He hovered in the doorway of the stable momentarily as he made his decision and pivoted. One step was all he’d taken before he heard it: the creak of wood and the anxious whickering of a horse. Far from unusual noises in a stable, yet his heartbeat quickened. He knew he was in trouble a moment before the blow fell. He would register the sharp pain on the back of his head later. It was the force of it that sent him to his knees. He went down face-first in the gravel. The lamp hit the ground but by some fluke it didn’t smash. He rolled onto his back, knowing who he would see in the light. He spat dirt onto the ground at Nightingale’s feet. Just in time he checked the impulse to sweep his attacker’s legs from under him. It would have been a dangerous move, considering the revolver aimed at his heart.
“Easy, Your Grace.” Nightingale spoke with no more agitation than would have been evident in a polite chat over tea and biscuits. In every way, he appeared his usual self, from neatly combed hair to excessively dapper suit. But if this—confronting Alex openly this way—was his contingency plan, he must have lost his mind.
Ludicrous as it was, Alex mimicked his polite tone. “I have no intention of making any sudden movements, I assure you.”
“A bit late to be out and about, don’t you think?”
“Either that or it’s unspeakably early.”
“Just so, sir. Just so. But Evie was always an early riser. Given you the slip, has she?”
It was too late for Alex to pretend he didn’t care about her, though he tried to school his features anyway. Men like this fed on fear. “I take it you saw her.”
“And don’t think I didn’t consider following through on my threat, but I’m a sentimental man. She may be a deceitful bitch but she’s like a daughter to me all the same.”
The gun was still trained on Alex’s chest. He stifled the urge to shift out of its path. “So you let her go.”
“In the circumstances, I call that generous.”
“Magnanimous even.”
“Still, how do you think she’ll feel once she knows her duke is dead? She’s a tender-hearted creature deep down. You might say this’ll be punishment enough.”
Alex forced a smile. “So it’s come to this? Years in the planning and this is the way it’s going to end, with you shooting me?”
Nightingale shook his head sagely. “A crying shame, isn’t it? I’d intended a more elegant revenge. You were going to suffer for the rest of your life, but I can’t hurt your sister, not when she has her mother’s face. Since I can’t bring myself to touch Evie either, I did consider your cousin or your brother-in-law but… Well, it wouldn’t be the same, would it?” He eyed Alex coldly. “No, it’s a travesty of what I originally intended but I’m going to have to kill you, simple as that.”
“Still, a shot to the head? It’ll be over in an instant.”
“Don’t you worry about that, sir. On your feet. Now.”
Slowly, Alex rose. He tasted something raw and metallic. Blood, he realized. He must have cut the inside of his lip when he fell.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Nightingale gestured with the gun in the direction he meant them to take. A quick flick of the wrist, over before Alex had a chance to react. “Walk.”
“Where are we going?”
Nightingale didn’t answer because it was obvious. They were headed to the cliff.
Halfway across the lawn, Alex chanced a glance back at the house. Some of the windows were lit, so Carter must be organizing the servants as Alex had requested. If someone looked out and saw what was happening… They’d left the lamp behind but the sky was turning from darkest blue to gray, silvery at the horizon. Was there enough light for them to be visible from the house? He wasn’t sure.
“Don’t look round again,” came the gruff warning.
Nightingale was nothing without the gun, but the knowledge that he might snap and shoot at any moment made the back of Alex’s neck prickle. Exposed and afraid, he plodded onward. He tried to be logical. If Nightingale truly meant to shoot him, why hadn’t he done so at the stable? Why chance this march over the grass? But they’d left the realm of logic behind weeks ago. There was no telling what this man might do.
They reached the top of the long flight of stone steps.
“Go on then,” Nightingale said. So nonchalant, like he’d lost interest. His revenge was spoilt. Oh, he’d see things through all right, but the spark was gone. Evie had ruined everything for him when she changed sides; Alex took a certain satisfaction in the thought.
But he was still going to die.
“Keep going,” Nightingale said once Alex reached the bottom step. “Keep going straight forward.” Alex did as he was told, only stopping when his feet met the edge. “Take a good long look, Your Grace.”
Alex did. The tide was in. Waves crashed against jutting rocks. He wasn’t afraid of heights but the drop looked vastly different when you knew you were about to go over.
Somewhere along the path, Evie was nearing the road. He hoped so anyway.
Catch that train, he urged silently. Get as far away from all this as you can. Get away from me and be happy.
That was all he wanted now. For her to be safe and well. When she heard what had happened to him—if she heard—she would be sad for a while. But she was strong and she would recover.
He wished he’d given her more money. He wished he’d asked her to stay and marry him. The estate would have slowly died around them but it was impossible to care about that with this terrible descent at his feet. Dukes and dukedoms were probably doomed anyway. The world had changed. The new order had no truck with noblesse oblige. If he hadn’t lost everything, his heirs would have. Perhaps it took staring death in the face to see things clearly.
“What now?” He was shocked by how unafraid he sounded when he was quite sensibly terrified. The effect was almost careless and he was spiteful enough to enjoy squelching Nightingale’s pleasure. He struggled to remember why this was happening. Something about his father mistreating Helen’s mother. Was that what had made Nightingale angry? Or was he angry because the duke had bedded a woman he regarded as his? For these reasons, whether one or both of them, Nightingale had decided to enact some sort of biblical vengeance, punishing the son for the sins of the father.
“What’s so funny?” Until Nightingale asked, Alex hadn’t realized he was laughing.
It’s all these murky motivations, he wanted to say. Didn’t Nightingale realize he was supposed to make these things clear? Where was his sense of literary clarity?
“It all seems so incredibly petty,” Alex said, trying to contain his mirth. “I didn’t even like my father. Hardly anyone did. He hurt Helen and me more than he could ever possibly have hurt you. I’m afraid I find the fact I’m now to die for his sins absolutely hilarious.”