She stared at the barrel of the gun, pointed at her face, then back up to him. “What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“Ask him,” Walters said, motioning his head to a spot behind her.
She turned and caught her breath. Hugh was standing in the door to the parlor, staring at the scene before him. His face was drained of all color, and in his hand he held a pistol of his own.
“Let her go,” Hugh said, looking at Amelia, not at Walters. Her face was swollen already from where the bastard had struck her, and she was watching him with terror and faith on her face. She might hate him, but she was happy to see him.
And he had to save her.
“Let her go,” he repeated, this time stronger. “Your quarrel is with me.”
Walters chuckled. “You think we are in a quarrel? This is far beyond that, Your Grace. You have damaged me, hurt me and my prospects in Society. I want to return the favor. And what better way to do that than to hurther?”
He shook the gun toward Amelia, and she made a soft sound of fear deep in her throat that cut Hugh down to his very core.
“That wasalwaysyour weakness, you know,” Walters continued. “Caring about others. Had you simply exposed me after your sister, this wouldn’t be happening. But you wanted to protect her. You were so desperate to protect her. And I can see that same desperation now. It will get me whatever I want, won’t it?”
“Yes,” Hugh said, hating that word and clinging to it at the same time. “Whatever you want.”
“More money?” Walters taunted.
“Yes,” he repeated. “And you’ll need it. You must know that the War Department has looked into your past. They know about Stephen Monroe. They know about the girl you married and murdered.”
For the first time, Walters’ smug expression wavered and the gun in his hand trembled slightly. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, her fists clenched at her sides. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and Hugh couldn’t even touch her, comfort her.
“You sent the War Department after me?” Walters growled.
“I have friends there. They took it upon themselves,” Hugh said, recognizing the rage that was bubbling up in this dangerous, unhinged man. “They are circling, coming for you. But if you let Amelia go, you can run. I’ll send money—you can go to the continent, you could go anywhere.”
Of course he had no intention of doing any such thing, not this time. But if Walters would look at his past and think he would let him go, that could save Amelia, which was all that mattered.
“Iwillgo,” Walters said. “After.”
Hugh edged toward Amelia. “Then shoot me. Don’t shoot her, shoot me.”
He positioned himself in front of her and set his gun on the ground.
“Hugh,” she said softly, her hand coming up to curl against his hip. “No. No.”
“Shhh,” he soothed her without looking away from Walters. “Shoot me, I’m the one you hate. I’m the one who ruined everything. You want me to plead for you? I’ll do it. Do not murder the woman I love. Take me and let her live.”
Walters’ face brightened with a little pleasure. “A very nice request. One filled with heartfelt emotion, even. But I think I’ll kill you both. You both deserve it. You first, Your Grace, so that Amelia can see you make your noble sacrifice. And then her, so that she bleeds out next to you on my floor.”
His finger slid to the trigger of the gun, and Hugh reached behind himself, taking Amelia’s hand as he waited for the moment when his world would become pain and then darkness.
But before Walters could shoot, there was a crash in the foyer and Lucas jumped into the room, firing off a shot that dropped Walters where he stood.
Hugh pivoted, diving on top of Amelia and dragging her to the ground where he covered her trembling body with his own just in case Walters had any fight in him. But there was nothing, only the ring of Lucas’s shot in the air and the acrid smell of gunpowder.
“Are you two well?” Lucas said, crouching next to them as half a dozen men filed into the room, guns drawn and at the ready.
Hugh lifted his head and looked down at Amelia. She was staring up at him, her hands cupping his cheeks, her body shaking beneath him.
“Amelia?” he asked. “Amelia, are you hurt?”
“No,” she gasped out. “No, are you?”
“No,” he whispered, then dropped his mouth to hers. She let him kiss her, didn’t pull away, though she had every right to do so. He kissed her, not with passion, but with utter relief. With terror at what he had so nearly lost.
