"It's Lady Norland. Lady Norland is the Black Dahlia."
Shock and disbelief warred through Derek. "Lady Norland. The widow. She's the Black Dahlia? I'm supposed to believe that mouse of a woman, who's afraid to even stand up to Lady Pembroke, is responsible for selling England's secrets to France? For hundreds of deaths?"
Lord Acton broke out in a sweat. "I swear to you. It's her. That's how she's gotten away with it, how she's avoided suspicion. No one would suspect the timid widow of a powerful diplomat. She hated that man. She's obsessed with destroying his legacy. She wants to obliterate everything he accomplished."
As the truth of his words sank in, dread filled Derek's stomach. It made sense, everything Lord Acton had said, in a way. He'd known Lady Norland for years now, but she was the last person he'd suspect. She'd played it all perfectly. Everything.
Including her supposed friendship with Charlotte.
And she was here tonight, at their engagement party, had been living under his roof. "If you're lying about this, I swear I will come back here and cut off something even more dear than your finger."
Lord Acton's mouth opened and closed. "No! I swear. It's the truth. She's who you're looking for. She's the one."
There was much more Derek needed to know, but with every second he wasted interrogating Lord Acton, unease crept over him. He'd made a mistake in assuming only one of Charlotte's attackers lingered to do her harm. He'd underestimated them, and by doing so, he'd left Charlotte alone, vulnerable to harm. Every moment he was here with Lord Acton was one where she could be killed.
His heart hammered in full panic. "Secure him and find me once it's done." Derek bolted for the door. He needed to find Charlotte.
Chapter 16
Charlotte shifted warily as the Black Dahlia closed the drapes against the night. She couldn't think of her as Lady Norland. Lady Norland would always be a kind, timid soul. Not the killer before her.
She eyed Charlotte. "So, you know who I am."
"Yes."
The woman shook her head sadly. "It's a pity. You were always kind to me. Not many were."
"Lady Norland was a sweet woman."
The Black Dahlia shrugged, the deep burgundy taffeta of her skirt whispering with the movement. "It hadn't seemed to matter. Regardless of her temperament, most mocked and despised my Lady Norland persona. I don't blame them. She was a spineless woman who deserved every ounce of disdain her husband bestowed upon her." She laughed viciously. "He got what was coming to him in the end."
Charlotte gasped. "You killed your own husband?" The hair on the back of her neck rose.
"Of course."
"But," Charlotte spluttered. "How could you do that?"
Another chuckle. "Easily, my dear. Very, very easily. He was a weak man who thought it right to physically vent his frustrations on his wife."
Sickness curdled Charlotte's stomach. "You don't mean … "
The Black Dahlia's eyes hardened. "I mean in every possible way. With his fists. In the bedroom. As long as there were no witnesses, he believed it his right to take his aggression out on me." A haunted laugh escaped her lips. "But I got him in the end. It was I who ultimately took my aggression out on him. The bastard didn't see it coming."
Charlotte gaped. What Lady Norland's husband had done was inexcusable. Disgusting. He deserved to die for treating a woman so poorly, but never would Charlotte have murdered him.
The Black Dahlia shifted her weight, almost bored. "Now, I'm sorry to do this. You really are a gracious young lady, but I have to kill you. I cannot let you identify me."
Charlotte shifted toward one of the tables lining the room, palming a silver candlestick behind her. "You don't have to do that. I won't ever tell what I know. I won't identify you. You can leave here now. There's nothing gained by my death. In fact, if you kill me now, even more suspicion will be on you."
"Clever, my dear." She nodded in appreciation. "You'd make an excellent partner, but I could never trust another enough for a partnership. No, unfortunately, you must die, along with the knowledge you possess."
Charlotte's grip loosened from the candlestick as Derek stepped from the bookshelf passage, his gun trained on his prey. Relief and fear mingled in her at his presence. He would protect her, but doing so put his own life at risk.
"If you hurt her in any way, I'll kill you."
The Black Dahlia rolled her eyes as if unafraid of Derek's presence. "Oh, come now, Viscount Lawrence. This doesn't concern you. You should have stayed out of this. Unfortunately, you won't leave this room alive."
"Are you all right?" he asked Charlotte without glancing at her. His gaze, and aim, never left his target.
Be careful! "Yes. She hasn't hurt me."
His target scoffed. "You're trying my patience. You wouldn't shoot me." Her eyes blinked, and suddenly the Widow Norland emerged, morphing so quickly Charlotte was forced to blink. "Would you?"
Derek's jaw clenched. "Lady Norland was a decent, good woman. You're not. I believe we both know that, Black Dahlia."
"Ah." A wide smile curved her lips, and quick as a whip, the Black Dahlia reemerged. "So, I see I underestimated you as well. You aren't who you appear. To think, after all this time, after all the foiled deals, it was you hounding my heels. For years you've caused me a lot of trouble. I think I'll enjoy watching you die."
"I'd like to see you try. You know a bullet won't stop me."
"Yes. I can see that." She shrugged. "But then, I don't think that will matter."
Sweat moistened Charlotte's brow. She couldn't just stand here and let the Black Dahlia shoot Derek. There had to be something she could do.
Inching her hand into her skirt pockets, Charlotte hooked her fingers around the derringer's handle. She secured it in her grip and eased it into the open, taking aim at her enemy.
The murderess turned her gun on Charlotte so fast she wasn't able to scream before both the Black Dahlia's and Derek's shots fired.
One bullet missed, burrowing into one of the shelves a few inches from Charlotte's heart. The Black Dahlia screamed as blood oozed from a bullet wound in her arm. She launched a knife at Derek, the blade sinking into his shoulder.
"Derek!"
The doors flew open as Henry ran in. Derek cursed when Lady Norland ran through the terrace doors. "Get her! I'm fine!"
Henry obeyed, running into the night toward his prey.
Charlotte cried out, dropping the pistol and scrambling over to Derek. "Are you all right? The blood … "
Derek gritted his teeth. "I'll be fine. It didn't hit anything important." He gripped the handle and pulled it out of muscle. More blood rushed from the wound.
Charlotte ripped her dress, pressing the fabric against the flowing blood. "What else can I do?"
"We'll need to stitch it."
"I can fetch my kit," she choked out. "I can do this."
"Wait." Derek swayed. He eyed the knife, holding the blade beneath his nose, and inhaled deeply. His eyes locked onto hers. "Poison."
"It's poisoned?" Dizziness swamped her with such a rush she nearly blacked out. "No. It can't be."
"It is. Potent," he said grimly, sinking to the floor. "Listen, I only have about five minutes until … "
She clutched his coat, panic filling her. She couldn't do this. "Where's Henry? I can get him. He'll know what to do."
"No time." He gritted his teeth against a spasm. "You must choose the right antidote."
"Which poison is this? You must tell me which antidote. Derek!"
He coughed. "Cyanide. Or arsenic. I can't smell … well enough … "
"Derek! Stay with me. Don't you dare die!"
His body heaved a moment before passing out. The shaking started a second after that. She wanted to stay with him, brace him in her arms, but she didn't dare. The clock was ticking.
She entered the chilled passage at a run, not slowing until she entered the poison room. The various colored jars swirled in front of her. He'd taught her this. He'd taught her what she needed to do, and she couldn't fail him. She wouldn't.
Gathering the purple and blue jars, she hugged them to her chest so tightly she thought they might burst. She couldn't afford to have one of them break, but she didn't dare slow her pace. She had to get to him, had to administer the correct antidote.
Flying into the library, she gasped. Derek's shaking had stopped, but his skin was ashen. He'd vomited. He was still breathing, though his lungs heaved, sucking in air faster than normal. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heart pumping too quickly to sustain him for long.