Chapter 26 #2
“I’ve done a rather neat job of this, I think,” Harry continued, his words heavy and bitter.
“I’ve ruined your life and Amelia’s. She’ll never forgive you for this betrayal.
No matter what you do, she won’t believe you now.
You see, you could never understand. Your father loved you so much.
My father never had a moment to spare for my mother or me.
No, he was always rushing off to see his kept woman and her bastards.
The humiliation was so intense, and he could never understand it.
Maybe if he had understood, it would have made a difference, but I doubt it.
No, not dear Papa. He only ever did what he wanted.
But there are consequences, Stephen. There are always consequences. ”
Clutching the knife, Harry rushed forward, the point glinting in the moonlight. He planned to go in for the kill, then.
Neatly, Stephen stepped aside, grabbing Harry by the wrist and wrenching his arm back. When he didn’t immediately drop the knife, Stephen’s fist flashed out, his knuckles white.
Crack.
He delivered a sharp blow to Harry’s face, square on his nose.
Blood spurted, and Harry gave a warbling cry, his free hand flying to his face.
The knife clattered onto the ground, and Stephen kicked it away into the darkness.
Next, he delivered a neat kick to the back of Harry’s knee, and the man buckled.
He landed heavily, since Stephen saw no reason to soften his fall.
Harry lay there, on his back in the filth and rubbish, groaning and weeping, his hand fluttering to his face.
“You’ve broken my nose!” he groaned.
Stephen squatted beside him, and when Harry made an effort to sit up, he placed a large hand on the middle of his chest, pushing him back. Harry’s eyes widened when he couldn’t struggle against his old friend’s strength.
“I’m not the young man you once knew, Harry,” Stephen whispered. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
“You could never let me forget, Your Grace,” Harry spat.
“I’m not talking to you as a duke now. No, I’m speaking to you as a man who survived war.
Do you have any idea what war is like? No, of course you don’t.
How could you? The papers and stories tell tales of heroes.
But the truth is that there are two kinds of men on a battlefield, once the fight is over.
There are murderers, and there is the dead.
That’s it. No heroes, no gentlemen, no martyrs.
The killers and the dead. Which do you think I am, Harry? Say it. Say it.”
Real fear flashed in Harry’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time that Stephen had seen naked terror in another person’s eyes when they looked at him. He prayed that it would be the last.
“You’re a killer,” Harry whispered.
Stephen nodded slowly, letting a grim smile creep across his face.
“I’m a killer because you made me into one, Harry.
Never forget that. This is all your fault.
I’ve killed men, again and again. Never think for one moment that I won’t do it again.
Here’s what will happen, Harry. You are going to go to the constables and tell them how you abducted Amelia.
You’ll go through your father’s will and give Amelia and her sisters whatever money and property should have been theirs.
I doubt that anything would happen to you for what you did to me all those years ago.
The courts don’t care about press-ganged men, even ones who are dukes.
Once they start there, there’ll be no way to stop. But don’t think that I’ve forgotten.”
Harry’s throat worked. “Would it mean anything to you if I told you that I regretted it?” he whispered.
“That I wished I hadn’t sent you away? But once you were gone, it was too late to change it.
Too late to bring you back. So, I had to commit.
I could only hope that you wouldn’t come back.
So I did. Made sure you wouldn’t come back, that is. ”
Stephen bit the inside of his cheek. Pain bloomed, enough to clear his head and make him focus.
“You’re right,” he said, rising to his feet. “It is too late. Think about what I said, Harry. I’m a dangerous man. I’m a killer. Don’t get in my way again.”
Harry said nothing, but stark fear remained in his eyes.
At last, Stephen let himself look behind him. Sure enough, the alleyway was empty. Amelia had run off, then. He sighed.
Footsteps approached, and then Tristan rounded the corner at a jog, squinting into the dark. Stephen waved him down, and his friend hurried over. He took in the scene, his gaze lingering on Harry, who was still sprawled on the ground. His expression hardened.
“A beggar on the street directed me here,” he murmured. “Do you care to explain what’s going on, Stephen?”
“Later. For now, take him to the constables,” Stephen requested tiredly. His chest was tight, and his head hurt. “He has a confession to make.”
“And what about you? Where are you going?”
“I have to find my bride-to-be. She’s run off. I’m not sure I can blame her for fleeing, not after what she’s been through. I imagine she feels she can trust no one. I only hope I can change her mind.”
Amusement flickered across Tristan’s features.
“Well, if you are going to find her, you should hurry,” he said pointedly. “The wedding, I’ll remind you, is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Stephen snorted, glancing up at the moon high in the sky. “I believe it’s already past midnight. The wedding, in fact, is today.”