Camille took in the scene, the people she cherished, and knew someone important was missing. Someone she’d denied for selfish and fictional reasons.
She did share blood with someone besides Madam, a member of her family who deserved to know what was in her heart and to hear the gratitude and apology that didn’t come second nature to either of them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Are you allright?” The Duke of Camine didn’t move from his chair behind his desk, but, upon Camille’s entrance into the library—evidence of her run-in with Nic clear in her tattered dress despite the thorough cleaning and bandaging of her injuries—Hamish’s entire body stiffened, coming alert to a danger that had long since passed.
His tone was carefully even, telling Camille he resisted his ‘mothering’ for her sake.
Hamish leaned forward on his elbows, his tone teasing, though his gaze remained assessing. “Shall I call for the physician for Renard, or did you dispose of him permanently? I confess, when you left a week ago, I hoped it was to set your differences aside.”
Better to rip the bandages off cleanly, she thought. “The other man may need a doctor, but since we’d all like Nic Brandt gone, I’d say leave the monster to swallow every potion in reach and hope he dies of dysentery.”
Hamish’s chair overturned as he bolted from his seat. “At Lux Manor? Did anyone see him leave?” Gaze shooting to the closed door, most likely aimed in the direction of where the Duchess of Camine was sitting in the upstairs sitting room, he made for the exit. “I’ll alert the staff. We’ll hunt him down like the wily fox—”
“He’s not there,” she said, stopping him. “We were in London. Your fox is most likely dead at the bottom of the Thames.”Or holed up in a dark crevice, dying a slow, agonizing death.
Immediate danger reconciled, Hamish came back to her side and lifted her bandaged hand. The anger rolled off him, but his touch remained gentle when his voice was anything but.
“Tell me you stuck a knife in that bastard’s eye.”
Camille retreated at the violence in his voice and words. “I jammed glass in his face,” she said, nauseous at the thought. “Then he jumped into the river.”
Hamish gave her space, going back to his chair, righting it, and sitting back down with a simple, “Good.”
“Something must be done,” she said. “If by some miracle he survives... We can’t keep glancing over our shoulders and getting away at the last minute. Eventually, our luck will run out.”
Chameleons like Nic Brandt didn’t give up; take away one mask and they donned another. Close one area of attack and his tactics changed. Where Scarlet used those traits as a means of righting the wrongs of those enslaved and desperate in Dockside, Brandt used such skills to kill, and kill well.
She knew the chance of survival was slight, but Nic had proved a roach of a man, managing to scuttle free in more unlikely scenarios.
Feeling the hand of fate settle ominously on her shoulder, Camille shook her head and said with certainty, “Someone won’t walk away next time.”
Hamish didn’t balk or ridicule. He steepled his fingers and didn’t scoff at the unlikeliness of her grave words. “Let it be him, then,” he said finally.
“He could strike anywhere, at any time. The odds aren’t in our favor.”
“You underestimate our family, dear sister. That snake may have a talent for bloodshed, but he is but one. We are many.”
Camille warmed at the mention of ‘family,’ but she did not relent. “Weare liabilities to one another.”
Hamish smiled. “Together, a pack of wolves can take down prey far superior in strength and size. Or am I mistaken in that Renard finally succeeded in charming you to the altar?”
She placed her anxieties and concerns away in a box in her mind. She’d come for a reason. “Fairly certainIcharmedhim.”
“As I said, hidden talents.” Hamish offered two slow claps of his hands. “Bravo! Be sure to tell Charlotte. She’d be distraught if the gossip rags find out before she does. And I’d hate to bloody my fists on some poor journalist’s teeth. Especially when there is no need for me to go to the mats over your relationship now that I’ve officially adopted you as my ward.”
Camille’s eyes widened. Ward. That meant she’d be a recognized and respectable member of the Hurstfield family. There’d be no reason for Renard’s heir to question her connections. “You didn’t?”
“Afraid so.” Hamish shrugged. “I took the liberty of continuing to abuse my rights as your older brother to overstep that day you found me at the townhouse. After witnessing your encounter with Renard in my foyer, I could see it was a matter of time before the question of birth over the new Duchess of Lux arose.” He waved his hand in an expectant gesture. “Come now, let’s see how many shoes to the head I can avoid before you land a direct hit.”
He’d made her his ward. There’d be no meddling heirs, no banishment from society. “Thank you.”
Hamish startled at the gratitude.
There were depths to her brother she’d never imagined.
His reference to a fist fight had Camille smirking. “Speaking of hidden talents, tell me: Why would a well-to-do gentleman fight in the Underground Ring?”
