“Could have gone down any of the alleys,” Hawk said. “Why don’t we split up—”
Gunfire boomed. Shots exchanged.
“It came from this way.” Trent sprinted off down the street.
Hawk followed him, pushing through the panicked mob. He and Trent turned down an alleyway. Two carriages were up ahead: one stopped, the second exiting the other end.
“Help!” A man’s cry came from the parked conveyance. “Someone help!”
Hawk arrived first, saw the man in a groom’s uniform slumped against the side of the carriage. He was clutching his shoulder, blood welling between his gloved hands. A pistol lay several feet away on the dirt.
“H-help me,” he said weakly. “D-don’t want to die.”
“I’ve got him.” Trent crouched beside the driver. “Check inside the carriage.”
Hawk approached the cabin. The door was open. A white-haired man sat on the cushioned bench, holding a woman against him. Hawk recognized the elderly couple, who were friends of his parents. Lord and Lady Auberville…his gut clenched as he saw the stain spreading over the lady’s bodice.
“H-Hawksmoor?” Auberville stammered.
“Let me take a look at her, sir,” Hawk said.
Tearing off his cravat, Hawk knelt by Lady Auberville’s side. He pressed it to the gaping hole in her chest; it was like using a twig to stop a broken dam. Fear drummed in his chest when she didn’t flinch. Her gaze was focused on something far away, her breath rattling in her throat. He felt the life draining out of her, and he could do nothing to stop it.
For the second time, he witnessed death’s power up close and was helpless to do anything. Helpless against the invisible hand that closed Lady Auberville’s eyelids, that caused her body to go limp. Helpless as the last breath left her.
“Winnifred, wake up.” Auberville’s voice sharpened with panic.
“Sir.” Hawk’s throat thickened. “I…I’m sorry.”
“No.No.” Auberville’s face froze with shock. “She’s not gone, I tell you. We were just at the ballet. Left early…her rheumatism was acting up. Then the blackguards stopped us in the alley, but I’d read about them in the papers, and I was ready.” He looked wildly at the discharged pistol on the bench beside him. “When the leader told us to hand over our valuables, I told him I’d see him hanged at Newgate first. And he laughed at me…the bastardlaughed. Said he was never going back. So I pulled out my pistol and shot the bounder. But he got a shot off too—it was his accomplice’s fault. She pushed his arm, and the bullet hit my Winnifred…”
The old man’s face crumpled, and he broke into sobs.
Hawk placed a hand on Auberville’s shaking shoulder. Wished he could do something—anything—to ease the other’s pain. But there was naught he could do.
Except to say, “Allow me to escort you home, sir.”
Fiona came to with a start. She was curled up in a wingchair in her room. Yawning, she peered at the ormolu clock: four in the morning. After returning from the ball, she’d decided to wait up for Hawk, even though he’d told her he would be out late with an old friend. She must have drifted off, for she hadn’t heard him return.
Seeing the faint light beneath their adjoining door, she went over and pressed her ear against the wood. Hearing nothing, she turned the knob and entered stealthily in case Hawk was asleep. His bed was empty, the fire low in the hearth. She followed the faint sounds of sloshing to his bathing room.
Hawk was in the copper tub, the taps turned off. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back against the rim. His sinewy arms were draped along the edge, his taut shoulders gleaming in the lamplight.He is magnificent, she thought with pride. Steeped in sudsy water and surrounded by sandalwood-scented steam, he didn’t seem to register her presence.
Then his eyes suddenly opened, and he twisted his head, his gaze colliding with hers. The ice in those grey depths made her breath catch with uncertainty. She hadn’t seen him look this cold and remote since before their marriage.
He is alive. No longer sleepwalking through life…thanks to you.
Remembering what Effie had said gave Fi the courage to advance.
“I hope I am not interrupting. I wanted to see how your evening…” She trailed off as she spotted his clothes on the floor next to the tub. The bright-red stains on his shirt, his trousers. “Heavens! What happened—”
“I’m fine,” Hawk said.
“There’sbloodon your clothes.”
“It’s not mine.”
She rushed over, kneeling by the tub, needing to see for herself. She took his damp, stubbled jaw between her palms, turning his head this way and that. No signs of injury.
