Chapter Forty-Two
Devlin saw the light from the lodge just over the ridge. Only a minute more on foot and he would be there. He had left his horse tied to a tree beside the main road, as much to mask his approach as to serve as a sign to his men of where to follow. Who, he hoped, were not too far behind him, though he had ridden like the very Devil was chasing him.
The thought that he might be too late to save Sophie whispered across his mind, but he pushed it firmly aside. He could not think of such a thing, or he would not be able to function. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, his revolver held firmly in his right hand as he stalked toward the lodge, carefully keeping to the shadows.
As he approached the edge of the woodland, the disused lodge came into sharper view several meters away. An old lantern hung on a peg by the front door, illuminating both the entrance and the small path leading to the dirt trail. What worried him most was that the front door was lying wide open, yet all of the windows had been boarded up tight, and he could only make out the barest hint of light coming from within. It was not a good sign.
He looked to the left of the cottage and could see Sophie’s carriage and its horses tethered to the side of the building. Apart from horses’ slight nickering, not a sound could be heard. Devlin felt a terrible tightness in his heart. Something was wrong, very wrong indeed.
He stood silently, shadowed by a tree, and watched for a minute. Nothing moved. He quickly maneuvered around to the back of the lodge. Again nothing. Not even a lantern lighting the back door.
But it was a mistake on the madman’s part; shadows were much easier to blend into than the light.
When he was sure he would not be ambushed, he quickly ran to the back door, using the shadows to partially hide him. He crouched down beside the door and twisted the knob. It was unlocked and opened effortlessly at his touch.
He positioned his revolver in front of him and carefully slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him. The hallway was dark but for a light flickering from the front.
He silently made his way along the short corridor, passing an empty kitchen and room to his right. As he approached the two front rooms, he stopped and listened again. Nothing. Not one sound.
He slipped along the hallway and stopped in his tracks. For up ahead, through the partially opened door to the room on the left, he saw the petticoats of a dress on the floor, and a booted female leg was attached.
No! He could not be too late. Heedless of the danger to himself, he raced into the room, his world feeling like it was spinning out of control.
A profound sense of relief ran through him when he realized it wasn’t Sophie lying there. Instead, Lady Brampton’s lifeless body stared up at the ceiling. Someone had stabbed her in the heart. At least she likely hadn’t suffered greatly before her death.
Devlin quickly walked through to the other room. There was a man he did not recognize dead on the floor in a pool of blood. He looked to be a servant, if his attire was anything to go by.
Devlin returned to the main room, certain now that the house did not contain Sophie or whoever had killed Lady Brampton and the servant.
Had Sophie been taken elsewhere? Had she escaped? He felt like howling into the night with his frustration. Where was she? If she had escaped, she could be anywhere, as the woods surrounding the Huntington estate were over fifty hectares.
He stilled as a noise from outside disturbed the silence within. Carefully, he crouched down below the boarded-up window at the front of the lodge and peered out through a small crack. He thought he saw some movement to the left. He carefully cocked the hammer back on his pistol and waited.
…
Sophie rounded the corner and hid behind some bushes. She could see the front door of the lodge wide open. Did that mean Hemingsworth had followed her and was now even chasing her shadows in the woods? But there was still no sign of Devlin.
What if he had already walked into the lodge and Hemingsworth had come to and was lying in wait? What if, even now, Devlin was hurt or bleeding or, worse, dead?
Should she go back into that place and check? What was she to do?
She stilled as she felt the blade of a knife at the back of her neck.
“There, there, my darling,” Hemingsworth crooned softly to her. “I have you back. Nothing to worry about now. Do drop the branch.”
“No, I shall not!” Sophie yelled. If Devlin was in the area, mayhap he would hear her.
“Shut up,” he hissed into her ear. “Or I will cut your throat, see if I don’t.”
Reluctantly, she dropped the branch.
“Your fiancé,” he almost spat the word out, “is not here yet.”
“How do you know?” Her eyes darted around, searching for anything she could grab and use as a weapon, anything she could use to get a moment’s advantage. She remembered the rock in her pocket, but by the time she pulled that out, she had no doubt Hemingsworth would have slit her throat.
“He has not had time since receiving my note to get here. I planned it all perfectly of course; well, except the part about you fleeing, but luckily, I was able to track your movements.”
He dropped the knife away from her throat and pushed her with his hand toward the front of the house. “Hurry up and get inside.”
Sophie reluctantly stepped out from the bushes onto the dirt clearing at the front of the building.
He steered her over the threshold and into the front room, using his boot to slam the door shut behind him. Suddenly, she felt him still behind her.
Roughly, he pulled her against him and returned the blade of the knife to her neck. “I think your betrothed might be here, my angel,” he whispered in her ear. “Devlin?” he called aloud. “Come out, wherever you are.”
The house remained silent.
“He is not here,” Sophie said.
“Shut up,” he growled. “If you do not show yourself in five seconds, I will slit her throat. One,” he began counting. “Two.”
“Lower the knife, Hemingsworth,” Devlin’s deep voice commanded from the far corner of the room.
Sophie gasped as Hemingsworth swiveled them both around toward Devlin’s voice, just as her fiancé stepped out from behind a pillar. She’d never been so profoundly happy to see anyone. He raised his gun toward them and repeated his command. “I said let her go.”
She felt Hemingsworth tremble slightly. Whether it was from fear or excitement, she could not guess.
“I am holding the cards here, Huntington, not you,” he bit out, pressing the knife point deeper into her skin. “Drop your weapon.”
“No, Devlin you must not!” Sophie urged him. “He will kill us both if you do!”
“Shut up!” Hemingsworth roared in her ear.
She could not help but gasp as the point of the blade lightly pierced her skin.
“God damn it,” Devlin growled. “Lower your blade.”
“You are killing her, Huntington,” Hemingsworth ground out as he pressed the knife slightly deeper.
“Do not do what he says,” Sophie said as she felt a warm tickle of blood slide down her skin.
“I am not leaving you!” Devlin un-cocked the hammer of his pistol and tossed it to the side. He took a step toward them. “You gripe is with me, Hemingsworth. Let her go.”
“Stay back,” Hemingsworth warned. “Or the knife will go deeper.”
Devlin stopped and held up his hands. “All right,” he said. “Just let her go.”
She heard Hemingsworth snicker in her ear. “That is not going to happen,” he announced. “She is integral to my plans.” He relaxed the pressure of the blade against her throat a small bit. “Now I know you have another weapon on you somewhere Huntington, so do carefully reveal it. And do not do anything stupid. Her very life depends upon it.”
Devlin’s mouth compressed into a tight line. He lifted his left foot up onto the lounge nearby, and slowly, he bent down and pulled back the material of his pants leg, revealing a small derringer strapped to a holster above his boot.
“Devlin, don’t,” Sophie said. “He will kill us. You must stop him, regardless of me.”
“I told you to shut up!” Hemingsworth roared, pressing the blade tighter to her neck.
She hadn’t thought she could be more afraid, but seeing Devlin giving up his weapons, his only advantage, increased her terror a thousand-fold. Icy shards of fear prickled painfully down her spine.
“Damn it, don’t hurt her!” Devlin implored him. “Look, I am getting rid of the thing.” He slowly pulled the small gun from the holster with two fingers and then threw it to the side.
“You remember when we first met, don’t you? And how I freed your dress from the shrubs?” Devlin asked Sophie.
“When I said shut up, that included you, too!” Hemingsworth snarled. He pointed the blade at Devlin, while still holding Sophie tightly to him with his other hand.
Sophie thought back to that night when she had fallen at his feet out of a tree and then got caught in the shrubs… Of course! She just had to distract Hemingsworth’s attention for a second. Slowly, she pushed her hand into her pocket and gripped the rock tightly.
“I think I am feeling faint,” she moaned before slumping in Hemingsworth’s arm.
“What the devil?” Hemingsworth grappled with one arm to hold her up.
He was unable to do so, and she quickly slid to the floor. She lay there motionless, hoping her imitation of a faint was enough to distract him.
Hemingsworth pointed his knife at Devil. “Don’t you move. I can still slit her throat before you even get close.”
Hemingsworth’s attention was firmly fixed on Devlin. Without stopping to think about it, she rolled onto her side and with all her might smashed the rock into his right kneecap.
Hemingsworth howled in pain and arched the knife up high over his head in a stabbing motion. “You bitch,” he screamed.
Quickly, she turned her body to the side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin reach into his right boot and draw out his dagger, just where it had been the night they first met. The light from the lantern caught the edge of the silver blade, and before Sophie could blink, she heard a sickening thud as the blade lodged in Hemingsworth’s chest.
The man stared down in surprise at the knife buried deep in his torso. The blade that Hemingsworth himself had been holding fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor.
“This is not what was meant to happen…” he managed to utter before coughing up some blood.
She grimaced as he staggered back further.
Hemingsworth’s face was now beaded with sweat. “Everything he had should have been mine,” he wheezed out. “Including you.”
Devlin began to walk toward him. “It is all over, Hemingsworth, or whatever your damn name is.”
Hemingsworth tried to laugh, but it came out as a rattle. In a blur of movement, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his own gun, pointing it at Sophie. “I will have my revenge.”
“No!” Devlin shouted as he dove in front of Sophie.
The sound of a gunshot reverberated through the room.
Sophie blinked as she saw Devlin crash into Hemingsworth, his weight forcing them to the ground and knocking the steaming gun from the man’s hand.
Scrambling up from the floor, she rushed over to them. She barely paid any attention to Hemingsworth, whose eyes now stared vacantly at the ceiling, as she ran over to Devlin. He rolled off Hemingsworth and onto the floor.
She stumbled when she saw the growing patch of red staining Devlin’s shirt. A sense of panic began to grip her. No…this couldn’t be. He couldn’t be taken from her, not after she’d only just realized how much he meant to her. “What were you thinking?” A sudden sense of anger gripped her as she crouched by his side and ripped off the cloak from her shoulders. She would not let him leave her. She balled the material tightly and pressed it against the wound on the side of his stomach.
“Is he dead?” Devlin grunted.
“Yes.” Some errant tears dashed down her cheeks. “But why did you jump in front of me? You just had to be the hero, didn’t you?”
He managed a weak grin, his face growing paler by the second. “Couldn’t let you get hurt.”
“You should have,” she said, tempted to look at the wound but not wanting to stop applying pressure. She had no medical training and no time to leave him and get a doctor. “You should have shot him when you had the chance, regardless of the circumstances.”
“He could have hurt you then.”
She choked back a sob. “Better me than you.”
“You’re wrong. I could not live without you, you see,” he managed to say as he slowly raised his hand up to her face. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I was trying to push you away. I was scared of what I was feeling.”
The thought sent her reeling. Sophie pressed her cloak more firmly against his wound. Panic gripped her as she felt his blood seep through the material. “Shush now,” she said. “You must save your strength. Help will be on the way soon.”
“I have to tell you how I feel, before it is too late.” Devlin tried to sit. “I owe you that much honesty, at least.”
“Don’t you dare talk like that!” She gently pushed him back down, scared by how little strength he seemed to have. “Do not move. And you had better not leave me either,” she ordered. “Otherwise, I will have fallen in love with a rake for nothing!”
He smiled weakly. “You love me? Even after what I said to you earlier?”
Sophie brushed away the errant tear on her cheek. “I could not help it.”
“That makes two of us,” he confessed, his breathing becoming slightly labored. “I thought I could steel my heart against you. But I had no chance. When you fell at my feet all of those months ago, I was captivated. You were so earnest and honest and pure. You were the light to my darkness. Think I fell in love with you that day, though I could never admit it until now. Even kept that scrap of your gown that I cut off.”
“You did?”
He nodded, his face looking horribly ashen. “Earlier today, when I got to the factory and realized it was a trap to get me away from you, I’d never felt such fear.” He stopped and licked his lips, his voice growing weaker. “It nearly paralyzed me. It was then I realized I’d been lying to myself, pretending I was still the Devil Duke who didn’t need love. Who didn’t need you. But I do need you, Sophie, desperately. And I need your love, too.”
“Oh, Devlin,” she whispered. “You have my love.”
“I love you, Sophie. I will love you for eternity. Even in death,” he said before his eyes fell closed.
“Devlin!” she screamed. “You had better not die on me. Do you hear me? Wake up!” She shook him, but his eyes remained shut and his formerly labored breathing became terrifyingly silent.
“No, no, no. Wake up!” She shook him again, more vigorously. “Devlin, wake up! I’ll never forgive you if you die. Do you hear me?”
She could barely see his face through her tears. “Devlin, wake up! Wake up,” she cried, her voice growing hoarse. She collapsed on top of him and started sobbing. “Oh God, don’t take him away from me,” she pleaded. “Please, Devlin, I love you, too. Please wake up…”