Page 93 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

He cackled maniacally. “In their graves.”

“No, they ain’t.” Kitty declared, without a hint of her usual meekness. “You are a liar.”

Her nose inches from her father’s, Genevieve snarled as if she were a starving tiger. “Who has them? Kilsby, the coward?”

“No, miss,” Kitty said. “Another man. He said he is your friend.”

But all of Genevieve’s friends had been with her at the duke’s estate except for Lady Davenport, Coach Valentine, and Edward Robinson.

Was it too much to hope that for some reason Edward Robinson, the intrepid lawman, had her siblings? He had appeared out of nowhere at her fight. If he had deposited them somewhere, that meant they were safe. The heavy burden lifted from Genevieve’s shoulders. Now she could deal with this atrocious blackguard with the paternal instincts of a power-hungry lion, once and for all.

Her father’s cackling halted, and his expression sobered. “Who has my children, Kitty?”

She clamped her lips together and shook her head.

A monstrous expression stole over her father’s face. His eyes morphed into slits and his nostrils flared. He dug into his pocket and withdrew the damnable blade, wielding it in Kitty’s direction. “Tell me who has them, Kitty.”

Genevieve stepped between her father and the maid. “Put the knife away, Father.” The wordfathersoured on her tongue.

He lunged at Genevieve. Perhaps she had inherited her quick reflexes from him because before she knew what was happening, he’d pinned her arms behind her back and pressed his knife against her throat.

Kitty squeaked as she brought her palm to her mouth.

Oddly, Genevieve was unafraid as he dragged her down the first flight of stairs—probably because planning his demise consumed her.

He halted on the landing and yelled to the first floor, “Melvin, where are my children?”

Melvin peered up at them, his eyes wide, Mrs. Whistler by his side.

“Sir don’t hurt Genevieve,” their cook said. “She is your daughter, sir.”

“Daughter?” he spat out. “How does one know who his descendants truly are if his wife is a whore?”

Heavens above. At least now she knew the truth. Her father despised her because he didn’t think she was his progeny. If only that were true. Unfortunately, she knew deep in her heart that her mother had been a faithful woman.

Melvin held up his palm as if staying a rabid wolf. “Let Miss Genevieve go, and I will tell you everything, sir.”

“The hell I will,” her father said. “How dare servants tell me what to do? First, I will kill her, and then I will kill each and every one of you.”

“The hell you will,” Genevieve said as she elbowed her father in the stomach. The blade cutting into her flesh burned, but not so much that she couldn’t grab his forearm as she pushed her arse into her father’s hips. While his body was off kilter, she bent forward and tossed him over her shoulder. As she predicted, he flew over her, toppling down the entire flight of stairs. His body somersaulted as his head crashed into the railing a half dozen times with satisfyingthwacks.

He landed at the bottom of the stairway, his arms and legs akimbo and his neck twisted so far that he appeared to be looking behind himself. The hilt of his blade stuck out of his bloody thigh.

Genevieve held her breath as she waited for him to climb onto his feet. When he didn’t move, she and Kitty descended the stairs to stand with Melvin and Mrs. Whistler. The four of them watched the pool of blood beside the supine corpse expand.

The front door crashed open, startling Genevieve. Relief washed over her as Jonathan flew toward her. He wrapped her in his arms as she collapsed into his protective embrace.

“You are hurt.” Frowning, he brushed his finger over her neck and then held the bloody tip up for her to see.

“’Tis just a tiny cut,” she said. Barely anything considering what she’d been through these past hours.

Edward Robinson strolled right up to her father’s discombobulated body. After shaking his head, he bent down and pressed two fingers to her father’s wrist. “Dead. Must have fallen down the steps broken his neck, and at some point, stabbed himself with his own knife.”

“That is exactly what happened,” Melvin declared. “He becomes quite uncoordinated with drink. Right, Mrs. Whistler?”

“Uncoordinated indeed,” Mrs. Whistler said.

Meanwhile, Kitty nodded emphatically.