Page 87 of The Secret of the Three Fates
“Hawick, go back to the house with my wife—you don’t need to bother yourself with this bit of baggage.”
“I daresay thisbit of baggageis entirely my business.” Mr. Owen’s violent gaze shifted to Genevieve, drinking in her features, and his expression softened. “Gods, she is Mariah’s girl. How did I not see it before…” He started to take a step toward Genevieve before recalling that the duke still had a rifle aimed at me. Torn between his wife’s daughter and me, he turned again to the duke. “James, put the bloody gun down before you kill someone else.”
A sound came from beside Genevieve, and we all turned to it. Elijah shifted and groaned in the pile of old hay. And Isaw…Isawin that fraction of a second exactly how it would all unfurl, moment by moment. The duke would realize Elijah was alive and shoot him, his dark life’s blood pooling out over the hay and Genevieve. Ruan would respond a heartbeat too slow, and would be struck down by the second round.
Without a thought, I lunged for the rifle, putting my good shoulder into the duke’s belly, in hopes of disarming him. He anticipated my move, spinning back around, knocking me hard in the temple with the butt of the gun. My vision went black, and I stumbled, reaching out to steady myself with my left hand—forgetting entirely that I had the shears, and drove them hard into the duke’s groin, pulling as I fell to the ground. The duke let out an agonized scream, tumbling down atop of me.
The foul man would not stop screaming in my ear, as his impossibly hot blood soaked through the front of my skirt, coating my own legs.
The bastard was dying.
Good.
Death was the only thought in my head as I stared up at the sky, struggling to breathe, but my lungs could not draw in air with the duke’s weight pressing me into the wet ground.
He was crushing me.
Ruan rushed to my side, shoving the duke off me. I clutched the shears tightly as they came out of the duke’s thigh, blood gushing out in rhythm to his pulse.
It would not be long now.
I could not regret it. Not after hearing what he’d done to Mariah. To that poor nameless girl. To Lucy. To countless women over the years. I may hang for killing a duke but I would not regret a single one of my actions this day.
I hugged my legs to my chest. Ruan was close now, I caught the familiar green scent of his skin, of his sweat—but could not bring myself to look at him. Could not bear to be reminded of what might have been that can never be. I’d killed a duke, and would face the consequences of my actions.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIXThe Prodigal Daughter
Istared at the duke long after he quit breathing, unable to look away from him. I scarcely noticed that Ruan had moved Elijah from the hay, deeper into the croft and away from the elements. He was awake now, talking with Ruan, who was busy stitching his wounds and assessing the damage. The sling binding Ruan’s injured shoulder annoyed him, and he strained against it as he pulled a small brown bottle from Andrew’s bloodied medical kit.
Andrew.
Mr. Owen eased down in the mud beside me, his dressing gown brushing against my ruined clothes. He swept my filthy hair back from my brow with a shaking hand. “Andy is fine. Kivell got him to the house—a sight the pair of them making their way—Andy with a wounded leg and Ruan with a broken shoulder… The duchess and Lady Morton are taking care of him. The duchess sent her man to the mainland for the authorities.”
Cold dread clawed its way up my jaw. “Mr. Owen… that’s not a good idea. Lady Morton… Her husband was a Eurydicean.” I looked at the dead peer lying in the mud before me. “The duke was in league with Inspector Burnett; who knows who else is involved?”
“You have nothing to fear from Lady Morton. Nor is there any love lost between the duchess and that one—” He grumbled beneath his breath, reaching around and tucking me against his side. “She learned her husband was a monster not long after the wedding, but there was little she could do about it by then. She warned Kivell that he was armed as we left the house.”
I wrinkled my nose, looking at him. “And you still came out here, knowing he was a madman with a hunting rifle, and you in your nightclothes…” I looked down at the persimmon dressing gown.
He smiled at me, resting his temple against mine and drawing in a deep breath. “I could not leave you to the wolves, my lamb. It will be well. Trust in that. It will be well. I will not let you come to harm.”
Oh, how I wished that were so. A ball of emotion lodged itself in my throat. “Did you know what he’d done to Mariah?”
He pressed his lips tight, running his fingers over his white mustache before shaking his head. “No. I had no inkling the depths of his depravity. I—” Mr. Owen’s deep voice sounded small for once. Helpless. “I only wish Mariah had spoken to me, come to me…”
I pulled my knees up, hugging them to my chest as Mr. Owen glanced past me to Genevieve.
“I do not know how in the gods’ names that lass thinks she’s James’s git. Has she not a mirror to her name?” Mr. Owen studied her with that mercenary gaze he usually reserved for particularly valuable tomes. Assessing every flaw, every crease. It was evident that he was coming to a similar conclusion as I when it came to Genevieve Demidov, and I suspected that Andrew had the right of things. She was his cousin. Whether she knew it or not.
“I wonder if her mother told her…”
He let out a dark laugh. “Just look at her. That lass is no more James’s bastard than she is yours.”
I let out a strangled laugh—but even that hurt.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and cleared his throat, clearly done with emotion for the moment. “Go talk her around, lass. You’ve a way with you. Besides, it’ll do you good to get away from this stench.” He toed the body of the duke with his slipper.
Here I was—having escaped a fire, an angry sea, and a murderous duke, and the old man wanted me to break the news to his long-lost daughter that she is not the illegitimate daughter of a dreadful duke but the prodigal one of an exceptionally eccentric viscount. “Mr. Owen, look at me! I’m in no condition to talk anyone anywhere.”
