“Are those Marcello boots?” Raven asked him. “I’ve always admired your impeccable taste.”
Baron Wingate smiled, pleased with the praise. “I imagine Her Grace is instructing you on the Quality.”
“My stepmother has been a wealth of useful information,” Raven agreed, “and I admire her immensely. By the way, what happened to your hand?”
Wingate held his left hand up and looked at the bandage. “A dog bit me.”
“Are you in pain, Charles?” Belle asked, hoping her tone sounded normal. Every nerve in her body was trembling. She suffered the almost overwhelming urge to run for her life, but running incited predators to chase.
“My hand does throb,” Charles was saying.
“I’ll make us tea,” Raven said. “I have mild herbs that will take the edge off the pain.” Without waiting for his reply, she left the parlor.
Belle silently cursed her sister for leaving her alone with him. She struggled to remain seated instead of running out of the house.
“I heard what happened at the Winchester ball,” Charles said, once her sister had gone. “I want to apologize for hurting your feelings.”
“You cannot blame yourself for another’s behavior,” Belle said, managing a faint smile.
“Here we are,” Raven called, entering the parlor. She set a tray on the table and passed the baron his tea. “Belle baked her famous angel cookies. Help yourself while I set more tea to steep.”
Watching her sister, Belle could scarcely believe she’d been left alone with the murderer a second time. All this nervous tension could not be healthy for her baby.
Belle sipped the steaming tea and then set it on the table. Her hands were shaking too much to hold the cup without spilling its contents.
Five minutes passed in silence while the baron drank his tea and ate several cookies. And then another five minutes passed.
“Sister, help me carry this,” Raven called from the kitchen.
“Excuse me, Charles.” Belle gave him her most winsome smile. “Don’t go away.”
“I will wait for you, sweetheart.”
Belle walked unhurriedly to the door. Rounding the corner, she lifted her skirt and dashed down the hallway to the kitchen. Two steps into the kitchen, her sister yanked her into the dining room and shut that door, using the elm coffer as a barricade.
“Charles is the Slasher,” Raven whispered, moving to close the hallway door.
The baron stood in the doorway, preventing escape. Both women backed away to the far side of the room.
“Raven, you drugged my tea.” Charles wagged his finger at her and staggered foward. His speech sounded slurred when he added, “You have guessed my secret.”
The baron drew a dagger from inside his jacket, the blade’s gleam taunting them. “You cannot imagine how quickly the body drains of blood.” Walking on unsteady legs, he paused in the middle of the room to lean against the table.
“Do something,” Belle snapped at her sister.
“What?”
“Drop the chandelier on his head.”
Raven focused her gaze on the chandelier, willing it to drop. Several crystal goblets on the table exploded into glass shards.
Charles looked at the crystal, porcelain, and silver on the table and shook his head. “I should have known these expensive furnishings meant your father valued his daughters.”
Two porcelain cups flew off the table and crashed into the wall above the marble hearth. The gilt-framed mirror hanging there cracked into several large pieces.
“The chandelier, stupid, not the china.”
“I’m trying.”
“I told Mother I wanted you but—” He glanced at the swaying chandelier over his head, his body swaying with it.
The champagne flutes exploded, startling the three of them. Behind the sisters, the dining room windows cracked as did the French door’s glass panes. A teacup leaped off the table. Its saucer took flight, breaking the armoire’s glass door.
“The chandelier, you idiot,” Belle screamed.
In a flash of movement, Mikhail raced into the dining room. Alexander Blake was one step behind, followed by the constable and his runners as well as the princes and the duke.
Mikhail grabbed Charles from behind, wrapping his arms around his body and lifting him off the floor. He threw the baron against the dining room table, the blade falling from his hand.
Alexander yanked the baron’s hands behind his back to chain his wrists together. Constable Black locked his ankles in leg irons. At a nod from the constable, the runners grabbed the baron’s arms and dragged him ungently away.
Mikhail turned to Belle, all his love shining from his black eyes. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing, “Look at this mess. My mother’s possessions are broken beyond repair.”