A Duke in the Night(75)

August swore.

“He sent the driver on once we were there and it wasn’t until he was gone that he leveled a pistol at us and said he’d shoot one of us if the other tried to run. He said he’d never had reservations about killing to get what he wanted. And apparently you stole something that was dear to him, so he was returning the favor in kind.”

Clara kept her eyes trained on Anne, not daring to look at August.

“But I don’t think Stilton had actually thought the logistics of a good kidnapping all the way through,” Phoebe said coldly. “So many variables. So much…unpredictability.”

“Unpredictability?” August was looking between his sister and Phoebe with alarm.

“I begged Stilton to marry me,” Anne said grimly. “To take me away with him. Away from my controlling, suffocating, impossible brother who would force me to marry a man three times my age just so that he could further line his coffers.”

“And he believed you?”

“She was very persuasive,” Phoebe commented.

“And he seemed to already harbor a vast resentment toward you, dear brother,” Anne added. “Who am I to ruin such a perfectly good grudge?”

“Jesus Christ,” August swore.

“That’s what he said when I retrieved the gun he had left lying on the table in his haste to prepare for our joyous union.”

“You killed him?” August choked.

“I did not,” Anne replied primly. “But when I told Phoebe to fetch help and he tried to stop her, well, my finger might have slipped on the trigger.”

“You shot him?”

“Of course I did.” Now she was looking at her brother with incredulity.

August dropped his head, his expression bleak. “I’m so sorry, Anne. I should never have allowed you to be caught in a position where you had to—”

“For the love of God, stop.” Anne commanded loudly. “I grew up in a prison, August. And then, for a while, in places where one was required to look after one’s own well-being with a little more diligence than others. There were many lessons to be learned, and make no mistake, I learned them well. Stilton took me for a fool once. I did not allow him a second opportunity.”

August was staring at her.

“It’ll take more than a vengeful, disorganized, badly dressed fop to break me, August. I’m not so fragile as that.”

“No,” he said, his voice sounding distant. “You’re not.”

“And where is Stilton now?” Harland asked into the silence.

“Still in the cottage, I would guess,” Phoebe told him, gesturing at the rotten roof still visible. “It’s hard to go far with a bullet lodged in your knee. I patched him up as well as possible. Though my medical experience is still limited, I suspect he may be in danger of losing his lower leg if not treated promptly. He might lose it anyway.”

Clara saw Harland exchange a look with Holloway. “Leave him to me,” her brother told the duke.

“No. I’ll take care of him.” August’s expression was black.

“You’ll do your sister no good if you’re hanged for murder.”

“They’d have to find the body first,” the duke growled.

“But I can’t have you running all over Dover looking for a place to hide a corpse. I have a stake in this too, Your Grace. Let me handle this.”

August’s lips thinned. He glanced at Clara before looking back at Harland. “Fine.” August’s face was glacial. “See it done.”

Harland nodded. “Good.” He stood, collected his horse, and vanished over the ridge.

“Well,” said Anne, “I suppose we’re late for dinner.”

August made a muffled noise. “How can you possibly be jesting about this?”

“Because, August, I’m fine. Phoebe’s fine. The only one who is not fine is the ass who deserved everything he got.” Her eyes were steady and cool. “If you want me to dissolve in hysterics and tears, then you’re going to have to give me some lead time and possibly a script. Because you haven’t had the market on survival cornered all these years, dear brother.”

August ran his hands through his hair in clear agitation.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to offer us a ride back to Avondale, I would be obliged. I can’t speak for Phoebe, but it’s been a long day.”

Clara stepped closer to August and placed a hand on his sleeve, a fleeting, gentle gesture before she moved to collect the reins of the horses. “Come,” she said. “Let’s go home.”





Chapter 18



The actions of one Mathias Stilton had shaken August to his core.

Not because of what might have happened, though that still kept him up some nights, but because he had suddenly realized that the dark-haired, blue-eyed little girl who had been his sister wasn’t at all who he had chosen to pretend she was. For these last years he had used yards of pretty silk and glossy pearls and watercolor lessons to try to bury the fact that Anne had grown up in conditions that only the strongest and the most cunning survive. She had become a beautiful, poised lady to be sure, but one who had a core of pure steel.

Stilton, it seemed, had vanished from Dover, though his belongings at the boardinghouse where he’d been staying had never been claimed. Harland had said nothing, other than that the man had been alive when he arrived at the cottage and still alive when he left. August hadn’t asked for any further details, and the Baron Strathmore had offered none.