Lucien knelt beside them, his own hands shaking as he pressed his handkerchief against the wound in her abdomen. But even as he applied pressure, he knew with sickening certainty that it was far too late. The blade had found its mark with deadly precision.
“Who did this?” Blackstone asked, his voice deadly quiet now, though his hands remained infinitely gentle as they stroked her hair. “Tell me who hurt you, my love.”
“Lock…” she gasped, her bloodstained fingers clutching weakly at his waistcoat. Each word seemed to tear from her throat. “Lockwood. Wanted me to…lie. About…your marriage.”
The name hit Lucien like a physical blow, but he forced himself to lean closer. “What did he want you to say?”
Her eyes found his, and in them he saw not just pain, but a fierce determination that reminded him suddenly, heartbreakingly, of Courtney. “Told him…you were…properly married. Wouldn’t…wouldn’t let him…”
She coughed, and more blood painted her lips crimson. Blackstone made a sound like a wounded animal, his aristocratic features contorting with grief.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why would you lie for a stranger?”
A ghost of her old smile touched her bloodless lips. “Not…stranger. Your friend’s…daughter. Innocent…little girl. Deserves…better than…my life.”
The simple words, spoken with her dying breath in defense of a child she’d never met, broke something in both men. Here was a woman who had been forced into a life society scorned, who had clawed her way out through her own courage and Blackstone’s love, and she was spending her final moments protecting another innocent.
“The physician,” Blackstone said desperately, looking up at Lucien. “We need—”
“Raven.” Kitty’s voice was growing fainter, her grip on his coat weakening. “Cold…so cold…”
Without hesitation, he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her, as if the finest wool could shield her from death itself. “I’m here, my darling. You’re not alone.”
“Don’t…leave me,” she pleaded, her voice suddenly very young, very frightened.
“Never,” he vowed, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll never leave you. Not in this life or the next.”
Her breathing grew more labored, each inhalation a visible struggle. “I…love…”
The words never came. Her body went limp in his arms, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling where they had once traced patterns in the plaster while planning their impossible future.
For a long moment, the only sound in the ruined room was Blackstone’s ragged breathing. Then, with infinite tenderness, he closed her eyes and arranged her limbs as if she were merely sleeping.
When he finally looked up at Lucien, his face was a mask of such cold fury that it made Lucien instinctively step back.
“Lockwood will die for this,” the duke said with absolute certainty. Not a threat—a promise written in stone. “Slowly, if I have any say in the matter.”
Lucien rose to his feet, his own rage coalescing into something focused and deadly. “We need to find Courtney,” he said urgently. “If he’s desperate enough to murder Kitty in her own home, he might—And there is Mrs. Bellamy too.”
The unfinished thought hung between them, too terrible to voice.
Blackstone removed his coat and covered her with it, the gesture achingly intimate. Then he rose to his full height, every inch the aristocrat once more, but with something new and dangerous in his bearing.
“We will find Lady Courtney,” he stated with deadly calm. “And then we will hunt Lockwood like the animal he is.”
“You realize what this means,” Lucien said, watching the duke carefully. “To avenge her, to get justice—”
“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” Blackstone cut him off savagely. “Let the world know I loved her. Let them whisper and stare. It changes nothing.” His gaze dropped to Kitty’s covered form, grief momentarily breaking through his rage. “She died trying to protect your daughter’s future. I swear on everything I hold sacred; Lockwood will pay for what he’s done.”
Lucien extended his hand, a gesture of solidarity that transcended their different stations. “We’ll make him pay. Together.”
Blackstone clasped his hand firmly; the pact sealed between them without further words. They would find Lockwood, and they would ensure he never harmed another woman. Whatever it cost them, whatever society might think—some debts could only be paid in blood.
As they strode from the house to organize a proper team to care for Kitty’s body and begin their hunt for Lockwood, Lucien’s thoughts turned to Courtney. He prayed she was still safe, still protected by the belief that she would meet Lockwood that evening at Lady Fenchurch’s ball.
But something in his gut told him their carefully laid plans had gone terribly awry. Lockwood had changed the rules of the game, escalating from blackmail to murder. And Courtney was now in far graver danger than any of them had imagined.
*
