“I wouldn’t advise you to try that.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Franni’s eyes snapped; her jaw set. “He’s just being noble and chivalrous. He’s an earl-they’re supposed to be like that. He has to say he doesn’t want her dead because she’s his wife. He’d feel guilty if he told the truth, but the truth is, he wants her dead so he can marry me, because he loves me. Me!” She flicked a wild-eyed glance at the men. “Now come and tie him up!”

The men shifted uneasily. The scrawny one cleared his throat. “You say the pretty lady’s his wife-and he’s an earl?”

Gyles looked at the men. “How much is she paying you?”

The men eyed him warily. “Promised us a hunnerd, she did,” the scrawny one said. “But she only paid a guinea down.”

Gyles reached into his pocket, drew out his card case, extracted a card and pencil, then scribbled on the back of the card. “Here.” He slipped case and pencil away and held the card out at arm’s length. “Take this to the address written on the card and Mr. Waring will give each of you one hundred pounds.”

“No!” Franni cried.

The men glanced at her, then at Gyles. “How’d we know that’s what’ll happen?”

“You don’t, but if you don’t take the card and go now, I can guarantee you’ll get nothing-and if you’re still around by the time I’m free, I’ll hand you over to the watch for questioning about a carriage that was recently attacked in Highgate Wood.”

One of the beefy men stirred, glanced at his companions, then lumbered along between the pews. He took the card, frowned at the writing, then glanced at his fellows. “ ‘Carn-let’s go.”

The three turned and tramped out of the chapel via the second archway.

“No, no, no, no, nooooo!” Franni wailed. She gnashed her teeth, stamped her feet, and backed until she met the altar. Her head swung wildly; the pistol waved, too, but she corrected it, brought it to bear on Francesca, sighting-

Gyles pushed the front pew forward and stepped across Francesca. “Franni! Enough. Things are not going to happen the way you thought.”

“Yes, they are! Yes, they are!”

Her heart in her mouth, Francesca stood. “Franni-”

Gyles turned his head. “Sit down!”

Francesca did. Forced herself to do it. Franni only had one pistol, one shot. Better he faced that one shot than her-she knew that was how he felt. It wasn’t how she felt, but… she was no longer in a position to think only of herself. She made herself sit still, fists clenched in her lap. She listened to Gyles talk calmly, as if Franni wasn’t bordering on hysteria with a loaded pistol in her hands.

“Listen to me, Franni.” Gyles cut off Franni’s wailing assertions. “I know you’ve been trying to make things happen. I want you to tell me all the things you’ve done. Was it you who stretched the rein across the path up to the downs at Lambourn?”

Francesca frowned.

“Yes, but it didn’t work. It didn’t make her fall from her horse and die.”

“No.” Gyles trapped Franni’s gaze and grimly held it. “But Franni-I use that track more than Francesca. I was the one who found the rein stretched across the path. It was pure luck I wasn’t riding at the time, or I might have fallen and died.”

Franni’s jaw slowly fell. Her mouth worked weakly as she sought for words. “I didn’t mean that to happen-it wasn’t supposed to be you. It was supposed to be her. I put a stone in her little mare’s hoof so she’d ride one of the big horses and fall for certain.” She blinked blankly. “I did everything right, but it didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t. Was it you who tore up Francesca’s riding cap and stuffed it in the vase?”

“Yes.” Franni nodded; the movement rocked her whole body. “It was a silly hat-it made her look nice. Interesting. I didn’t want you seeing her in it.”

“And was it you who put the poison in Francesca’s dressing?”

Franni frowned. “Why didn’t that work? It’s hers-no one else uses it.”

“I did-and I smelled the poison.”

“Oh.” Franni looked crestfallen, but she’d yet to lower the pistol. She stared at Gyles. “I always tried to do things that would hurt only her-I didn’t want to harm anyone else. I didn’t even want to harm her, but she has to die-you do see that, don’t you?”

The sincerely beseeching look in her eyes made Gyles feel ill. Poor Franni. He understood Francesca’s protectiveness, and Charles’s and Ester’s… ”How did you hire the men?”

Smugness returned to Franni’s eyes. “Ginny’s old. She sleeps a lot. Especially when I slip some of my laudanum into her tea.”

“So you drugged your maid and slipped out. What did you do then?”

“I asked a coachman to take me to a place where I could find men who would kill others for money.”

Gyles blinked. “Did any of these men harm you?”

Franni looked at him blankly. “No.”

Gyles didn’t know whether to believe her or not.

He felt a tug on the back of his coat. Francesca whispered, very low, “She answers direct questions literally-honestly.”

Small mercies. “Very well.” He captured Franni’s gaze again. “Now, you don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“You want to make me happy?”

She smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Then give me the pistol.”

Franni considered, then nodded. “I’ll give it to you after I’ve shot her.”

She moved to sight Francesca; Gyles moved, too, blocking her view. Franni frowned at him. “Why are you stopping me? We have to get rid of her-you know that. I’ll do it-you don’t have to.”

Gyles inwardly sighed. “Franni, I’m prepared to swear on that Bible behind you that I’ll only be happy if Francesca is my wife, alive and by my side. If you want to make me happy, then shooting Francesca isn’t the right thing to do.”

Franni’s face blanked; Gyles could almost see her mind working. Fingers touched his, slipped into his hand. He briefly squeezed-Francesca squeezed back, clung. He inwardly frowned. Was she trying to warn him?

“No!”

The negative thundered about them. He refocused on Franni to see her transformed. Her head was high, her eyes blazed; her spine was rigid. Her grip on the pistol had tightened.

“I won’t have it! That’s not how it will be. I want you to marry me, and you shall. I want it to happen so it will. I’m going to shoot her-”

Franni ducked to the side, trying to see Francesca. Closing his hand hard on Francesca’s fingers, Gyles held her down, kept her behind him.

“I’m going to shoot her, yes I am-I want, I want and I shall have! You don’t need her now-you have her land. There’s no reason for you to want her now. I want you to want me instead. You must!”

Franni’s stamp echoed through the chapel.

Francesca struggled to free her hand; Gyles crushed her fingers unmercifully. He shifted this way and that, constantly blocking Franni’s attempts to sight her. With his arm braced, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t try to distract Franni. Her cousin was mad-in her heart, she’d suspected it but had never let the thought form-but now Franni was close to threatening Gyles-didn’t he understand how the stories went? If she couldn’t have him for herself, then Franni would play out her plot to the end-she’d kill Gyles rather than let Francesca have him.

It was her grandfather all over again but worse. Francis hadn’t been insane; Franni was. Francis had been stubborn enough to cut off his nose to spite his face. Franni was capable of worse.

“Let me up!” she hissed.

“No!” Gyles hissed back.

He didn’t even look around. Francesca felt frantic. Franni would shoot-

“Franni-stop!” There was enough command in Gyles’s voice to stop everyone. Behind him, Francesca froze, quivering, waiting…

“Franni, I want you to listen to me-listen very carefully-because I want you to understand all that I say. I want you to look into my eyes so you’ll know I’m speaking the truth.” Gyles paused. “All right?”

Francesca waited, then she felt a slight relaxing in Gyles’s grip and assumed Franni had nodded.

“Very well-listen carefully. I love Francesca. I always have, from the first moment I laid eyes on her. I love her completely, unreservedly-do you know what that means, Franni?”

Bowing her head until her forehead touched their clasped hands, Francesca listened, then she heard Franni say, softly, weakly, “You love her?”

“Yes.” There could be no question that one word was the truth-it rang with a conviction no power but one could give. Gyles paused, then said, “You were at our wedding-you heard the words of the service. ‘With my body I thee worship. With my soul I thee adore.’ I said those words, Franni, and they’re true-every one.”

Silence followed, cool, still. Minutes ticked past, then into that stillness, Francesca heard, as if from a great distance, a soft sobbing, falling like rain… Lifting her head, she drew in a deep breath and stood. Gyles’s arm eased and he let her come to her feet by his side, just behind his shoulder.

Franni still held the pistol, but as her sobs grew, the barrel wavered, then sank. Franni lowered her arms, doubling over in unrestrained grief-

“Franni!”

“Aaaah!” Franni shrieked, jumped, jerked the pistol up-

Gyles cursed, half turned, flung himself at Francesca-just as she grabbed wildly at him.

The pistol’s report shattered the stillness and sent echoes crashing about the church.

They fell. In a wild tangle of arms, legs and grabbing hands, they hit the flags between the pews.

Francesca lost her breath. Immediately, she sucked air in. “My God! Are you hurt? Did you get shot?” She tugged and reached around Gyles, hands spread, searching, trying to find out-

“No, dammit! Did you?”

She met Gyles’s gaze, grey and furious. Relief poured through her, and more besides. She smiled. “No.”

He frowned at her. “For the Lord’s sake! Here-sit up.” He struggled to get up but his shoulders had wedged between the pews. He wriggled but couldn’t get free. “You landed beneath me-the floor’s stone, for heaven’s sake! Are you sure-”

Francesca framed his face. Pandemonium raged about them; she ignored it, shut it out, looked deep into his eyes. “What you just said-you meant it, didn’t you?”

Charles and Ester were there, struggling with a now hysterical Franni. Osbert waded in, trying to help. Every sound faded to stillness as Gyles looked down at her. “Every word.”

He found her hand, raised it, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I never wanted to love-and especially not you. Now I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked into her eyes; she saw the change in his-the hesitation, the uncertainty. “And you?”

She smiled beatifically, then lifted her head and touched her lips to his. “You know very well I love you…”-she searched for words, then simply said-“as you love me.”

He bent his head and kissed her, gently, lingeringly-she kissed him back, letting the moment sink into her memories, and his.

When he drew back, she smiled through happy tears. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you would never be dull or boring.”

“Dull or boring?” He shoved the front pew forward, then grabbed the back to lever himself from her so he didn’t crush her further against the floor. “Are those the criteria on which you judge my performance?”

He stood and held out a hand. She let him pull her to her feet. “Among others. But now I know so much more, I have even higher standards.”

He met her gaze. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

The wailing and admonitions had gained in volume. They turned to see Franni threshing furiously, sobbing, eyes shut, mouth wide. Osbert and the two footmen were holding her, trying not to hurt her and getting hurt for their pains. Ester, disheveled, having clearly grappled with Franni herself, was trying to frame her niece’s face, speaking soothingly, trying to reach Franni and calm her.

Charles stood before them, facing Franni, the pistol hanging limply in one hand. As they watched, he drew in a huge breath, then turned and saw them. His face was ashen. He looked at the pistol, then stepped down and laid it on the front pew. Approaching them, he lifted his head; bracing himself, he stopped before them.

“I am so sorry.” The words seemed to sap all his strength. He ran a hand through his hair, glanced back at Franni.

He was more shaken than they were. Francesca exchanged a glance with Gyles. “It’s all right.” She took Charles’s hands in hers.