Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Two nights later, the hooves of Theo’s horse struck hard against the road, their beat echoing like war drums through the stillness of the countryside.
A sharp wind rushed across the landscape, stinging his face and tugging at his coat as if urging him onward.
Beneath the wool, snug and certain at his side, lay his flintlock pistol—primed, loaded, and cold against his ribs.
He reached the Bow Street Runners’ outpost just before midnight. A lantern swung from the eaves, casting a wavering halo of amber across the damp cobblestones. The silence was thick, the kind that suggested something was already in motion.
Elderman was waiting, flanked by two other officers dressed in dark coats and worn boots. Their breath rose in white puffs as they turned to Theo with grim expressions.
“You’re late,” Elderman said, glancing up from the pistol he’d been inspecting.
“I’m precise,” Theo replied, dismounting with ease. “Where?”
“The cove near Hawthorn Cliff. They’ve used it before. We have it surrounded, but we waited for them to begin unloading. The Crown prefers results to whispers.”
Theo gave a terse nod. “Then let’s see it done.”
The ride to the cove was brief but heavy with anticipation. The horses moved in near silence, and each man carried the burden of expectation on his shoulders. Theo’s thoughts churned beneath his outward calm. This ends tonight. It must.
The cove came into view—a crescent of cliff and shingle, black as pitch.
The sea lapped at the shore with rhythmic ease, as if unaware of the violence about to unfold.
Down below, ghostly shapes moved under the dim spill of lantern-light: men with crates, barrels half-buried in the surf, and a low craft tethered to a rock outcrop.
Elderman raised a hand.
Without a sound, the men sprang forward.
Theo vaulted the last few feet of the slope, landing hard on the wet sand.
Shouts erupted. Blades flashed. A shot cracked.
Two of the smugglers fled but were tackled to the ground.
One lunged at Theo with a knife. He parried it aside and struck the man with the butt of his pistol. The smuggler dropped without a sound.
“Dave!” someone cried. “Run!”
A large man—broad-shouldered, face dark with grit—turned and ran up the crag. Elderman fired a shot past his head. The man froze. He dropped his burden and raised his hands slowly.
Moments later, it was done.
Three men were bound, breathless and bruised. One cursed under his breath. The leader, Dave, glared with loathing at his captors.
“You’ve ruined it,” he spat.
“You ruined yourself,” Elderman replied. “Bring them.”
The Runners’ office cellar was as cold and damp as a crypt. The captives were forced into separate chairs, their hands bound tightly. A single lantern swung overhead, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls like ghosts.
Elderman questioned the first two with efficient cruelty. Names, routes, schedules. The men, eager to avoid the noose, revealed everything: brandy smuggled through coastal farms, codes carved in fenceposts, coin exchanges in churchyards. Theo stood in the shadows, arms folded, silent as a sentry.
When Dave was shoved forward, Elderman paused.
“This one’s yours.”
Dave looked up with a twisted grin. “You’ve that look about you. Some high-bred officer, I’d wager.”
Theo stepped forward, expression unreadable. “You knew Michael Linwood.”
Dave’s grin faltered. “Who’s asking?”
“I buried my family days after he arrived in Gloucestershire.”
A beat passed.
Dave’s eyes sharpened. “That so?”
“My mother. My father. My siblings. Murdered in their own home.”
Dave let out a dry chuckle. “Wasn’t me who lit the fire.”
“But you were there.”
He shifted. Then gave a casual shrug. “Aye. I was there. Linwood hired us. Said the family deserved it. Said the Duke had debts to settle. He didn’t give names. Just said there’d be coin for those who helped.”
Theo’s jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it.
“You remember the children?”
Dave grew still. “I remember a little girl trying to run. That bit wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Theo closed his eyes. A thousand memories crashed against him—Rebecca’s laughter, her wild curls, the way she had begged to ride side-saddle like a proper lady. Gone.
“And now?” Theo said quietly.
“I’ll hang,” Dave said with a hollow shrug. “You’ve got what you want.”
But is it what I want? Theo studied him. Is death enough for this? He could feel the vengeance pressing against him, urging him to act, to demand retribution.
But something deeper pushed against it.
He thought of April, of her voice in the dark, her warmth in his arms. He thought of Eugenia, reminding him that to love again was not a betrayal but a triumph. He thought of the letter tucked away in his desk—his mother’s final note, ink faded but full of grace.
They would not want this. They would not want me to become this.
He stepped back.
“I’m done here,” he said.
Elderman looked up. “What of them?”
Theo turned toward the door. “There is a bounty. Let the Crown decide. Smuggling alone will hang them, I should think.”
Elderman gave a nod. “We’ll see it done.”
Theo didn’t look back. He climbed the steps from the cellar into the cool, still air of the London street. Brutus waited patiently, pawing at the stone.
He mounted and turned toward the road, toward home.
It is finished. Let it be finished. Let the ghosts rest. Let this life begin.
He spurred the horse forward.
I will tell April words I’ve carried too long. I will tell her that I love her—and I will mean it, with every part of me that remains.
Theo stepped into the market square just as the vendors began laying out their wares. The sky was soft with morning mist, streaks of amber and grey peeking through the horizon. He’d risen early, slipped from the manor while April still slept, and ridden into town with the thought of surprising her.
A bouquet of lilies—she had remarked once in passing that they reminded her of summers in Sussex—and a slim volume of poetry he’d discovered in a shop off Bond Street.
Something about the act steadied him, reminded him that the world could still hold beauty, still offer something gentle amidst the wreckage.
He took his time choosing the most vibrant stems, brushing away flecks of dew from the petals.
His mind lingered on April’s laugh the evening before, the way her eyes had softened as she leaned into him, sleepy but content.
I will spend my whole life earning that smile, he thought.
He was just reaching to inspect another bundle when he heard the beat of hooves. Quick, deliberate. Urgent.
He turned.
A Bow Street Runner dismounted swiftly, the horse breathing hard. “Your Grace. I was sent by Mr. Elderman. You’re needed.”
Theo stiffened. “What is it?”
The man hesitated, then stepped closer. “It’s about the prisoner. Dave. He spoke again. Gave a name.”
Theo’s stomach clenched. “What name?”
“Gregory Roth.”
Time slowed.
For a moment, Theo couldn’t breathe. The bouquet slipped from his hand, the petals tumbling onto the cobblestones.
“I need my horse,” he said. The words came from some place beneath thought.
He rode hard. The wind tore at his coat, the stallion’s muscles straining beneath him as they galloped the path toward the Runners’ outpost. Panic pulsed behind his ribs.
Gregory.
The name echoed over and over. His cousin. The man who had stood beside his father’s coffin. The man who had toasted his majority. The man who had kissed April’s hand.
He was at the christening. He was at the wake. He was there for all of it.
He saw the wreckage he created and never blinked.
By the time Theo arrived, his hands ached from the reins, his throat dry, his thoughts a tangled snarl.
Elderman met him outside the stone-walled outpost, eyes already shadowed.
“Tell me,” Theo demanded.
Elderman gave a short nod and led him inside.
The lanterns burned low. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and sweat. Elderman poured a measure of brandy, but Theo waved it away, too tightly wound for comfort.
“Roth,” Theo said. “You are certain.”
“We are. Dave named him directly. And when pressed, he gave details only someone inside the operation would know. He described locations, payments, handoffs—he even named some of the men Gregory used as intermediaries.”
“Tell me everything.”
Elderman folded his arms. “Michael Linwood is Gregory Roth. Linwood is an alias he has used for decades. According to Dave, Roth has run the Mercies since before the fire. He ordered the killing of your family. It was not about revenge or honor—it was a calculated removal. You were the heir. He was next in line. He believed you wouldn’t survive, and when you did, he tried again. ”
Theo felt cold. All this time. A man I trusted. A man who gave me advice. A man who watched me bury my blood.
Elderman continued. “Roth’s power comes not just from wealth but fear. Every smuggler, every local merchant who’s worked with him—he threatens their families if they defy him. He keeps them bound with secrets and dread. There’s no one untouched.”
“And me,” Theo said, his voice low. “He poisoned me. I nearly died.”
Elderman nodded. “The timing matches. Dave claims Roth made sure you would be weakened that summer. We believe he paid a local apothecary to pass something to the kitchen staff. They bled you, not knowing they were feeding the fever.”
“And April,” Theo said suddenly. “She was right. She said something was wrong. That the fall into the pond—it felt like someone pushed her. And the saddle. The girth was cut. My God. He’s still trying.”
He turned, gripping the back of the chair. His knuckles were white. His vision swam. He pressed a hand over his eyes and tried to breathe.
I trusted him. I broke bread with him. I let him near her. And all this time, he wanted to destroy us.
“I have to go.”
He was already halfway to the door when Elderman stopped him. “Theo—Your Grace—listen to me. He is a powerful man. We will proceed cautiously. You must not act alone.”
“I will not confront him.” Theo’s voice was ice. “But I will not leave my wife another moment in danger.”
He left the building without another word.
The ride back was a blur of hooves and wind and panic. The world narrowed to the road ahead. His breath burned in his lungs. Trees blurred by. The manor loomed in his mind like a sanctuary—and a target.
Let her be safe. Let her be safe. Let her be safe.
He burst through the gates of Stone Hall, Brutus lathered and wild-eyed. He threw the reins to a groom.
Redmond met him at the steps. “Your Grace—”
“Where is my duchess?” Theo barked.
Redmond frowned. “In the breakfast room with Lady Darnell. Mr. Roth arrived not long ago and joined them.”
The words hit like a punch, and he stopped short. Theo’s blood turned to ice, and every muscle in his body coiled.
He strode into the manor, his footfalls sounding like distant gunfire. He reached the door and saw them all seated at the table. The two most precious women in his life and the bane of his existence.
Gregory looked up at Theo with a smile, but he must have recognized the dangerous look in Theo’s eye because his expression changed, and he began to rise slowly.