“In due time, dear.” Fine lines creased around her mouth. “In due time.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gavin sat in his father’s study, occupying the same burgundy leather chair the old goat had favored. Reviewing a collection of prints the old man had commissioned many years earlier, he admired the scenes of native wildlife and plants, beauty in its most primitive form. Why hadn’t he ever paid attention to that aspect of his father’s character? When they were together, why had their focus gravitated to the differences that separated them rather than the common ground they shared?
He turned a page in the album. Frozen, he stared down at the sepia image. His sire had been young in the portrait. My God, how had he never noticed how much he resembled his father? The same nose…Roman, his mother had called it. The same hair, down to the unruly wave that defied his efforts to tame it. Eyes so similar, other than the hard glint in his father’s gaze. Even their builds had been alike. How could a son who looked so much like his father be so utterly unalike?
Of course, his father had faced a very different reality during his youth. He’d had to scrap and claw for every shilling. Even after he’d made his fortune, Society’s elite had been only too eager to take his money for some cause or another, but regarded him as little better than the ruffians he’d left behind in Whitechapel. Was it any wonder he’d expected his son to share his passion for the business that had put luxury within their reach?
Another image drew his attention, a pen and ink sketch of father and son. Was that him, seated at his sire’s knee? His father had looked happy then. And proud. Of his son. Of the life he’d provided for his children.
Deep within, Gavin’s heart ached with an unfamiliar pain, a loss he’d never known to feel.
A sudden scream from the direction of the gardens ripped Gavin back to the present.Sophie!Bloody hell, what had happened? He secured his revolver in the shoulder holster he wore beneath his jacket and bolted from the room, nearly crashing into Bertram and his brother rushing down the corridor.
“So, ye heard it, too. Sophie’s in a fix.” Bertram ground out the words. Long gun in hand, he moved with surprising agility toward the door. Fitzhugh matched him, step for step.
A gunshot’s roar reverberated through him, chilling him to the bone. Bertram turned to him.
“Ye’re goin’ t’need a weapon. Those bastards aren’t here to negotiate.”
“A slug from my Webley would cut down Goliath,” he said. “Where the bloody hell is Henry?”
Bertram was the first to open the entry door. “God above, I’ve found the answer to yer question. And a horrible one it is.”
Gavin ran to the portal.
Henry lay facedown, unconscious. From the distance, Gavin couldn’t detect a rise and fall of his chest, couldn’t tell if the young Scot still breathed.
His hand clenched and unclenched. He wanted to pummel something. Anything.
“Wait.” Bertram placed a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “This could be a trap. We’ll cover ye.”
The brothers took their positions behind sturdy posts, prepared to counterfire. Keeping low to the ground, Gavin ran to Henry’s side.
The Scot moaned. Blood seeped onto the ground beneath his body. The wound appeared to have passed through his upper chest and out his back, sparing his vital organs.
Gavin heaved a sigh of relief, and the tension digging into his gut eased.
“Stanwyck! Get down!” A rifle shot punctuated Bertram’s command. Gavin dropped to his belly. Lying prone, he shifted his gaze to take in the grove behind him. A man lay on his back, limbs sprawled.
“He’s not goin’ to be trouble now,” Bertram muttered, inching closer.
Gavin crouched beside Henry. From this position, he could see the unmoving bastard’s face.Jack. A dark stain spread over his torso and trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s the one from the bridge.” Bertram made his way to the man’s body. “He’s dead. He left me no choice. He had a gun—”
Henry’s lids lifted. “What the bluidy hell—?”
Gavin supported his head. “You’ve been wounded. Where are the women?”
“The lass…shot me.”
Impossible. Surely, the man was delirious.
“Sophie?”
“No,” Henry managed in a weak breath. “Rebecca.”
