‘Broke the news about what?’ bit out Gabriel. ‘That you’re a murderous thieving cowardly bastard? Believe me,thatI already knew.’
Henry’s chuckle died and he took a deep breath, clearly trying to get himself under control.
‘Did you know my father and your mother were very close once upon a time?’ he remarked mildly. Gabriel frowned at the sudden change of subject. ‘What of it?’ he questioned with a shrug.
Henry grinned again, his good humour restored. ‘Did you never wonder why it took sooo long for you to be conceived?’ he pressed. I mean, your dear mama was quite long in the tooth when she finally became pregnant with you. And when you were born, mere months after me… well we were the spitting image. Everyone said so.’
Gabriel stared back at his cousin’s smirking face, sudden bile rising into his throat. ‘Fiend seize it, spit it out Henry,’ he ground out, wanting nothing more than to wipe the smug grin off his cousin’s face.
‘We’re brothers,’ Henry shouted out gleefully, evidently unable to hold his revelation back any longer. ‘LadyNorthwood was my father’s whore, and you, the high and mighty Gabriel Atwood are my father’s by blow.
‘In other words, dearest brother, you are a bastard - in name as well as nature.’
Gabriel opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again, his heart slamming nauseatingly against his ribs.
It was true, the deepest darkest part of him knew it. It explained so many things. His father’s estrangement. His complete lack of interest over anything his son said or did.
And Gabriel’s closeness to Benjamin Atwood. He felt a small hand slip into his as his world crashed slowly around him. Staring at his grinning sibling, he shook his head automatically.
‘So, you see, neither your pretend father, nor yourrealfather gave a damn about you.’
‘Then why kill me?’ questioned Gabriel huskily after a few moments. ‘Why not just take what was yours?’
‘My dearest father,’ Henry answered, ‘or should I sayourdearest father. He refused to denounce you. He said there was no proof, and the resulting scandal would taint the family name forever.’ Henry shook his head and scowled.
‘The doddering old fool preferred to leave his bastard in possession of the title rather than securing it for his rightful son and heir. Ibeggedhim, fiend seize it, Ipleadedwith him.’ He laughed harshly. ‘I even threatened to tell my mother, but he said he’d cut me off without a penny if I said so much as a word.’
Gabriel felt Hope squeeze his hand, offering what comfort she could. He dared not respond but simply stared at Henry, waiting.
‘I knew it was up to me. Obviously my first attempt to get rid of you was a bit of a disaster, but I think I could be forgiven for acting a trifle irrationally given that I’d only just found your whore of a mother’s letters in the old man’s desk.’ Henry grimaced at the memory. ‘And then, when my father packed me off to sea, I thought my life finished. How wrong I was.
‘First of all, I met this fine fellow.’ He nodded towards the grim-faced man standing silently beside him. ‘And then, every time I was on leave, I set about spending my father’s fortune. Every opportunity I had, I gambled and enjoyed watching it all go down the drain, until the old man finally faced disgrace and ruin.
‘Until the fool had no choice unless he wanted to put a gun to his head.’ Henry stopped and smirked at Gabriel. ‘He’s too much a coward to do himself in. I knew he’d rather see his bastard dead. But even then, I had to do the bloody deed. Far, far away from his pathetic, sensitive eyes.’
Finally, Henry Atwood ground to a halt, and the only sound in the room was his panting. It was as if his violent tirade had exhausted him.
Gabriel was still. If his hand in hers had not been so warm, Hope would have thought him a statue. Then slowly, he slipped his hand away and began to clap, slowly, insolently. ‘If it was decreed that the title go the man with most vivid imagination, then you would win Henry, hands down,’ he drawled. ‘But as always you flunked it, didn’t you, just as you’ve flunked everything else in your life. You couldn’t even commit a decent murder.’
Hope’s eyes flew to Gabriel’s in panic. What the deuce was he doing? In answer to her unspoken plea, the Viscount took her hand again and squeezed briefly without taking his eyes off Henry Atwood’s twisted face.
But if Gabriel had been hoping to goad Henry into doing something rash, he was disappointed. His brother drew himself up and shook his head. ‘You may rest assured I won’t fail again.’ His voice was calm, as though the last few minutes had not taken place. ‘I did not want you to go to your grave ignorant of your true position. The last time I was forbidden to tell you. But that was before my father became nothing but a pathetic tosspot, interested in nothing but the bottom of a bottle.
‘In truth, it’s so much more satisfying this way. I simply wanted to ensure you knew everything before I tell John to shoot you both in the head.’
Staring at the man he’d known for all his life as his cousin, Gabriel finally realised he was entirely unhinged. Henry’s hatred would never abate because he would never accept that it was only due to a quirk of fate and the simple fact that Benjamin Atwood had been unable to keep his hands off his brother’s wife that he, Henry Atwood was not the true heir to the Northwood title.
‘Leave Miss Shackleford out of it,’ entreated Gabriel, knowing he only had seconds in which to save Hope’s life. ‘She’s a nobody. Let her go and she’ll simply run, not daring to tell anyone what she’s seen. Who would believe a penniless chit anyway over the next Viscount Northwood?’
Henry’s eyes narrowed and Gabriel realised with a sinking heart that he’d over played his hand. The intensity of his appeal had given away the fact that he had feelings for his companion.
Slowly Henry grinned. ‘Oh, this is priceless,’ he crowed with a low chuckle. ‘John,’ he beamed, turning to the taciturn man at his side, ‘shoot the woman first.’
‘No,’ yelled Gabriel, dropping Hope’s hand and stepping protectively in front of her.
Henry Atwood laughed out loud, slapping his thighs in delight at Gabriel’s instinctive reaction.
White-hot fear gripped the Viscount and along with it a fury that made him abandon all reason. Pushing Hope firmly behind him, he stepped forward with a snarl.
