Chapter Twenty-Six
Since the moment he’d first spotted Evelyn on that Inverness street, Gerard had been intrigued by the spirit in her sparkling blue eyes. The teasing defiance in her gaze had captivated him. Her sapphire irises flashed when she was angry and lit with vitality when happiness filled her heart, betraying her emotions with a clarity no amount of self-control could hide.
Before she’d walked away from him, he’d seen the fear in her eyes. Fear for her friend. Fear for herself.
Regret slammed into him. He’d come here to protect her. He’d intended to shield her from harm. So far, he’d done a rotten job of it.
She was mine to protect.
Not to desire. Not to touch. Not to love.
He’d detected another emotion in her features, a feeling she could not disguise. The blue of her eyes had been darkened by pain she could not hide.
Blast it, he’d hurt her. If he’d followed his duty, she would not have looked at him with that flicker of betrayal that had sliced through him. He should not have touched her.
He should not have loved her.
Hellfire, he’d inflicted a wound on her heart. And now, she did not trust him. How could she after he’d deceived her?
He didn’t give a damn about the Dragon’s Eyes.
All he cared about was Evelyn—keeping her safe, defending her from the menace he knew pursued her.
He had to talk to her. He’d convince her to listen to him. To put her faith in him. To trust that he would keep her safe.
Gerard turned to his brother, who leaned on a desk in the study. “I can persuade Evie to accept our protection.”
“Evie, is it?” Harrison regarded him with a perceptive gaze. “You’ve come to care for her, haven’t you?”
“Aye.” Gerard raked a hand through his hair. He should not have allowed his emotions to become involved. He’d been a fool.
“Go after her.” Harrison settled himself behind a desk and thumbed through a document. “She’s likely in the solarium. She appears to favor the place.”
Covering the distance with long strides, Gerard entered the room. No sign of Evie. She might’ve gone to the garden.
“Ah, it’s you.” Grace Winterborne came in from the garden. “Good afternoon, Mr. MacMasters. By any chance, have you seen Sally?”
“Nay, not since the morning meal.”
“She’s not in her chamber. No one has seen her in the last hour. This is highly out of character.” Grace frowned. “Lady Houghton is in quite a stir. You see, there was an incident—she is utterly distressed over the situation. Unpleasant words were exchanged… Evelyn declared her intention to leave before the wedding. As you can imagine, Sally was heartsick.”
Gerard studied the pretty American’s face. Worry flickered in her eyes.
“How long has it been since ye last saw her?”
Grace shrugged. “An hour. Perhaps a bit longer.”
“And Evelyn—when did ye last see her?”
“I spotted her in the garden with Mr. Westbrook…perhaps thirty minutes ago. She appeared rather distressed.”
Westbrook? What business might she have had with the pompous arse?
“Is she there now?”
“No.” Grace wrung her hands. “This is all so very peculiar.”
She appeared rather distressed. The words echoed in his brain. What had Westbrook done to upset her?
What had he told her?
Had the bastard threatened her—or the bride? Evelyn would risk her own safety to save her friend.
Good God. Had the cur who sought the Dragon’s Eyes been in their midst, a viper hiding in plain sight?
Had he been too blinded by his desire for Evelyn to see the threat before his blasted eyes?
“Is it possible the women left the estate with the photographer?”
“Mr. Westbrook’s carriage is on the premises. Lady Houghton questioned Edson on the subject. He verified the man’s phaeton is in the coach house.” The lass’s mouth pulled tight with strain. “We’ve looked high and low for Sally. And now it appears that Evelyn has also seemingly vanished into thin air. It is most strange—”
A sharp, explosive crack cut through her words. Muffled by distance. But there was no mistaking the sound.
Hellfire and damnation—a gunshot.
An invisible fist plowed into his gut. God above. He’d vowed to keep Evelyn safe. He’d promised to protect her. Little good his words had done.
He clenched his fists as his blood ran cold. Have I failed her?
Grace gasped. “Evelyn—Sally—they may be out there.”
She ran to the door and yanked it open. Gerard pulled her back.
“Ye cannae go out there, lass. Ye cannae take that risk.” He drew his weapon from the holster concealed beneath his staid jacket. “Stay here. I will investigate.”
Grace eyed the pistol in his hand. “Do be careful, Mr. MacMasters.”
“Aye. I’ll keep that in mind.” He threw a glance over his shoulder as he charged past her. “Find my brother. Give him this message—tell him to bring Matilda.”
“Matilda? I don’t—”
“Trust me—Harrison will understand.”
The pistol shot had echoed over a considerable distance, originating from well beyond the main house. Gerard followed the sound past the gardens to the meadow on the periphery of the estate.
Small crofters’ cottages dotted the land. Gun drawn, he crept among the thatched structures. The element of surprise would work to his advantage.
A woman’s scream rang out.
God above. His heart clenched. He rushed toward the sound. Evelyn’s voice, calm despite a note of fright, drifted to his ears. Relief washed over him. His Evie was alive.
Keeping low to the ground, he approached a cottage on the outskirts of the clearing. He could make out Westbrook’s distinctive voice.
Gerard closed in. Crouching by the window, he spied the photographer. The man paced the floor, nervous as a hare on the run from a hound. Did he sense Gerard was on his trail?
Westbrook stood to the side of the window. He uttered a few words Gerard couldn’t make out. From this vantage point, he spotted Sally in the corner, but he could not see Evelyn. But he could hear her voice. Could hear the defiance in her tone.
Keeping out of sight, Gerard calculated his next move. He studied Westbrook. Something about the man was oddly familiar.
A flash of recognition triggered an internal alarm. By hellfire—it did not seem possible. He knew where he’d seen that face before.
Carlton Black was dead. Gerard had seen him die. The infamous collector had stopped at nothing to sate his appetite for priceless antiquities. He’d killed to get his hands on the treasures he’d coveted. Until the hangman’s noose had ended his brutal life.
And yet, it was as if Gerard saw the cur’s eyes once again—merciless and cold, reflecting no hint of a conscience.
Black had gone to his grave without surviving offspring. His only son had been killed years earlier.
There’d been rumors, whispers that he’d fathered another child.
A chill slithered around Gerard’s spine. God above, that was it.
Carlton Black had sired a son. Born on the wrong side of the blanket. But possessing both his father’s steely features and the cur’s ruthless thirst for precious treasures.
Had Westbrook also inherited his father’s madness?
Raw fear sliced through Gerard. He’d allowed Evelyn to fall prey to the man’s malicious schemes.
And now, Westbrook had Evelyn in his grasp.
Gerard kneeled to adjust the sgian dubh he’d slipped into his boot. He debated his best course of action. The bastard would expect him to come after Evelyn. Despite the Webley revolver holstered beneath his jacket and the dagger within easy reach at his calf, he’d employ stealth to his advantage.
Regret slammed into him like a boulder on his chest. He’d been a bluidy fool. God only knew he should have seen the connection between Carlton Black and the photographer. He’d allowed Evelyn to step into Westbrook’s snare.
Damnation, he’d failed to see the truth until it was too late.
Evelyn was in danger—danger he should have foreseen. Danger he should have prevented.
His gut clenched at the truth, but as his hand closed around his pistol grips, he shook off the emotion. There was no time for regret. Not now.
He would get the women to safety.
He would protect them.
Or die trying.
Gerard calculated his options. Sally sat near the far corner of the room. Even with her hands bound, the lass held her chin high and defiant, despite the sheen of tears in her eyes.
Westbrook brandished his weapon, wild-eyed and too damned eager to put the revolver to use.
Gerard angled his head to assess the sturdiness of the door. A long plank secured by two iron supports barred the portal.
Evelyn moved within his sight.
He spotted the dark crimson streaks on her dress. Was that blood against the fabric—her blood?
Deep within him, something shifted.
Rage moved to the surface.
Westbrook had hurt her.
The bastard would pay with his own misery.
With one brutal kick, he splintered the door. Anticipating Westbrook’s response, Gerard ducked out of the way. A bullet pierced the remnants of the panel. Then another. The roar of gunfire slammed into Gerard’s ears.
Moving fast, he slammed his heel against the door again. Evading two more rounds, he delivered a final blow to the wooden frame, penetrating its last defenses.
Westbrook stood with his feet braced wide, his gun trained on Evelyn.
Gerard uttered a silent prayer. Dinnae let me fail. Not this time.
The quiver in Westbrook’s knees betrayed his fear. Accustomed to using others to do his dirty work, the man was now forced to face his adversary. The bastard’s edgy nerves made him more unpredictable, more dangerous.
Fury pulsed through Gerard’s veins. Biting back a foul epithet, he reined in his emotion. Anger would impair his judgment.
The spineless coward should not have threatened Evelyn. Should not have hurt his Evie. He would pay a steep price.
Westbrook trained his attention on Gerard. “Ah, Lady Evelyn, your knight has charged to the rescue.”
“What do ye think to accomplish, terrorizing two lasses?” Gerard kept his revolver at the ready. One wrong move, and he’d put a bullet in the bastard’s brain.
“You know what I seek, don’t you, MacMasters? You sought it, too. You’re no different than me.”
“I did come after the treasure. But I’m not a coward like ye…using women as a shield.”
“Coward?” Westbrook shrugged. “I know a means to an end when I see it. My father taught me well. You know who I am, don’t you?”
“Aye, I can see the madness in yer eyes.”
“While his heir was alive, the blighter denied my very existence. But then, my half brother broke his neck in that unfortunate fall, and my father turned to me. He needed someone to carry on his legacy. He long suspected I’d engineered that accident, but even he saw the truth—I may not have borne his name, but I was the one who shared his will to do whatever needed to be done, without regard to the cost.”
“Ye’re not the same man your father was, Westbrook. Ye dinnae have to follow his path.”
“Bah, you think you’re so bloody clever. I thought you’d learned your lesson all those years ago when my father sent your partner to his grave. An ugly death, as I recall.”
The taunting words ripped through Gerard like a jagged blade. God above, Silas Fletcher’s death had been forever etched in his nightmares. Another person he’d lost to the horrors of his duty.
“Ye can walk away a free man. Let the women go.” Gerard swallowed against the bitter taste of his words.
“Bugger off.” Westbrook snarled. “Throw down your weapon or I’ll put a bullet in her pretty head.”
“Don’t, Gerard. Please…don’t.” Anguish marked Evelyn’s sweet voice.
“If I do, ye’ll let her go?”
A tear slid down Evelyn’s cheek. “Please…don’t do this.”
Westbrook nodded. “Put it down. Now. Don’t think I won’t pull this trigger. What a shame that would be, her brains all over this decrepit little shack.”
The bastard had fired four rounds through the door. Another gunshot had sounded the alarm that had led him here. If Westbrook had fired that bullet, he only had one round left.
Just one.
God, let my calculation be right.
He could take one bullet.
He could survive a gunshot.
Or so he prayed. At least long enough to save his lass.
He would bring the cowardly bastard down.
With slow, deliberate motions, Gerard lowered his weapon. He placed the gun on the floor and kicked it out of Westbrook’s reach.
God above, help me save her.
He took a step closer, nearly within reach of the bastard. He raised his hands, as if in surrender.
“I’m here, Westbrook. Take yer best shot.”
“No!” Evelyn cried. “You cannot—”
Like a cornered animal, Westbrook’s gaze darted from side to side.
He shoved Evelyn to the side.
The bastard took aim.
Gerard hurled himself forward. He’d throttle the man with his bare hands, bullet be damned.
The pistol shot roared through the tiny cabin.
Agony exploded in his upper chest. The bullet seared like a hot blade slicing through his flesh.
Desperation propelled him forward.
He had to save Evie. There was no life worth living if he couldn’t protect her.
One fist plowed into Westbrook’s face. Then the other.
The bastard’s head snapped back.
His eyes rolled up in his head.
Like a scarecrow torn from its perch, Westbrook collapsed, his limbs tangled beneath him.
“Oh, God…Gerard.” Evelyn rushed to his side. She pressed a kiss to his mouth.
His chest throbbed with a raw misery, but the sound of her voice and the touch of her lips made the price he’d paid well justified. He cupped a hand against her cheek. “Ye’ve been hurt, lass.”
“Not badly.” Evelyn kissed him again. “We’ve got to get you to a doctor.”
“Harrison… He will come…after us.” Gerard’s legs swayed beneath him. Had the loss of blood already gotten to his head? “Evie, take the sgian dubh from my boot…the rope…on Sally’s wrists.”
“Yes,” she agreed. Crouching low, she retrieved the dagger, then severed Sally’s bonds.
Behind him, a floorboard creaked. He turned toward the sound. A tall, slender woman with striking dark hair stood in the shadows. His focus consumed by the threat Westbrook posed to Evelyn, he’d failed to take in her presence.
“I do hate to interrupt a touching moment.” The woman’s silky voice dripped with bile as her eyes flashed with recognition.
God above, he knew her.
By hellfire, Mrs. Smythe had finally shown her face. “Finally, we meet, Mr. MacMasters.”
“Mrs. Smythe?”
Offering a slow nod, the assassin leveled a pearl-handled revolver at his chest.
“Regretfully, our acquaintance will be short. You see, I still have a job to do. The only question is which one of you will be the first to die.”