He took a step back. “The choice is yours.”
Chapter Twelve
Paul sensed that someone was following him. Ever since he’d left his residence, he’d glimpsed a black carriage with an insignia that seemed familiar somehow. Every time he glanced back, he saw it.
Was it Strathland’s? He couldn’t be certain, but when he hailed a hackney, he noticed that the carriage shadowed his path toward the Earl of Arnsbury’s town house. The question was whether they would stop when he reached Lord Arnsbury’s or continue on.
When he reached his destination, he paid the driver and looked behind him. The carriage slowed, and he caught a glimpse of an older man inside, before it drove past. Paul wasn’t certain what it was about, but before he could approach the Arnsbury residence, he saw Lord Strathland walking out.
There was a gleam of smug satisfaction on the man’s face, and Paul no longer cared that they were in public. The man had clearly gone to bother Juliette, and after learning what the earl had done to her, there was only the need for blood. A primal craving for vengeance roared through him, and he ran forward.
Only to be slammed against the stone façade of a nearby building.
“Don’t,” came the voice of Cain Sinclair.
Paul plowed his fist into Sinclair’s nose. “This isna your business, Cain.”
“Leave it be, Fraser. The last thing you’re needing is to be brought up on assault charges against an earl. They can hang you for that.”
He knew Sinclair was right. But logic wasn’t enough to dim the need for blood. “He’s the one who hurt her. He’s going to die, and I’ll be the one to send him to Hell.”
“If you do, you’ll go right along with him.” His friend restrained him against the wall, using his strength to keep Paul from acting upon impulse.
A dark rage blazed through him, destroying any trace of mercy. There was naught but the need to bring pain to the man who had destroyed so many through his ruthless greed. “Don’t be asking me to stand aside, Sinclair.”
Justice was what he needed right now. He wanted to tear Strathland apart with his bare hands until the earl’s blood ran in the streets. He had no intention of standing here, of watching the bastard walk away. With all his strength, he fought Sinclair, trying to wrench himself free.
“My lord Falsham!” a man’s voice shouted. Without knowing why, Paul turned.
It was a mistake, for Sinclair grabbed him again and held him fast. “Sorry, lad, but I won’t be letting you kill yourself.”
With that, Cain bashed Paul’s head against the wall behind him. Darkness dragged him under, and his last thought was that this wasn’t over.
Not by half.
My lord. Are you awake?” came the voice of a man.
Paul’s head felt as if someone had split it open with a dull axe. Against his cheek was a wooden floor, and he scented the stale ashes of a hearth.
“Best wake up, or I’ve another way of getting your attention, Fraser,” Cain Sinclair added. “A bucket of water poured over your thick head.”
“That’s hardly necessary, lad. The puir man’s been through enough without ye giving him more discomfort. Now go on, and fetch food and drink for His Lordship.”
“I’m not your damned servant,” Cain retorted. “Nor his. He can fetch his own whisky.”
“Where am I?” Paul managed. “And who are you?” His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light, and the two figures blurred before him.
“I’ve been searching for you, these past few months,” the man explained. “I am Colin Kinlark, your uncle’s solicitor.”
“You were following me,” Paul said. “In the carriage a few hours ago.”
“I was, yes,” Mr. Kinlark agreed. “I regret that you were harmed, but under the circumstances, I believe Mr. Sinclair was trying to avoid further complications.” He offered his hand to help him up. “If he had not intervened, you might have been brought up on charges of a felony assault.”
Which would be accurate, since Paulwaswanting to murder Strathland.
Mr. Kinlark bowed slightly. “I’ve brought ye to an inn, but dinna be fearing that ye’ll stay here long. It was only necessary while you were—”
“Fashed in the head,” Cain finished. “Lacking in brains.”
