Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Lockwood’s mouth opened as if to speak, but only blood emerged. He toppled from his horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud that spoke of finality. The man who had terrorized Courtney, murdered two innocent women, and torn apart so many lives lay motionless in the dust of the Great North Road.
His two remaining companions—Briggs and Murphy—found themselves suddenly facing five armed gentlemen with no escape route.
Briggs, the scarred veteran, raised his hands slowly, his street-smart instincts telling him that resistance would only lead to a quick death.
Murphy, younger and more impulsive, swung his pistol toward the duke, but Wolf was faster.
“I wouldn’t,” Wolf said conversationally, his own weapon trained on Murphy’s chest. “You’re outnumbered and outclassed. Surrender now, and you might live to see trial.”
“We ain’t done nothing,” Briggs protested, though his eyes darted nervously between the mounted gentlemen surrounding him. “Just following orders, we were.”
“Orders to kidnap a lady?” Tarquin’s voice was ice-cold with controlled fury. “Orders to help commit murder?”
“We didn’t kill nobody,” Murphy said quickly, his youth making him eager to distance himself from the more serious charges. “That was all Lockwood. He paid us to grab the lady, nothing more.”
Fane dismounted smoothly, keeping his pistol trained on the two men. “Axton, help me search them for weapons. We’ll need rope to secure them properly.”
As the younger men worked to disarm and bind Lockwood’s thugs, Julian examined the baron’s body with professional thoroughness. “He’s dead,” he announced grimly. “Shot through the heart. The duke’s aim was true.”
Blackstone sat motionless on his horse, staring down at Lockwood’s corpse with an expression that mixed satisfaction with profound emptiness. The woman he’d loved had been avenged, but vengeance, he was discovering, was a hollow comfort when measured against loss.
“Your Grace,” Wolf said gently, approaching the duke’s horse. “We need to decide how to handle this. There will be questions, investigations—”
“Let them come,” Blackstone replied flatly. “I killed him in self-defense. He shot at me as I tried to apprehend him for the kidnapping of Lady Courtney and for Kitty’s murder. I’ll answer for my actions to any magistrate in England.”
“It won’t come to that,” Tarquin interjected with the smooth confidence of a seasoned politician. “Lockwood was a known criminal who had just committed kidnapping and murder. Any reasonable magistrate will see this as justifiable killing in the course of preventing further crimes.”
Meanwhile, Briggs and Murphy found themselves bound hand and foot, their weapons confiscated and their immediate future looking decidedly grim. Briggs, with the pragmatism of a career criminal, had begun calculating the benefits of cooperation.
“Look, gents,” he said, his voice taking on a wheedling tone. “We’re just hired muscle, right? Lockwood paid us to do a job, but we ain’t murderers. We can tell you everything—where he was planning to take the lady, who else might’ve been involved, that kind of thing…”
“You helped kidnap her,” Julian said coldly. “You’re accessories to attempted rape and forced marriage. That’s enough to see you transported, if not hanged.”
Murphy, younger and more emotional, began to panic. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this! He said it was just a business arrangement, that the lady would understand once they were married. He never said nothing about killing nobody!”
“But you knew she was unwilling,” Axton pointed out, checking the ropes binding the prisoners. “You heard her screaming, saw her fighting. That didn’t give you pause?”
“We needed the money,” Briggs said simply, though shame flickered in his eyes. “Times are hard for men like us. We don’t get to be choosy about our work.”
Fane studied the two bound men with the calculating gaze of someone well-versed in London’s criminal underworld. “What did Lockwood tell you about his plans after Scotland? Surely, he had contingencies in case the lady’s family refused to pay?”
Briggs and Murphy exchanged nervous glances. Finally, Briggs spoke. “He talked about taking her abroad if things went bad. Said there were places a man could disappear with a woman and never be found.”
The casual mention of what amounted to permanent abduction made Tarquin’s jaw clench with renewed anger. “Where? What places?”
“The Americas. He had contacts, he said. Men who’d help for the right price.” Murphy’s voice shook as he realized how completely he’d been drawn into Lockwood’s web of criminality.
Wolf began searching through Lockwood’s saddlebags while the others secured the prisoners.
Among the baron’s effects, he found several items of interest: a substantial amount of gold coins, documents that appeared to be forged travel papers, and most damning of all, a blood-stained knife wrapped in cloth.
“Gentlemen,” Wolf called, holding up the wrapped blade. “I believe we’ve found the weapon used on Kitty.”
Blackstone’s face went utterly white at the sight, his hands tightening on his reins until his knuckles stood out starkly. “That bastard,” he whispered. “He carried her blood with him like a trophy.”
“Which makes this even more clearly a case of justified killing,” Tarquin observed with grim satisfaction. “Lockwood was armed and dangerous, with physical evidence of recent murder on his person.”
As the immediate crisis settled into the more mundane business of dealing with prisoners and evidence, the group’s attention turned to the more pressing matter of Courtney’s condition. She remained conscious but clearly struggling with the effects of her head injury and the trauma of her ordeal.
Rockwell had managed to calm the bay horse, and now he approached Lucien with practiced efficiency. “We need to get her back to London and try to contain this scandal. The longer we stay here, the more questions we’ll face from local authorities.”
“Can she ride?” Lucien asked, his voice tight with concern as he studied Courtney’s pale face.
“With support,” Rockwell replied. “I’ll help you mount, and you can hold her. My horse is the steadiest of the lot—he won’t spook or bolt. I’ll ride this bay.”
Courtney stirred in Lucien’s arms, her amber eyes focusing on his face with obvious effort. “I can ride,” she said, though her voice was still somewhat slurred. “I won’t slow you down.”
“You could never slow me down,” Lucien replied fiercely. “You’re the strongest, bravest woman I’ve ever known. What you did today—escaping from them, stealing that horse, riding toward help—it was extraordinary.”
A weak smile crossed her lips. “I had good motivation. I knew you’d come for me.”
“Always,” he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll always come for you.”
Rockwell brought his horse alongside where Lucien knelt with Courtney. The animal stood patient and steady, well-trained and responsive to its master’s commands. “Up you go,” Rockwell said, offering his hands to help Lucien mount while still supporting Courtney.
The process was awkward and careful, with Lucien settling into the saddle before Rockwell carefully lifted Courtney up to him. She gasped softly at the movement, her head obviously still paining her, but she managed to lean back against Lucien’s chest with evident relief.
“There,” Lucien murmured against her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
Meanwhile, the practical business of dealing with their prisoners continued. Fane and Axton had fashioned a travois from broken branches and their own cloaks to transport Lockwood’s body—they couldn’t simply leave it by the roadside, and they would need it as evidence of what had transpired.
“What about these two?” Julian asked, nodding toward Briggs and Murphy, who sat bound and miserable in the morning sun.
“We take them to the nearest magistrate,” Tarquin replied. “Let them answer for their crimes properly. Their testimony about Lockwood’s plans and methods might be valuable in closing this case completely.”
Blackstone, who had remained silent through most of these arrangements, finally spoke. “I’ll escort the prisoners myself. I want to ensure they reach the authorities safely.”
“Your Grace,” Wolf said carefully, “are you certain that’s wise? You’ve just killed a man, however justified it might have been. Perhaps it would be better—think of the scandal.”
“For once, scandal be damned,” Blackstone said, cutting him off. “I’ll protect Courtney’s name from any scandal. This will only be about Kitty’s murder. There is no need for anyone to find out about Lady Courtney’s abduction.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Lucien said.
“You shot him because he shot at you, Blackstone,” Fane assured him. “What you did was completely justified. But the social ramifications…”
“Thank you,” the duke replied with quiet vehemence. “I won’t forget your support.”
The raw grief in his voice made even the hardened criminals shift uncomfortably. Here was a man who had lost everything that mattered to him and found that revenge provided no real comfort.
As they prepared to separate, the main group heading back to London with Courtney, while others dealt with prisoners and evidence, Rockwell approached Blackstone one final time. “The word of a duke won’t be disputed. You should do all the talking with the magistrate.”
With final arrangements made, the group began to disperse. Fane and Axton took charge of the prisoners, while Julian and Tarquin flanked Lucien and Courtney for the ride back to London. Wolf remained with Blackstone to help manage Lockwood’s body and coordinate with the local magistrate.
As Rockwell’s steady horse began the long journey south, Courtney settled more comfortably against Lucien’s chest. The rhythmic motion of the horse’s gait seemed to ease her discomfort somewhat, and color was slowly returning to her pale cheeks.
“It’s over,” Lucien said quietly, his arms tightening protectively around her. “He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
“I know,” she replied, her voice growing stronger as they put distance between themselves and the scene of Lockwood’s death.
“Your—our—secret is safe.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and wondered what price they all might have paid, and that perhaps secrets were dangerous. He had some thinking to do.
She was quiet for several minutes, watching the countryside roll past as they rode. Finally, she spoke again. “When I was hiding in that straw pile, when I thought I might never see you again, I realized something important.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t care what society thinks about Ava-Marie’s birth.
I don’t care if they whisper about your time in Ireland or question our marriage.
All that matters is that we’re together, that we’re building a life based on truth and love.
” She turned her head to look up at him.
“You don’t have to carry those secrets anymore, Lucien.
We’re stronger than whatever scandal they might create. ”
Relief flooded through him—relief so profound it left him momentarily speechless.
He had been dreading the eventual revelation of Ava-Marie’s illegitimacy, had been planning strategies to manage the social fallout.
But Courtney was right. Their love, their family, was stronger than society’s judgment.
“You took the words out of my mouth. I love you,” he said suddenly, the words emerging with startling clarity and conviction.
“Not because I’m supposed to, not because we were engaged before, but because of who you are now.
Because of your courage, your compassion, your incredible strength.
I love you, Courtney Montague, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of that love. ”
Tears filled her eyes, but they were tears of joy rather than sorrow. “I love you too,” she whispered. “The man you are now, the father you’ve become, the partner you’re choosing to be. We’re going to be so happy together, Lucien. All of us—you, me, and Ava-Marie and our children.”
Before them, London’s spires were beginning to appear on the horizon, promising safety, healing, and the beginning of their new life together. The ordeal was finally over, and their future stretched ahead bright with possibility.
As they rode toward home, Lucien found himself thinking not of the past or its secrets, but of tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—honestly, bravely, and with love as their foundation.
With Courtney in his arms, a vision of his future—a vision of a happy future—filled him, and Lucien finally felt as if he were home. He knew exactly who he was and where he fit in this world. And he knew the woman who fitted with him was safely in his arms. He’d never let her go again.