Chapter Nineteen

Alex dreamed of drowning. Immense waves crashed over him. Powerful underwater currents dragged him down, down into the depths of the sea. Just as his lungs began to burn, he would kick free and propel himself to the surface, sick with the knowledge that it was all for nothing. Each time he surfaced, he attempted to cry out or to breathe but the current always took him again before he could open his mouth.

Finally, he had his chance. He surfaced and this time managed to shout. Except no sound emerged. And then a towering wave more powerful than any other, stronger than the underwater current, buoyed him up and spat him out onto a sandy beach.

That was the moment he jolted awake, his blood pounding in his ears. He woke all at once. No morning fog. No sleepy stretching. One moment he lay bruised and broken on coarse sand. The next he was wide awake, blinking into the blackness.

Too late.

He knew before he reached across and felt the empty space. He knew despite the faint warmth lingering on the sheets. Without her nearness to cloud his thinking, he saw last night clearly. It had been Evie's way of saying goodbye.

"Evie?" he called, but he didn't expect an answer.

He lit a lamp and checked the sitting room. When he didn't find her, he looked for her things. She didn't have much to begin with, and he knew a moment's relief when he found one of her carpetbags. A woman with so little couldn't afford to leave so much behind. Of course, if she'd left in the dead of night, she'd almost certainly gone on foot. His relief faded as he realized she would only have taken what she could carry. With a sinking heart he looked in the wardrobe and saw that her few gowns no longer hung there.

He threw on some clothes and banged on the door of Helen's room. Carter emerged, rubbing his eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Evie's gone."

"In this weather? Are you sure?"

"Some of her things are missing." And the weather was bad—the wind howled as if to illustrate the point—but not so terrible that Evie wouldn't chance it if she were desperate. "I kept pushing her to stay. Christ, I'm an idiot. Of course she ran." Not once, in her whole life, had she had the freedom to choose the life she wanted. First she'd lived in poverty and then Nightingale had controlled her every move.

Carter glanced over his shoulder, then stepped into the hall, closing the door gently behind him. "Harcastle, you're panicking. You—"

"Don't be absurd! I never panic!" But he was shouting, so he took a breath and spoke more softly. "But it's dark and windy and she doesn't know the path."

"First of all, what makes you so sure she's taken the cliff path? She might have persuaded one of the servants to drive her to the village. Can she ride or drive a cart? She might even still be on the grounds."

"Which is why I don't have time for this. If she's gone or about to go, I need to make sure she's safe. I'm going to follow her to the village."

Carter sighed loudly. "I'll go with you."

"No, stay here. Talk to the servants. Have them search the grounds in case I'm wrong. If she turns up, sit with her. Make sure she stays until I return. Tell her I won't try to persuade her to stay. I only want to say goodbye."

"Will that be true?"

Alex took a deep breath, then exhaled with a shudder. "It will have to be."

He didn't wait for a response. Carter was a good man and he knew what it was to be mad for a woman. Alex trusted him absolutely.

Evie had to be headed to the village—there was nothing else but moorland for miles—and the cliff path was the shortest route. If it turned out she'd gone via the road somehow, she'd still have to wait for the train. If he took the road on horseback, he could intercept her where the path joined the lane or he could head straight to the station and wait for her there.

He grabbed a coat from a hook in the gunroom and took the lamp with him out into the dark.

The stable was at the back of the house, but as he trod

the gravel path that led there he began to doubt his chosen course. He imagined himself waiting at the station. Waiting and waiting. The cliff path was long and, in this weather and at night, dangerous. She might stumble and twist an ankle, and that was the least that might happen. Unlike her, he didn't have a bag to manage and she'd be juggling hers with whatever lantern she'd taken. He'd done that walk countless times, knew every stone, every turn of the path. If he followed her on foot, he would almost certainly overtake her.

He hovered in the doorway of the stable momentarily as he made his decision and pivoted. One step was all he'd taken before he heard it: the creak of wood and the anxious whickering of a horse. Far from unusual noises in a stable, yet his heartbeat quickened. He knew he was in trouble a moment before the blow fell. He would register the sharp pain on the back of his head later. It was the force of it that sent him to his knees. He went down face-first in the gravel. The lamp hit the ground but by some fluke it didn't smash. He rolled onto his back, knowing who he would see in the light. He spat dirt onto the ground at Nightingale's feet. Just in time he checked the impulse to sweep his attacker's legs from under him. It would have been a dangerous move, considering the revolver aimed at his heart.

"Easy, Your Grace." Nightingale spoke with no more agitation than would have been evident in a polite chat over tea and biscuits. In every way, he appeared his usual self, from neatly combed hair to excessively dapper suit. But if this—confronting Alex openly this way—was his contingency plan, he must have lost his mind.

Ludicrous as it was, Alex mimicked his polite tone.

"I have no intention of making any sudden movements, I assure you."

"A bit late to be out and about, don't you think?"

"Either that or it's unspeakably early."

"Just so, sir. Just so. But Evie was always an early riser. Given you the slip, has she?"

It was too late for Alex to pretend he didn't care about her, though he tried to school his features anyway. Men like this fed on fear. "I take it you saw her."

"And don't think I didn't consider following through on my threat, but I'm a sentimental man. She may be a deceitful bitch but she's like a daughter to me all the same."

The gun was still trained on Alex's chest. He stifled the urge to shift out of its path. "So you let her go."

"In the circumstances, I call that generous."

"Magnanimous even."

"Still, how do you think she'll feel once she knows her duke is dead? She's a tender-hearted creature deep down. You might say this'll be punishment enough."

Alex forced a smile. "So it's come to this? Years in the planning and this is the way it's going to end, with you shooting me?"

Nightingale shook his head sagely. "A crying shame, isn't it? I'd intended a more elegant revenge. You were going to suffer for the rest of your life, but I can't hurt your sister, not when she has her mother's face. Since I can't bring myself to touch Evie either, I did consider your cousin or your brother-in-law but… Well, it wouldn't be the same, would it?" He eyed Alex coldly. "No, it's a travesty of what I originally intended but I'm going to have to kill you, simple as that."

"Still, a shot to the head? It'll be over in an instant." "Don't you worry about that, sir. On your feet. Now." Slowly, Alex rose. He tasted something raw and metallic. Blood, he realized. He must have cut the inside of his lip when he fell.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." Nightingale gestured with the gun in the direction he meant them to take. A quick flick of the wrist, over before Alex had a chance to react. "Walk."

"Where are we going?"

Nightingale didn't answer because it was obvious. They were headed to the cliff.

Halfway across the lawn, Alex chanced a glance back at the house. Some of the windows were lit, so Carter must be organizing the servants as Alex had requested. If someone looked out and saw what was happening… They'd left the lamp behind but the sky was turning from darkest blue to gray, silvery at the horizon. Was there enough light for them to be visible from the house? He wasn't sure.

"Don't look round again," came the gruff warning.

Nightingale was nothing without the gun, but the knowledge that he might snap and shoot at any moment made the back of Alex's neck prickle. Exposed and afraid, he plodded onward. He tried to be logical. If Nightingale truly meant to shoot him, why hadn't he done so at the stable? Why chance this march over the grass? But they'd left the realm of logic behind weeks ago. There was no telling what this man might do.

They reached the top of the long flight of stone steps.

"Go on then," Nightingale said. So nonchalant, like he'd lost interest. His revenge was spoilt. Oh, he'd see things through all right, but the spark was gone. Evie had ruined everything for him when she changed sides; Alex took a certain satisfaction in the thought.

But he was still going to die.

"Keep going," Nightingale said once Alex reached the bottom step. "Keep going straight forward." Alex did as he was told, only stopping when his feet met the edge. "Take a good long look, Your Grace."

Alex did. The tide was in. Waves crashed against jutting rocks. He wasn't afraid of heights but the drop looked vastly different when you knew you were about to go over.

Somewhere along the path, Evie was nearing the road. He hoped so anyway.

Catch that train , he urged silently. Get as far away from all this as you can. Get away from me and be happy .

That was all he wanted now. For her to be safe and well. When she heard what had happened to him— if she heard— she would be sad for a while. But she was strong and she would recover.

He wished he'd given her more money. He wished he'd asked her to stay and marry him. The estate would have slowly died around them but it was impossible to care about that with this terrible descent at his feet. Dukes and dukedoms were probably doomed anyway. The world had changed. The new order had no truck with noblesse oblige. If he hadn't lost everything, his heirs would have. Perhaps it took staring death in the face to see things clearly.

"What now?" He was shocked by how unafraid he sounded when he was quite sensibly terrified. The effect was almost careless and he was spiteful enough to enjoy squelching Nightingale's pleasure. He struggled to remember why this was happening. Something about his father mistreating Helen's mother. Was that what had made Nightingale angry? Or was he angry because the duke had bedded a woman he regarded as his? For these reasons, whether one or both of them, Nightingale had decided to enact some sort of biblical vengeance, punishing the son for the sins of the father.

"What's so funny?" Until Nightingale asked, Alex hadn't realized he was laughing.

It's all these murky motivations, he wanted to say. Didn't Nightingale realize he was supposed to make these things clear? Where was his sense of literary clarity?

"It all seems so incredibly petty," Alex said, trying to contain his mirth. "I didn't even like my father. Hardly anyone did. He hurt Helen and me more than he could ever possibly have hurt you. I'm afraid I find the fact I'm now to die for his sins absolutely hilarious."

Nightingale strode forward and pressed the gun into Alex's temple. "Stop bloody laughing."

Fear was the strangest thing. Having the gun so close and seeing the fury in Nightingale's eyes only made Alex laugh harder.

"Jump," Nightingale ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"Jump over, you arrogant fucker."

Alex sobered abruptly. Nightingale labored under a misapprehension if he thought Alex could be intimidated into a voluntary descent. Clearly he wanted Alex to feel all the terror of his predicament. This was Nightingale's way of drawing things out, of making Alex suffer.

"No," Alex said.

Nightingale dug the steel muzzle harder into the side of Alex's head. "If you don't go over, I'll blow your brains out here and now."

"Then do it."

Nightingale was nearly incandescent with rage. He should have shot Alex. Instead he placed his free hand flat against Alex's back and shoved. Perhaps Alex meant to steady himself or perhaps he intended to take the other man over with him. Either way, he flung an arm around Nightingale's neck. Nightingale struggled, almost dropping the revolver. They both grappled with the gun until it went off with a mighty crack that echoed in the open sky.

Nightingale hit the ground. The last thing Alex heard before he went over was Helen's scream.