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Chapters (44)
  1. Table of Contents
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  43. A word about the author...
  44. Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

A noise upstairs distracted Muldrow. He glanced up for a moment, and Hugh lunged. He grabbed the arm that held the knife and clung on, wordless, panting, as Muldrow struggled to free his arm. Hugh’s limbs weakened. A cold wetness slithered down his sleeve.

Muldrow kicked out at Hugh’s leg. In return, he sent a knee into Muldrow’s groin that left the scoundrel groaning on the floor. His weight pulled Hugh from the stair. Hugh landed heavily on top of Muldrow, fingers locked into the man’s linen shirt. Muldrow twisted under him. The linen ripped, Muldrow’s arm pulled free, and the knife slashed through Hugh’s waistcoat.

His strength ebbed fast. His breath heaved, and his head whirled. Summoning a desperate burst of energy, he kicked up at Muldrow. His boot located the man’s elbow. The knife flew out of Muldrow’s grasp and across the hall. It clattered to the floor. Hugh tried to follow it but could not drag himself up.

He clasped the banisters and heaved, grunting with effort, until he faced Muldrow. The scoundrel’s lips drew back in a wolf’s triumphant grimace. His eyes were small dark holes of malevolence. Hugh’s strength was almost gone. He gathered for a final attack and took a long, shuddering breath into lungs that were ready to burst.

Something flashed before his eyes. A figure crossed the hall behind Muldrow, nimble as a mouse scuttling across the floor. It was Philomena. She was alive, at least. With renewed energy, Hugh grasped a heavy Chinese vase that stood on a table by the stairs. With a final ounce of strength, he crashed it down on the scoundrel’s skull. Muldrow crumpled in a heap.

Hugh, aching limbs heavy, moved slower than honey pouring from a jar. He tried to take a shaky step forward but his leg folded. He slipped down, senses reeling.

Philomena frowned at him. “You’d better not be dead.”

Hugh’s lips twitched, even as his head spun. He laughed, lightheaded, remembering their first meeting. Now the tables were turned. “Don’t you own any suitable women’s clothes?” He closed his eyes.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Someone, lend me a hand,” Philomena cried. “Lord Thatcham is bleeding.”

Hugh forced his eyes open. “It is nothing.” He felt helpless, as though he had spent a long evening with several bottles of claret. The feeling was not entirely unpleasant, though his right arm throbbed. “I fear you will be hard-pressed to remove the stains from this Persian rug,” he murmured. “The rug, by the way, is no friend of mine. It caused me to trip at a most unfortunate moment. It almost ended the fight in Muldrow’s favour.”