“She’s alive,” Blackstone assured her, his voice gentler than Lucien had ever heard it. “Injured, but alive. She’s the one who told us you’d been taken.”
Tears of relief filled Courtney’s eyes. “I tried to run sooner, but he said he’d hurt innocent people if I called for help. He killed Kitty. And Mrs. Bellamy. I heard him talking with his men—”
“We know,” Lucien said softly, brushing dirt and leaves from her hair. “We found Kitty. I’m so sorry.”
The grief that flashed across Blackstone’s face was quickly buried beneath cold fury, but Courtney saw it. “Your Grace, I’m sorry.”
“She was a good woman,” Blackstone said simply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Axton, who had been examining the ground nearby, called out softly, “There’s a bay horse about fifty yards that way, standing calm as you please near those trees. Probably wondering where his rider went. I’ll go fetch him.”
“That’s him,” Courtney said with more clarity. “Good horse. Saved my life until the rabbit…”
Fane, who had been scanning the road behind them, suddenly straightened in his saddle. “We have company,” he announced grimly. “Three riders, coming fast from the north.”
Lucien’s head snapped up, his hand instinctively moving to the pistol at his side. In the distance, he could see dustrising from the road—Lockwood and his men, having apparently realized their quarry had doubled back.
“Can you ride?” he asked Courtney urgently, helping her sit up properly. “We need to get you away from here.”
She struggled to focus, her head obviously still spinning from her fall. “I think so. But slowly. Everything’s…tilting.”
“No time for slowly,” Wolf said tersely, watching the approaching riders. “They’ll be in pistol range in minutes.”
“Julian, Tarquin, get your sister to safety,” Lucien commanded, his voice taking on the authoritative tone of his military training. “The rest of us will handle Lockwood.”
“No.” Courtney’s hand shot out to grasp his coat, her grip surprisingly strong despite her injuries. “He’s killed two people, Lucien. He has nothing left to lose. If you confront him here—”
“We outnumber him eight to three,” he said to reassure her, and she nodded, letting go of his coat and falling back exhausted in his arms.
“He won’t get the chance to hurt anyone else,” Blackstone said with deadly calm, checking the priming on his pistol. “Some debts can only be paid in blood.”
The approaching riders were close enough now that individual figures could be distinguished. Lockwood in the lead, his face twisted with rage, flanked by his two surviving thugs. All three had pistols drawn. The three men reined in their horses upon seeing the force facing them. The silence lengthened as they sat staring until a shot rang out next to Lucien’s head.
The duke fired upon Lockwood, his intent clear. “I’m coming for you, Lockwood. Kitty told me it was you who shot her and you will pay,” he yelled, and before the men could stop him, the duke mounted and charged toward the three villains. Axton, Fane, and Wolf quickly followed.
The Duke of Blackstone’s war cry echoed across the dawn landscape as he spurred his horse into a thunderous charge,his aristocratic composure finally shattered by grief and rage. Behind him, Axton, Fane, Wolf, and the Montague brothers followed in hot pursuit, leaving Lucien holding Courtney while Rockwell moved to secure the bay horse that had carried her to freedom.
“Your Grace, wait!” Fane shouted, but Blackstone was beyond hearing, beyond reason. The man who had spent his entire life bound by rigid propriety and social expectations had been transformed by love and loss into something primal and dangerous.
Lockwood’s eyes widened as he saw the charging nobleman bearing down on him, pistol raised. The baron yanked his horse’s reins hard to the left, trying to wheel away from the duke’s direct assault, as he took aim and fired on the duke. But Blackstone anticipated the move, and the bullet whizzed harmlessly by. Years of hunting had honed his instincts, and he adjusted his aim with deadly precision and fired again.
The crack of the duke’s pistol split the morning air.
Lockwood jerked backward, a crimson bloom spreading across his immaculate waistcoat. His own weapon discharged harmlessly into the air as his nerveless fingers lost their grip. For a moment that seemed suspended in time, he swayed in his saddle, his pale eyes wide with shock and the dawning realization that his schemes had finally caught up with him.
“That was for Kitty,” Blackstone said coldly, his voice carrying clearly across the distance between them.
Lockwood’s mouth opened as if to speak, but only blood emerged. He toppled from his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud that spoke of finality. The man who had terrorized Courtney, murdered two innocent women, and torn apart so many lives lay motionless in the dust of the Great North Road.
His two remaining companions—Briggs and Murphy—found themselves suddenly facing five armed gentlemen with noescape route. Briggs, the scarred veteran, raised his hands slowly, his street-smart instincts telling him that resistance would only lead to a quick death. Murphy, younger and more impulsive, swung his pistol toward the duke, but Wolf was faster.
“I wouldn’t,” Wolf said conversationally, his own weapon trained on Murphy’s chest. “You’re outnumbered and outclassed. Surrender now, and you might live to see trial.”
“We ain’t done nothing,” Briggs protested, though his eyes darted nervously between the mounted gentlemen surrounding him. “Just following orders, we were.”
“Orders to kidnap a lady?” Tarquin’s voice was ice-cold with controlled fury. “Orders to help commit murder?”
“We didn’t kill nobody,” Murphy said quickly, his youth making him eager to distance himself from the more serious charges. “That was all Lockwood. He paid us to grab the lady, nothing more.”
