Fane dismounted smoothly, keeping his pistol trained on the two men. “Axton, help me search them for weapons. We’ll need rope to secure them properly.”
As the younger men worked to disarm and bind Lockwood’s thugs, Julian examined the baron’s body with professional thoroughness. “He’s dead,” he announced grimly. “Shot through the heart. The duke’s aim was true.”
Blackstone sat motionless on his horse, staring down at Lockwood’s corpse with an expression that mixed satisfaction with profound emptiness. The woman he’d loved had been avenged, but vengeance, he was discovering, was a hollow comfort when measured against loss.
“Your Grace,” Wolf said gently, approaching the duke’s horse. “We need to decide how to handle this. There will be questions, investigations—”
“Let them come,” Blackstone replied flatly. “I killed him in self-defense. He shot at me as I tried to apprehend him for the kidnapping of Lady Courtney and for Kitty’s murder. I’ll answer for my actions to any magistrate in England.”
“It won’t come to that,” Tarquin interjected with the smooth confidence of a seasoned politician. “Lockwood was a known criminal who had just committed kidnapping and murder. Any reasonable magistrate will see this as justifiable killing in the course of preventing further crimes.”
Meanwhile, Briggs and Murphy found themselves bound hand and foot, their weapons confiscated and their immediate future looking decidedly grim. Briggs, with the pragmatism of a career criminal, had begun calculating the benefits of cooperation.
“Look, gents,” he said, his voice taking on a wheedling tone. “We’re just hired muscle, right? Lockwood paid us to do a job, but we ain’t murderers. We can tell you everything—where he was planning to take the lady, who else might’ve been involved, that kind of thing…”
“You helped kidnap her,” Julian said coldly. “You’re accessories to attempted rape and forced marriage. That’s enough to see you transported, if not hanged.”
Murphy, younger and more emotional, began to panic. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this! He said it was just a business arrangement, that the lady would understand once they were married. He never said nothing about killing nobody!”
“But you knew she was unwilling,” Axton pointed out, checking the ropes binding the prisoners. “You heard her screaming, saw her fighting. That didn’t give you pause?”
“We needed the money,” Briggs said simply, though shame flickered in his eyes. “Times are hard for men like us. We don’t get to be choosy about our work.”
Fane studied the two bound men with the calculating gaze of someone well-versed in London’s criminal underworld. “What did Lockwood tell you about his plans after Scotland? Surely, he had contingencies in case the lady’s family refused to pay?”
Briggs and Murphy exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Briggs spoke. “He talked about taking her abroad if things went bad. Said there were places a man could disappear with a woman and never be found.”
The casual mention of what amounted to permanent abduction made Tarquin’s jaw clench with renewed anger. “Where? What places?”
“The Americas. He had contacts, he said. Men who’d help for the right price.” Murphy’s voice shook as he realized how completely he’d been drawn into Lockwood’s web of criminality.
Wolf began searching through Lockwood’s saddlebags while the others secured the prisoners. Among the baron’s effects, he found several items of interest: a substantial amount of gold coins, documents that appeared to be forged travel papers, and most damning of all, a blood-stained knife wrapped in cloth.
“Gentlemen,” Wolf called, holding up the wrapped blade. “I believe we’ve found the weapon used on Kitty.”
Blackstone’s face went utterly white at the sight, his hands tightening on his reins until his knuckles stood out starkly. “That bastard,” he whispered. “He carried her blood with him like a trophy.”
“Which makes this even more clearly a case of justified killing,” Tarquin observed with grim satisfaction. “Lockwood was armed and dangerous, with physical evidence of recent murder on his person.”
As the immediate crisis settled into the more mundane business of dealing with prisoners and evidence, the group’s attention turned to the more pressing matter of Courtney’scondition. She remained conscious but clearly struggling with the effects of her head injury and the trauma of her ordeal.
Rockwell had managed to calm the bay horse, and now he approached Lucien with practiced efficiency. “We need to get her back to London and try to contain this scandal. The longer we stay here, the more questions we’ll face from local authorities.”
“Can she ride?” Lucien asked, his voice tight with concern as he studied Courtney’s pale face.
“With support,” Rockwell replied. “I’ll help you mount, and you can hold her. My horse is the steadiest of the lot—he won’t spook or bolt. I’ll ride this bay.”
Courtney stirred in Lucien’s arms, her amber eyes focusing on his face with obvious effort. “I can ride,” she said, though her voice was still somewhat slurred. “I won’t slow you down.”
“You could never slow me down,” Lucien replied fiercely. “You’re the strongest, bravest woman I’ve ever known. What you did today—escaping from them, stealing that horse, riding toward help—it was extraordinary.”
A weak smile crossed her lips. “I had good motivation. I knew you’d come for me.”
“Always,” he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll always come for you.”
Rockwell brought his horse alongside where Lucien knelt with Courtney. The animal stood patient and steady, well-trained and responsive to its master’s commands. “Up you go,” Rockwell said, offering his hands to help Lucien mount while still supporting Courtney.
The process was awkward and careful, with Lucien settling into the saddle before Rockwell carefully lifted Courtney up to him. She gasped softly at the movement, her head obviously still paining her, but she managed to lean back against Lucien’s chest with evident relief.
