Byron stared blankly at the filthy stone wall before him.

Never had he imagined he would be outsmarted this way.

Perhaps he had underestimated them, he thought as he turned his head, staring out at the unmoving guard outside his cell.

Ellie McPhee.

He would have her for this.

-Above and Below

*****

Wynne read the short note that arrived in Ulric that morning.

Stella silently sat in one corner, staring at him, the perfect epitome of patience.

Attack on Theobald tonight.

"Is it bad?" Stella inquired.

Wynne's jaw tightened.

Stay away from the Everards and know where your bloody loyalties lie, you idiots...

Thorne's words echoed in his mind.

Stella finally stood and walked over to his desk. With one glance, she managed to read the note before Wynne crumpled it in his uninjured fist.

He knew she was looking at him, studying him with judgment. But what else could he do?

He had done enough for the Everards.

He looked up and found Stella still looking at him, her expression blank. Yet he knew what she was thinking. "Not today, Stella," he ordered. "It is time for rehearsal."

Stella stared at him for a while before she squared her shoulders and turned. "Of course."

The next few hours Wynne spent on directing the rehearsal, changing scenes and ordering new mechanics on the effects.

But all the while, he was utterly distracted. The time was ticking and he kept reaching for his pocket watch as the rehearsal went on.

"Why don't we all take a short respite?" Stella recommended and walked down the stage without a word of approval from Wynne. "I am quite exhausted."

"No, resume," Wynne stonily rejected.

"No, I need a respite!" Stella angrily stated, looking over her shoulder at everyone. "Go, Christian, and study your lines," she ordered further.

The new actor nodded in hesitation before joining the flock of dancers exiting the stage.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" Wynne glared at her with fire in his eyes.

Stella stood before him, a warrior princess, her hands on her hips and an even stronger fire in her eyes. "No, I ought to be the one asking you that question. What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?"

"I am doing my job and so should you," he retorted.

She looked at him strangely, as though she was seeing a different man. "I have never questioned you, but now I believe I should, Wynne." She pointed at the entrance of the giant tent. "Go."

Wynne narrowed his eyes at her. "I am not certain if you are aware, Stella, but my place is with the theatre. You cannot order me to go anywhere else." He stood up, sternly holding her gaze. "If I ever go against my family again, they will not be forgiving."

"This theatre would no longer be what it is for you if you let anything happen to him, Wynne," Stella said as angry tears pooled her eyes. "Your place is where you feel you ought to be. It would be nowhere if you have his life in your conscience." She stepped away from him, back and shoulders stiff in defiance. "If you are not going, I will."

"Why would you even want to save his life?" he asked with a scoff.

"That is precisely the point, Wynne. I have far less reasons than you do," she said. "He has been your friend, you idiot. Or was that relationship also farce?"

Wynne whirled around, kicking his chair, sending it halfway across the room. Stella remained unmoved, glaring at him, ready to leave as she claimed.

"This will be the last," he growled, pointing his finger at her. "This will be the last."

She smiled. "Consider this a favor for me. And I will everyone rehearsal is moved on the morrow."

But Wynne was no longer listening as he stormed out of the tent, angry at Samuel. No, he was angry at Stella—and Emma. Bloody hell, he was angry at himself.

*****

By the time Wynne arrived in Wickhurst, the distant holes were starting to change their color, indicating that night time was soon to fall.

He went straight to his estate and ordered for Lawrence to make contact with the maid in Buford estate.

He restlessly paced around his study as he waited for news on Samuel's whereabouts.

It took Lawrence nearly over an hour to return and when he did, he was told that Samuel had received a note from Ralph Everard to meet him at Grey's that evening.

Wynne's jaw tightened. His eyes landed on a copy of The Blower sitting on his desk. Samuel had made a crucial move two days ago. Tonight, he would pay for it.

"Prepare my carriage," Wynne ordered.

Lawrence frowned. "My lord, may I inquire if you intend to—"

"Bloody hell, Lawrence, prepare the carriage!"

"Right away," Lawrence stiffly replied.

Wynne took off his coat and replaced it with a shorter one.

Without second thoughts, he reloaded his pistol and exited the study.

*****

A few hours later, Wynne's carriage was following close behind Samuel's.

It had made a sharp turn to the right and was gaining speed, leaving Wickhurst and far from Grey's.

"Speed ahead," he ordered his driver, overtaking the carriage. "Move along," he ordered, looking back at Samuel's carriage. Two men were sitting in front and none of them looked like they were regular carriage drivers.

Once they were safely out of Wickhurst and out of sight from any speculators, Wynne ordered his driver to stop the carriage, blocking the road.

He took a deep breath and whispered to himself, "You are a bloody idiot." With a tight grip around his pistol, Wynne jumped out of the carriage and watched as the one behind them rolled even closer with no intention of stopping.

Confident, although not entirely, Wynne leaned against the back of his carriage in easy fashion, prepared for an act.

"Get out of the way!" one of the men his uncle or aunt hired shouted at him.

Wynne remained where he was standing, eyes on the man holding the reins.

Their gazes locked, measuring the resolve of the other.

The carriage was not slowing down. Wynne was not moving.

"My lord..." his driver spoke with apprehension from behind.

"Shut up, Kelly," he ordered under his breath, his attention on Samuel's approaching carriage.

His grip around his pistol tightened as the horses' hooves grew louder.

"Ahhh!" the man driving Samuel's carriage shouted in anger, pulling at the reins just in time to stop the carriage.

Wynne found himself face to face with Samuel's horses, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. He let out a silent sigh of victory before pushing himself away from the carriage.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted the two men. He recognized the driver as one of his uncle's guards. The man seemed to have recognized him as well, but despite the difference is status, he glared at Wynne in anger.

"We have orders—"

"So, this is how you kill me," Samuel's voice said as he jumped out of the carriage, causing the two men who abducted him to jump to the ground, weapons at the ready. "It would be easy as the pistol I keep inside the carriage has mysteriously disappeared, leaving me unarmed."

"I will take care of this, gentlemen," Wynne ordered, ignoring Samuel's statement. His eyes locked with Samuel's. "You may now go," he added to his uncle's men.

"As we have said, we have orders!" his uncle's guard shouted.

Wynne ground his teeth as he lifted his pistol and shot Samuel's leg, causing the man to fall on the ground with an angry cry.

Without sparing another second, he swiftly pivoted his pistol at the two men who barely had enough time to react and said, "If you please, I would like to finish the job privately. This is more personal than you can imagine."

The men looked at each other.

Wynne cocked his gun. "I am not one to say please twice, gentlemen."

A silent grunt of defiance escaped the guard's throat before he motioned for his companion to leave.

"Take my dear friend's carriage," Wynne ordered, swinging his pistol back on Samuel whose face was red with pain. "He will not be needing it again."

He waited until Samuel's carriage moved, rolling down the road away from Wickhurst. It would not be long before they reached Willowfair where his aunt and uncle would be waiting.

When he thought it was safe, he lifted his pistol up in the air and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the silent road. He shot another round in case his uncle's men failed to hear the last one.

Samuel continued to glare at him as he approached.

"We have to go," he told Samuel, reaching out his hand.

Samuel slapped it aside. "You dare make me believe you are trying to save my life? That does not change who you truly are, you bastard!" Samuel let out a mocking laugh as he lifted both arms to the sides. "You can kill me now. I am certain you are dying to do so."

Wynne simply stared at Samuel. The man was raging with anger and pain.

"You are bleeding. If you do not see a doctor soon, you will die."

"I know who you are, Wynne Hastings. I found out long ago that you are one of them. Is this part of your act? What do you plan to do? Go on, tell me. No need to be shy, Wynne. Drop the act of the weak, naïve writer. We both know your true nature."

"I am not saving you because I want to, Samuel," Wynne said dryly. "And of course, I know you know who I am. In fact, it was around the same time Emma told you, I believe."

At the mention of Emma's name, he saw the surprise on Samuel's face before the man masked it with a bitter laugh. Shaking his head, he said, "You Trilbys cannot have the Town. My death shall not be the end. It will merely be the beginning—"

Wynne interrupted Samuel with a long, dry exhale of breath. "Would you bloody stop talking about me trying to kill you? My intent on saving your life is not for myself. You can very well do what you like after this night."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"I am doing this for two women. And you have once been a good friend." With a sneer, he added, "And because I always think way too many steps ahead of you."

"You bloody bastard—"

Samuel was not able to finish his statement as Wynne punched him in the face, knocking him unconscious. "Sorry for the shot and the punch," Wynne grunted as he pulled Samuel's limp body off the ground. "But you always prove to be too loquacious. I have warned you about it if you can recall."

His driver came forward to help him load Samuel into the carriage.

*****

"What in tarnation is happening?" Ezra demanded as Wynne and his driver dragged Samuel into his drawing room.

"I have nowhere to take him," Wynne said with a grunt, settling Samuel's limp form unto the settee.

"What say you to taking him into your own bloody home?" Ezra demanded.

The driver exited the room without a word as Wynne ambled away to the nearest seat. Crossing his leg over the other and clasping his fingers together, he wryly stared at Ezra. "Call for the doctor."

Ezra's head fell back as he helplessly stared at the ceiling. "May the mercy of the heavens strike me a blow now before I suffer Amelia's wrath."

Samuel was starting to stir back to consciousness. His bleeding was controlled by the cravat Wynne tied around his thigh.

Wynne stared at Samuel for a while as Ezra shouted for his butler.

With a sigh, he unglued his eyes from his friend—former friend, that is—and slowly went to his feet.

"See that he is inconspicuously returned to Buford after the doctor's immediate aid," he ordered Ezra.

"And where are you going? Out to save more of the Everards and their friends?"

"No, I am going home to sleep."

*****

Samuel opened his eyes to murmurs and hushed voices.

It took him a moment to realize he was in his own bedchamber in Buford, and a moment more to remember how it happened.

"He is awake," a voice said from beside him.

He turned his head and found Doctor Johannes offering him a gentle smile.

"Your friends are here, my lord," the doctor said, standing up. "I merely stayed to see that you did not fall into a coma." From how the doctor said it, Samuel could not decipher whether he was jesting or not. Perhaps both?

"What happened, Sam?" Ralph demanded. His friend was standing at the foot of the bed, face foreboding. When he slanted his eyes to the right, he saw Emma quietly standing opposite Ralph, bracing her hands around the bedpost. The concerned look on her face was readable enough. And it seemed as though she had been here for days by the state of her.

"Drink this. Just a sip," the doctor said. Samuel obliged for his throat felt too dry for him to even breathe. Satisfied, the doctor replaced the glass of water on the night stand. You are lucky to have not lost so much blood." Turning to Ralph and Emma, he added "I will return tonight to see to his wound."

"Thank you, Doctor Johannes," said Emma with a faint smile. "His sister shall be back tonight."

They waited for the doctor to leave the room before Ralph repeated his question. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days," Emma replied. "You were taken in by two gentlemen who found you in the road. They called for Doctor Johannes and arranged for your transfer to Buford."

Samuel frowned. "Two gentlemen?"

"Doctor Johannes said he was sent to one of the estates here in Wickhurst. He met the servants, but not the two gentlemen who found you. They must not have wanted anything to do with the shooting. Can you not remember? You woke up once."

He shook his head in confusion.

"It must have been the laudanum," she said.

Ralph cut their conversation by once more demanding, "What the bloody hell happened, Samuel? Who did this to you?"

Samuel's eyes were on Emma as he replied, "Who do you think?"

He saw her jaw tighten. So did her hands around the bedpost.

He dragged his gaze back to his friend whose eyes had turned to slits. "Emma told me everything."

He released a sigh of regret. "I was supposed to tell you myself."

"Did he really do this?" Emma asked, her voice almost a whisper of disbelief.

Samuel scoffed but said nothing.

"How did you survive?" Ralph demanded.

Samuel shrugged his shoulders. "I can barely recall anything. All I remember was how I was shot by my bloody treacherous friend."

"He left you to die? Or left you to survive?" Ralph asked, looking confused.

Samuel considered his next words very carefully. Without sparing Emma a glance, he focused his gaze on Ralph. "I cannot say for certain. All I can manage to sum up now is that he left me bleeding as a threat."

Ralph erupted in a rage of angry outbursts, recalling how he had trusted Wynne enough that he had once let his wife hide in the man's estate for the night!

Samuel realized that Emma had quietly left the room. His jaw tightened as he began to realize what had been happening behind his back.

*****

"Amelia can do anything to ruin you," Thorne said beside Wynne.

They stood in the dark corner of the theatre. The play had just started. The tent ought to be full by now, but there were barely anyone seated to watch the show.

It was not surprising that Amelia finally found out about Wynne's little hobby. It could have been Ezra. Or it could have been Thorne. Bloody hell, it could have been Durley himself.

"This is not even considered fatal," Thorne continued to say in a low tone. "This is a warning for your unwelcome interference on the road three nights ago."

"What do you suggest I do then?" Wynne asked, tasting bitterness in his tongue.

"Be obedient and you can live the way you had always been."

Wynne scoffed incredulously. "I wonder... Why do you follow her orders?"

Thorne slightly turned his head to stare at Wynne from the corner of his eye. "Do I?" he asked mysteriously. He looked around the tent, up at the ceiling and the walls. As he watched Stella dance with Christian Fulke, Thorne said, "Now, I suggest you pack up before she burns this whole place down. I promise you, it will not be long."

Wynne nodded. "I am leaving."

Thorne took a step forward. Giving Wynne a sideway glance, he pulled his bowler hat deeper. Before he departed, his voice was laced with regret as he said, "Then I am afraid you are on your own."

*****

Later that night, Wynne arrived in his Wickhurst estate and locked himself in his study.

He stared at the papers from the Hastings estate sent to him that morning. Soon, it would no longer be his.

The imminent sense of leaving and starting anew was in the air, he thought.

The knock on the door distracted him from his mental planning. Lawrence unlocked the door from outside and announced, "Lady Emma is outside demanding to talk, my lord," the butler stiffly informed him.

Wynne shook his head. "Tell her I am not here."

"Of course you are not, you bloody coward," Emma's angry voice said as she sauntered into the room, beautiful in her confidence and anger.

Wynne and Lawrence shared a look of understanding and the butler closed the door, leaving Wynne and Emma alone.

He leaned back against his chair and stared at Emma.

It was not safe for her—and him—to be here.

His aunt was closely monitoring his movements and her presence here could evoke further havoc.

But before he could even say a word, Emma had managed to circle around his table, closing the distance before them, and slapped his cheek to the side. His jaw tightened and his entire body tensed as he summoned for control.

"You bloody bastard!" she shakily shouted, her furious emerald green eyes in liquid pool of tears.