Daniel raced over to his cousin and loosened the ropes binding his hands. Leaving Theo to deal with his gag, he bolted through the door indicated and bounded up a back staircase.
“He has a knife. No guns, a knife,” Theo panted from below. “She stabbed a hairpin into his hand to get free.”
Daniel did not break stride. He took the stairs two at a time, heart in his throat. Knives, no guns. Edmund couldn’t shoot him. It bought him time to negotiate. As to his brave warrior, of course Julia would find a means of escape. He should never have doubted it.
He barreled through too many empty rooms. For God’s sake, his cousin was a bachelor, why the devil did he have such a grand home?
Another scream rent the air and his heart stumbled. Other cries followed. A struggle. He entered what appeared to be the master bedroom, and French doors gaped open, leading out to a balcony.
He sprinted through them, stopping short at the sight before him. Julia.
Alive, and straining against Edmund’s grip. One of his arms cinched her waist, the other circled her neck, a mean, serrated knife pressed against her throat.
Julia’s fingers scored his forearm. Half of her hair tumbled loose in long, curling strands. Her eyes widened with fear, and she breathed his name as Daniel released his grip from the revolver and held up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.
“I am here, Edmund. I got your message. It is me you want. Let us make that exchange. Let her go. Me for Julia.”
Edmund emitted a mad, scoffing laugh. “Do you think me that big a fool? She’s not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not yet. Do you have it?”
“The papers Abel Shaw wanted me to have? No, but they were sent to Theo. He did not give them to you?”
“That little bird-beaked bastard, he lied. He said he mailed them to you.”
“Well, then he did.” Daniel kept his voice calm. “I am sure we can get a hold of them in Boston. But if you kill me and the papers are addressed to me, you will never acquire them, Edmund. You would be wise to think on that.”
“Enough! Just be quiet.”
He swallowed when Edmund tightened his grip, and Julia cried out. Edmund frantically glanced around the balcony as if seeking an escape.
Daniel edged closer.
“Stop,” Edmund barked. “Do not move any closer. Why the hell did you come back? I thought I got rid of you the first time. Why didn’t you stay away?”
“Edmund, what the devil is this about? You are jeopardizing all you have and for what? What did I do to provoke this? I have been gone for the last decade.”
Edmund’s face was thunderous. “What did you do? What didn’t you do? You have been the bane of my existence my whole life. Father nattered on about you until I was damn near mad from hearing about how brilliant you are. God, how I hate you. It is inconceivable to believe that I would ever stand by and let you strip everything away from me, not when I was groomed to have it all.”
“I have not taken a bloody thing from you except Julia. I would say I am sorry for that, but I am not. But I give you my word of honor that if you let her live, I will do the same for you. I have a life in America, we can go there.” He kept his voice level, his eyes steady on Edmund’s, not daring to glance Julia’s way.
“You don’t get it. You have no idea,” Edmund sounded incredulous.
“Why don’t you tell me?” He fought to maintain the calm façade that Edmund was losing.
“It was your life or mine,” Edmund said. “For the title is my life, and it belongs to you.”
Daniel stared at him blankly. “Excuse me?” he managed, not certain he had heard him correctly.
“He thought you were going to die, and you did not. You did not! You never do.” Edmund emitted a hysterical laugh. “You were delivered first, but were so damn thin and sickly. And all the others had died.”
He fell silent as if waiting for Daniel to catch up, to fit the last piece into the puzzle. And suddenly, he did.
Destined to die like all the others.
His mother had suffered a full dozen heart-wrenching miscarriages. Twelve babies in ten years. He had heard of his father’s joy at the birth of two healthy boys. But he had not been as robust, nor as strong as his twin. Edmund had stolen the nutrients from him as he had continued to do throughout his life. Edmund had been born larger, thriving, while he had been delivered sickly, half the size.
So a betrayal was born. His father had not bothered to wait for his death certificate, but had convinced the doctor to change the order of their birth, declaring Edmund his heir.
“He was so sure,” Edmund spat. “But you survived, like you always bloody do. And father finally had an attack of conscience. Said he was morally obligated to correct past mistakes. For the sake of the estate. He kept droning on about your understanding the land better, more attuned to it and the tenants. Said I lacked patience. As if I was going to run the estates myself, like a bailiff or worse, a farmer.” He sounded appalled at the thought.