Chapter Seventeen

This was, by far, the most chilling and frightening thing to ever happen to her. Even thinking that Evan was lost or dead didn't hold a candle to this situation.

"Release me."

"Not yet." Edward practically dragged her from the room even though several people gawked and openly opposed such treatment. "What is more, Baselton realizes I am the man you should choose. Now he'll make the appropriate choice, and in doing so, he will no longer be an obstacle for us."

"He was never the obstacle. Don't you see?" The urge to retch rose in a hot wave up her throat. "You were the same to us."

"You didn't think that a few months ago. In fact, you had pledged your allegiance to me, wished to marry me."

"Because I thought him dead! But we are still married, and he is very much alive."

"Not for long, I'll wager."

She nearly trotted beside him to match Edward's quick pace as they moved through the corridors. At the rear of the house, he pulled her into a large library, well stocked with books and a few groupings of dark leather furniture. Darkness shrouded the entire space. The only source of illumination was one heroic candle in a silver holder on the mantel. It threw gruesome, frightening shadows about the room, lending it a macabre feeling.

The centerpiece of the hour was Evan, who occupied the back of the room near a set of double, French-paned doors. He was so still, on his knees with his back to her and his head bowed. Beyond him, the winter landscape beckoned; the moonlight and star shine twinkled on the thin blanket of snow. Beauty and horror in one glance, certainly an odd juxtaposition.

"Evan?" Finally, Edward released his hold on her wrist, and she crept slowly forward, then her breath stalled in her chest, for he held a pistol in his right hand. A brown bottle of laudanum rested on the floor in front of him, the cork a few inches away. Had he already drunk the liquid opiate, already shot the pistol? There was no acrid scent of gunpowder in the air as of yet. "Evan, please put down the pistol." But if he'd already taken the whole bottle of the drug, there was little she could do to save him from such an overdose. Tears stung her eyes. What had driven him to this brink? For a while, it seemed as if he was doing well.

"He knows he cannot." Edward scoffed then smirked as he bounced his gaze between them. "This is your husband. This weak, cowardly man who plans to exit this world because he can't bear to live in it. He has given up, is leaving you because he was never brave to begin with. I'll wager his heroics in the military were naught but a lie."

"No. Stop!" With her heart in her throat, Vivian shoved at Edward. "There is no one as brave as my husband. Do you honestly believe a weak, cowardly man could have survived what he has and come back to try it a second time?"

"His mind is broken, Vivian. There is no fixing that. He'll never be whole."

"Perhaps he doesn't need to be." Anger and sadness dueled for supremacy in her chest as she smacked his arm. "You did this to him."

"No, he did this to himself. Look at him!" When he reached for her arm, she stepped away. "A real man would fight for everything he believed in, for the woman he says he loves, but he has given up."

"Because you goaded him into it!" I must stop this. "Evan, listen to me." As her heartbeat accelerated, Vivian picked up her skirting and hurried through the room. Desperate and nearly out of her mind with fear, she dropped to her knees in front of him. "Look at me."

"Go away. Let me do this. I have to do this, so you have no more excuses."

"I don't need an excuse." What should she say that would keep him from making one terrible, horrible, permanent mistake?

"You had a life before I came back. I have mucked that up, so I will remove myself from the issue." When he raised his head and met her gaze, she was struck by the stark pain and sorrow in the dark depths of his eyes. "Then you will be free to marry Starkington."

Knowing that Edward watched and knowing that he hoped Baselton would go through with this, she pushed all those thoughts away to concentrate only on her husband. "You are hurting."

"Yes." He transferred the pistol to his right hand.

"And confused."

"Yes."

"I understand that so well." As she spoke, Vivian picked up the abandoned cork. With slow, measured movements, she slipped her fingers around the bottle of laudanum. Relief coursed down her spine; the bottle was still full. "Ever since you came back, I have experienced both of those things as well." After she corked the bottle, she thrust it behind her on the floor.

"Which is why I need to leave, so you won't feel those things anymore, so you can move on and finally be happy." His whispered words were full of emotion, of heartbreak.

"Darling, don't you know yet that I love you? You!" She leaned forward, extending her hand and touching his knee. He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "It doesn't matter who you were in the past or that you cannot remember that man." When she peered into his face, caught the confliction in his expression, a kernel of hope bloomed in her chest. "These past two weeks have been the best I have spent with you since our marriage began."

"What?"

She nodded. "It's true. Though these weeks have been highly emotional, I wouldn't have traded that time with you for the world. Can you not see? We finally talked. We talked from the heart, Evan. Before, we were merely polite to each other for the sake of our marriage, because we didn't have the time to do anything else."

"How can you love a man as broken as me?"

"Do you consider yourself as such?"

"I have been told—"

"No!" Vivian shook her head. "Then you have been listening to the wrong people! What do you friends say? The rogues?" Where were his club mates? Did they think to give her privacy with Evan? She hoped they would burst in soon, for she didn't know if she could bring Evan back from the brink by herself. When he didn't answer, she continued. "I'll wager they tell you to give it time, to not rely so heavily on hoping to remember, or wish that things between us would go back to the way they were." She squeezed his knee. "And while that might be so in fairy stories and plays, real life is sometimes much different."

"The fact is my mind is fractured; I'll never be whole. You don't deserve that." The unmistakable sound of the pistol cocking echoed in the silence of the room. "You deserve happiness, love, you deserve—"

"I deserve you, Evan," she interrupted with passion in her voice. "Don't you understand? You came back. You found me a second time. That means fate has emphatically said that we belong together."

"Fanciful words, nothing more, because you feel guilty."

"Of course I'm guilty! I should have mounted a search for you. I should have hired Bow Street, I should have implored the rogues, I should have done something, should have looked for you because I knew in my heart you weren't dead, but I listened to the wrong people too." When she sent her gaze across the room where it collided with Edward's, the faint smile on his face strengthened her resolve. "The person who counseled me has no doubt done the same to you, for his own benefit."

"You cannot deny what we feel for each other, what we did to each other," Edward called from across the room. "With me, you will have a real, full, robust life, but with him, you'll face innumerous challenges, will become a caretaker instead of a wife."

"That is not for you to say!" She scooted closer to Evan, but he shot to his feet with the pistol in hand. "I made a mistake, I'll admit to it." Terrified that her husband would listen to the demons he battled with, Vivan struggled into a standing position. Laying a hand on his arm, she looked into his face. "As soon as I saw you again, I knew this was a second chance for us both, that fate wasn't done with us, that there was still hope."

"Yet Starkington is correct. I would prove more of a hinderance than a help to you as time goes on." With pain in his eyes, he raised his hand and pressed the barrel of the pistol to his temple. "I just want the pain and the nightmares and the confusion to go away."

"If you kill yourself, we will never know if it will. Together, we can work on that."

"It will all be over once I pull this trigger, Vivy." His eyes bored into hers. "I care for you far too much to let you live a life of uncertainty, of grief, of broken love, because I'm too damaged to make it any other way."

The tears in her eyes overflowed to her cheeks. "Don't you think I won't grieve for you anyway if you put an end to your life? The only difference is that you won't be here any longer."

"You can find support in Starkington's arms."

"I cannot because I love you more. Whatever feelings I had for him faded away once you came home, once we were able to talk." Was there anything she could say that would sway him? "If you do this, I will never marry another. How could I when you will carry my heart wherever you go, as you always have." That was the truth. "I don't want the worst day of my life to be the last day of yours." She could barely force out the words. "If you die, the best parts of me will be gone as well. I'll never be the same and mourning you a second time is something I am not strong enough to do." Another truth, and if she wasn't careful, she would break into sobs, which would render her no good to him in this situation. "That is maddening to me."

For long moments, Evan stared at her. "This life, I'm learning, is messy."

"It is. For all of us, even with memories or not."

He nodded. "The only time it's not truly maddening, the only time where I feel a glimmer of hope—of peace—is when I am with you."

"Then don't do this. Stay with me. Be with me. Remain married to me so that you can see where we will go and what we will do together in the future, because you have one." She held out a hand. "Memories or not, nightmares or not, children or not, there is still much ahead of us." Gently, she encouraged his hand away from his head. "And should you need more help than I can give, we will find it. Wherever it is."

"What gammon is this?" Edward strode forward with an expression like a thundercloud. "You promised to marry me."

"That was before my first love returned, before I knew I was tip over tail for him a second time." She ignored Edward in favor of keeping her gaze on her husband. "I want to see the Tuscan countryside, Evan, and Rome, and Paris. I want to go to Bath, and Brighton, and Kent. I want to gaze upon the ocean, perhaps see the sands of Egypt, and I want to do all of that with you, for there is no other."

"If you think he can give you all that, you have been misled. The man cannot remember his own life or family. He doesn't remember you." Annoyance threaded through his voice. "Why the hell would you choose him over me?"

"Love," Evan said suddenly into the charged silence. "The difference is love. Connection. Passion." A slow smile spread over his lips. "What she had with you was fleeting. It would never have lasted, especially after you showed her how much of a fucking arse you are, but what she and I have?" The gesture twinkled in his eyes as he looked at her. "It was fate. Nothing, not enough amnesia, not even you, could break up apart."

"Yes," Vivian whispered with a nod. When the sound of footsteps at the door infiltrated her consciousness, she glanced at the door and released a sigh of relief. Dukes Broadmoor and Strathfield stood there along with the Earl of St. Vincent.

No harm would come to Evan now.

"It was always there; the answer was always us. Together." Then his expression changed, went hard and accusatory. He slowly turned. No doubt he saw his friends. "And you, Lord Starkington, are not the upstanding member of the beau monde you wish us all to think."

"What are you talking about?" This from Edward, who narrowed his eyes.

"You are the representative of the new criminal network operating in London. You are the one who has been threatening the members of the Rogue's Arcade, and it was you who stole the Marie Antoinette necklace from my wife at the rout."

"It's true. I couldn't find the necklace after that night," Vivian said as she came abreast of her husband.

"More ramblings of your mad self." The other man scoffed. "No one can believe anything you say."

"I'll wager I've spoken more truths while living with a fractured mind than you have in all the years I've been gone, which begs the question why." Evan took a step forward. The pistol in his hand dangled at his side. "What have you entangled yourself in, hmm?"

"That is none of your concern, Baselton." With smooth movements, he withdrew a pistol from the inside pocket of his tailcoat. "Since you couldn't even manage to off yourself in a timely manner, I have no choice but to go through with my current mission." He raised his arm, cocked the pistol, and leveled the nose of the weapon on Evan's chest. "In retrospect, I should have done this the second you came back to Town, but I honestly didn't think you would have lasted as long as you did."

Bang!

"No!" As if everything happened in slow motion, Vivian heard the report of the pistol, saw the flash the gunpowder made upon being struck, knew that ball was meant for her husband, and she couldn't let that happen. Only wishing to shield him from it in an effort to possibly not have him get lost in another nightmare, she jumped in front of him with her arms outstretched.

Time accelerated and her world became racked with severe pain as the ball found purchase in her right shoulder.

"Vivian!" The agony in Evan's voice was palpable, and then the room erupted into sound and motion as she slipped backward, falling into her husband's arms. He caught her with a grunt of pain, but they both crumpled to the floor with her sprawling awkwardly over his lap.

"It hurts," she said around panting breaths. "Everything hurts."

"I know. Damned ball went through your shoulder to lodge into my left one. Even in pain we are matched."

A sob escaped her. She hadn't managed to save him at all. "I'm sorry."

"Shh." After he cradled her in his arms, Evan rested his right hand on her shoulder. "I apologize if this adds to your pain, but I must put Starkington down or render him helpless."

"I understand."

Bang!

A howl of pain came from Edward, swiftly followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor, hard. "You shot me in the shin, you bastard!"

"Because a ball between your eyes would have been too good for the likes of you, and besides, I want you alive and conscious when the rogues question you." Evan tossed the pistol away. He gently pressed his handkerchief to her wound as he peered into her face. "For what it is worth, I love you too, Vivy, and I didn't realize how much until just now."

Edward's screams echoed through the room.

She didn't care. Not any longer. "It is worth everything, darling." The pain in her shoulder was incredible, and she sobbed from it. "Am I going to die?" After all of this, death would separate them anyway? It was hardly poetic.

"I honestly don't know, but I am going to fight to keep that from happening." A waver entered his voice as moisture gathered in his eyes. "I was a fool to let Starkington manipulate my melancholy, to let him encourage me to end my life." To him, he said, "You had your chance at a peaceful resolution. You had the chance to walk away with dignity. Now you'll rot in Newgate once the rogues are finished with you."

"Ah, another death on your conscience, Baselton." Edward snapped and snarled at the dukes came forward. When they both took hold of his arms and yanked him into a standing position, he screamed in pain.

Evan shrugged while Vivian fought to remain conscious through the waves of pain crashing over her. "What is one more if I can make certain the man who nearly killed my wife remains in prison?" His voice broke. "She might die from a ball meant for me. I rather doubt your love for her was all that real."

"You're naught but a pig, Baselton, a damned fool."

"At least I don't hide my true self." A muscle in his cheek ticced. "Why the hell did you want to kill me? I'm nothing to you. I'm nothing to anyone… except my wife." Again, he glanced down at her, and she tried to give him a smile, to let him know she appreciated all he'd done for her.

Edward's chuckle was a horrid sound. "You are weak. Lady Stover was right to choose you to take out. We thought that once you were gone, some of the lesser rogues would fall. Then the club would unravel from within."

"What a nodcock," Broadmoor said as he helped Strathfield drag Edward toward the door. "We have never left a man behind. What the devil would make you think we'd start now?"

The scent of blood was overwhelming. Tears coursed down Vivian's cheeks as the pain throbbed, became her world with every heartbeat. "Don't engage with him any longer," she said with halting words. "Let the dukes decide his fate…"

"If you think it ends with me, you are wrong! Know this, what is happening with Lord Rockwell is just the beginning! Lady Stover is coming for you all!" The threat lingered long after the dukes removed him from the room.

St. Vincent approached their location. "She's losing blood too fast, Baselton. We need to get her treated, and you as well."

"I know. Give me your cravat and quickly." Pain and urgency threaded through his voice. "I'll do what I can to stabilize her for transport."

"Now that sounds like the man I used to know." Dear God, it hurt to talk, to move, to breathe. Before her strength left her, she pressed a palm to his cheek, left bloody streaks on his skin. "I love you, Evan. I hope you know just how much." She paused to draw breath, to try and ignore the pain, but it was too difficult. "Until we meet again…"

And the darkness that pressed in on the edge of her vision suddenly consumed the whole of her person. Gratefully, she sank into the void where there was no sound, no smells, no pain… and no Evan.