“Jordan.” Eleanor had halted. Staring up at the ridge, she pointed. “Look!”
Jacqueline lifted her head, and saw figures, still too far away to recognize but their number suggested they were gardeners or grooms, running along the higher paths out along the ridge. They were already pouring into the upper reaches of the Garden of Diana; there was no way Jordan and Eleanor, even alone and racing, could reach the path out.
Relief slid through her; she sagged, staggered back a few steps to lean against the side of the platform. “Untie me.” She held out her hands, bound with laces. “There’s no point going any further-you’ll have to go back and explain-”
With a snarl, Jordan turned on her. “No! I won’t let you go-won’t let the Hall slip through my fingers.” He seized her arm again, fingers biting. “We’ll just go the other way.” He jerked her upright. “Back inside.”
He hauled her back up the steps, then out onto the path leading up the garden to the wooden pergola from which paths led on to the northern ridge and the stables. “We’ll take horses from your stables.”
They’d gone twenty yards, out into the open, when Jordan abruptly halted. Head up, scanning ahead, he swore. “They’re up there, too.”
Jaw clenched, he towed her around and propelled her before him, shoving her back to the stone platform. Once under the wooden roof, he halted; still gripping her arm, eyes wide, a touch wild, he looked first one way, then the other.
Eleanor was looking, too. Even paler than before, breathing rapidly, she turned to Jordan. “What now? We can’t get out.” Her gaze shifted to Jacqueline. “She’s all we have to bargain with, but I haven’t a knife or anything to threaten her with-have you?”
Jordan patted his pockets, then pulled out a penknife. He flicked it open; the blade was less than two inches long.
“That’s no use!” Incipient hysteria rang in Eleanor’s voice.
Jordan was silent, staring down at the blade, then he drew in a huge breath, lifted his head and looked down the gardens.
Jacqueline had no idea what he saw, but calmness enveloped him.
The wild look in his eyes faded, and he smiled. Coldly. “It’ll do for what we need if combined with something else. Something more dramatic and final. And so very apt.”
He tightened his grip on Jacqueline’s arm, ruthlessly shook her. “Come on. I know just how to make your father and all the rest agree to everything I want.”
Going down the steps, he hauled her after him, then set out, striding rapidly along the path into the Garden of Mars, heading toward the cove.
Gerrard swore. Releasing the telescope, he swung around, ducked into the smoke-blackened room and headed for the door. “They’ve taken the path to the cove.”
“The cove?” Barnaby followed. “But there’s no escape that way.”
“No escape,” Gerrard ground out. “But something better. A gun to hold to our heads.”
“Gun?” Barnaby kept pace as Gerrard ran down the corridor, then went quickly down the stairs. “What gun?”
Gerrard strode onto the terrace. “It’s called Cyclops.”
By the time Jordan dragged her up the steps of the last viewing platform, Jacqueline had solved his cryptic utterance; she knew where he was going.
She’d slowed them as much as she’d dared; she had a stitch in her side, her breathing was quite genuinely labored, and her legs wobbled alarmingly. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the seat and recover. Jordan, who walked the gardens so often, appeared unaffected by their race down the valley. Eleanor, however, was flagging badly, as exhausted as she.
Seizing the moment when Jordan paused to note how close their pursuers were, Jacqueline dragged air into her lungs, straightened her shoulders, tried to ease the ache in her bound arms.
Jordan tightened his painful grip on her arm. “Come on.” His tone was tight. “We’ve got to get there ahead of them.”
He thrust her down the steps, following closely, jerking her upright when her ankle threatened to give way. He snarled, “Don’t you dare slow us down.” His eyes met hers, flat, cold-deadly.
How had she ever imagined him a friend, even a superior, aloof one? She was nothing to him, just a means to an end. As for Eleanor…Jacqueline looked at the woman whose nails bit into her other arm as she ruthlessly tugged her on. She’d never truly seen her before, but the Eleanor who’d stood beside Jordan in the parlor had dropped all pretense and contemptuously flaunted the truth. Recalling the lascivious details Eleanor had delighted in telling her over the years about her activities with her lover turned Jacqueline’s stomach, but she now knew the truth.
She knew who Eleanor’s lover was.
22
The last section of the path leading to the cove descended sharply through a wide curve. There were steps along the way, interrupting their headlong dash, forcing Jordan and Eleanor, despite their growing urgency, to slow.
Lungs burning, arms aching, Jacqueline stumbled on between them, searching for some means of delay. She could hear voices drawing nearer, lots of them. It was no part of Jordan’s plan for her to die-not yet, at any rate-yet as she grappled with the enormity of all he’d done so far in his quest to own Hellebore Hall…she had no faith that if thwarted, he wouldn’t sacrifice her out of revenge.
He couldn’t be entirely sane.
She glanced sideways. On her right, Eleanor was nearing the end of her resources. Unlike Jordan, she looked frightened, increasingly panicky.
Jacqueline looked ahead; her gaze fell on the plantings bordering the path. They reached the next bend; three steps led down. Eleanor started down, her fingers locked about Jacqueline’s arm, tugging her down, too. Jordan released Jacqueline to glance back up the path.
She let herself fall, dropping her shoulder, breaking Eleanor’s grip, butting hard into Eleanor’s side. Stepping down, already off balance, Eleanor lost her footing. She shrieked, flailed, then fell backward off the step into the bed alongside.
It was filled with large cacti.
Eyes wide, her mouth open, Eleanor froze, then she hauled in a breath and screamed. She thrashed; the cactus spines dug in, caught her skirts, caught everywhere.
Jordan stared, horrified-helpless to help her.
Then he rounded on Jacqueline.
She’d stumbled, but kept her feet. “She pulled me-I tripped.”
His face contorted. She saw the blow coming, but couldn’t duck in time; the back of his hand cracked across her cheek. She reeled, then fell to her knees, gasping, struggling to catch her breath.
Behind her, Jordan tried to calm Eleanor, tried to stop her from becoming more entangled. He grasped her hands and tried to pull her loose; Eleanor shrieked. The cacti had speared her in too many places, trapping her and her clothes securely.
“It’s all right.” Jordan let go. “It doesn’t matter if you stay here-they won’t hurt you. I have to get to Cyclops and make them agree to all we want. Once they’ve put it in writing, we’ll be the victors here-we can have and do whatever we want.”
Jacqueline staggered to her feet. She was too exhausted to run.
Jordan cast her a vicious, vindictive glance. “Later,” he said quickly to Eleanor, “you can have your revenge on her-take a whip to her, do whatever you like. You can make her pay, again and again-tie her up and make her watch us. She’ll be your slave. We’ll be together and no one will be able to stop us. But I have to get her to Cyclops to win.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened; she reached out, grasping his hands. “No-don’t leave me!”
Jordan’s contemptuous exasperation returned. “I’ll come back!” Glancing up the path, he shook off her hands. “I have to go-now!”
Eleanor howled. Jordan ignored her. He moved swiftly, ducking his shoulder, hefting Jacqueline up. Locking his arm about her legs, he headed as fast as he could for the cove. And Cyclops.