Phoebe twitched behind him, her fingers digging further into his arms.

Francis lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs to find Louisa was standing there. She was the source of the cry. Dressed in her night shift, with a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she was slightly murky in the faded candlelight, but what was clear to see was what was in her hands.

My pistol…

She must have gone to his room for help when she heard all the noise, for in her clutches was the pistol he had brought with him, evidently prepared with shot. He had seen her prepare the pistol enough times now by herself to know she was capable of doing it.

That pistol was trained on Lord Ridlington.

“The maid?” Lord Ridlington asked in confusion. “Laura?”

“Louisa! Her name is Louisa!” Phoebe snapped with anger. It showed how little notice Lord Ridlington had taken of his own household.

“Put down the pistol, you stupid girl,” Baron Notley said distractedly, evidently not seeing her as a credible threat. “You could end up shooting yourself.”

“Believe me, she is a fine shot,” Francis said. His simple words made Baron Notley stiffen and stand a little straighter, turning to look at just how much Louisa had the pistol trained on Lord Ridlington.

“Lower your pistol, my Lord,” Louisa said, still addressing him so formally despite the agonizing situation.

“Like I’m going to do that,” Lord Ridlington scoffed. “Put the pistol down.”

“No!” she screamed the word. “I will fire, my Lord. Let my mistress go. Let her leave, not just tonight, but your life as well. She deserves her own life back.”

Francis felt his lips flicker into the smallest of smiles. The scales of power in the room had turned a little, and all that power now rested with Louisa.

“You will let her go,” she said again. Her voice tremored a little, as did her hands, for the pistol shook back and forth.

Don’t shake, Louisa. Remember, you could end up shooting any of us then!

“I don’t fancy dying, Lord Ridlington,” Baron Notley said with strength. “Lower the pistol.”

“I am not coming this far to give up now,” Lord Ridlington spat the words. The pistol was still trained on Francis, though he was looking up the stairs to Louisa, and where she stood at the top of the staircase.

Francis could feel Phoebe shaking behind him with fear. He tried to subtly push her a little further behind him, terrified that if either of the pistols went off, they could strike her.

“You will have to give up,” Francis called to Lord Ridlington. “Shoot us, and Louisa shoots too. You have no choice.”

Lord Ridlington snapped his gaze back to Francis. He was like a man possessed, the whites of his eyes visible around his pupils, sweat beading on his forehead and making the loose strands of his red hair damp.

“Lower the pistol and give up your claim on Phoebe’s life,” Francis ordered.

Louisa began to walk down the stairs, just a couple of steps, but the creaking boards were enough to make Lord Ridlington snap his gaze back round to her. It made her freeze in the middle of the steps.

“Lower the pistol now, or I shoot,” Louisa ordered, her lip trembling and her hands shaking even more.

Keep your hands still, Louisa! Francis silently begged.

“I can’t do that.” Lord Ridlington’s words were final.

Francis backed up instantly, seeing the danger even before Lord Ridlington could pull on the trigger of the pistol. He shoved Phoebe even further back, even as she shouted Louisa’s name, calling for her to shoot.

“Louisa!”

Francis felt Josiah’s and Diana’s hands on the two of them as well, pulling them backward.

“No!” Baron Notley’s shout of fear joined the cacophony of the commotion. Francis looked up to see what the Baron was objecting to – Lord Ridlington was spinning round in the center of the hallway and turning the gun on Louisa.

He’s going to shoot Louisa!

“Shoot, Louisa!” Francis ordered her, but she didn’t.

Her hands trembled even more around the pistol, shaking so much that the barrel was barely pointed in one direction. Lord Ridlington aimed up the pistol, closing one eye in order to narrow his gaze and aim perfectly.

“It’s you or him, Louisa. Shoot!” Phoebe screamed from behind Francis.

Two pistol shots went off, one straight after another, echoing around the entrance hall.