His heart broke at the pain that one small word held.
“Why couldn’t you let me have this?” she wailed. Her body bent in half, and he caught her before she folded to the ground. She sobbed in his arms, burrowing her face into his chest like she never wanted to come out.
He took the gun from her nerveless hand before crushing her in his embrace. He rocked her back and forth, murmuring nonsensical sounds in her ear, praying that she’d stop crying before every ounce of his soul was crushed.
Cyrus padded up to them, taking the gun.
Charles nodded his thanks, and wrapped Cassie up even tighter. His blood pulsed through his veins. His knees felt weak, but he locked them. So close. He’d been so damned close to losing her.
“What do we do with him?” Walter asked softly, the disgust in his voice unmistakable.
“We have no evidence he committed a crime,” Wil said.
“I didn’t.” Wiltshire started to get off his knees. “I swear, I didn’t hurt anyone.”
Cyrus planted his hand on the earl’s shoulder and shoved him back to his knees. “Stay down.”
“The owners of this agency are quite skilled at interrogation.” Wil rubbed his jaw. “Rothchild in particular. I’ll send for them and—”
“Let us.” Cyrus met Charles’s eyes, then dropped his gaze to Cassie’s shaking form. “I’m sure our employers are skilled, but we’re the investigators of the Bond Agency. We’ve the ones working this case. Give us some time with Wiltshire. We’ll find out what he did.”
Wil looked at each of them in turn. “All right. But I don’t think I need to remind you he is an earl. That imposes some limitations on how we can act. Understood?”
A pounding sounded in Charles’s ears. His vision narrowed on Wiltshire. An earl. One of society’s untouchables.
Bugger that. Lord Wiltshire would feel his touch. He’d be bruised with it.
Charles rubbed small circles into Cassie’s back as her sobs subsided. “Wil?” He jerked his chin at the woman shaking in his arms. “Miss Moore.” He didn’t want to part with her, but he needed to interrogate Wiltshire. Needed to discover if he truly was the man who’d killed Cassie’s sister.
“Cerise and I will take her home and stay with her,” Wil said. “I’ll go collect my companion. Meet us at the carriage.”
Charles nodded. He turned to his colleagues. “I know the perfect place to…question Lord Wiltshire.” He gave them the direction and watched with some satisfaction as they dragged the mewling man away.
Leaving him and Cassie alone. She drew in a juddering breath. Another. He rubbed her back until she sagged against him, spent.
“This is where my sister died.” Her voice was small.
He hated it. Nothing about Cassie had ever been small, not her voice, her personality, her passion. He tipped her face up, cradling it between his palms. He wiped tears from her face with his thumbs. “And you yet live. Don’t throw that gift away. I can’t imagine your sister would want that.”
“It doesn’t really matter now,” she said dully.
He was determined to show her it did. That she mattered. More than anything.
“Come.” He tucked her into his side and headed towards the front of the gardens. There must be an exit to the street without going back through the house. “Go home with Wil and his friend. I’ll come find you later.”
His stomach rolled. She was safe now. That was the most important thing. But when he did meet her later, what would he find? A woman still bent on vengeance? Or one defeated and broken?
Stopping her from shooting Wiltshire had been the easy part. Moving forwards from here, that would be the challenge.
It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but the hook seemed to hold Wiltshire well enough. If the man had fought a bit more, he would have been able to slip his bound hands over the tip, but as Charles was learning, the earl wasn’t much of a fighter.
“You’re the Strait of Strait’s Dry Grocer Hall?” Cyrus asked for the third time. He peered around the warehouse. It was deserted at this time of night, and as it was located in an industrial section of town, there weren’t any neighbors nearby to hear Wiltshire scream. “How did we not know this?”
Walter grunted. “I knew. I followed him to one of the stores after work one day. Made the connection.” He shrugged at Charles’s look. “You always said you had plans instead of going for a drink with us. I was curious.”
“Thrilling as this moment of discovery is, can we got on with it?” Hereford lounged against a thick support beam. He cleaned his nails with the tip of a knife. “I do have other plans for the night if we wrap this up soon.”
“You don’t have to be here.” But Charles agreed with the sentiment. He stood before Wiltshire, needing to look up a couple of inches at his raised body. “Tell us about your relationship with Miss Lydia Moore.”
