Chapter 67
Cam felt bile rise in her throat, but she held steady.
She lightly laid her hand on Graham’s. She studied Tally from his face to his well-born boots.
“You really are a paltry man, aren’t you, Tally?
Have you always been this way? Tell me, at Waterloo, you didn’t fight honorably, did you?
I’ll wager you ran, didn’t you? You killed one of your own soldiers because he saw you running?
And then you set up this pretense, this lie, the brave soldier returning home from Waterloo.
Did you intimate you were yourself responsible for bringing Napoleon low, did you—”
“No! Damn you, no! Shut up.” He was breathing hard, focused on Cam.
“You bitch, how I hoped you would never wake up. It was hard not to pray for your death whilst pretending I cared. You have caused me nothing but trouble. But now it is over.” He steadied the pistol on her face, his attention on her.
Graham lifted his hand from the sofa and fired.
The bullet went into his uncle’s shoulder.
Tally fired at nearly the same time, but the bullet went wide because he jerked.
Tally yelled, dropped the gun. The gun skidded across the oak floor to fetch up against a chair leg.
He was moaning, gasping with pain, pressing his ruined shoulder hard with his hand.
He was panting. “Damn you, you two planned this, you held the gun all the time, waiting, just waiting for me to act against you. You don’t deserve to follow your father—you are no gentleman! Where did you learn to shoot?”
“My guardian, of course, Ryder Sherbrooke, who loves every abandoned and abused child he finds. But of course you would have no understanding of such a man.”
Cam eyed the tears of pain still wet on Tally’s face.
“Comparing you to Ryder Sherbrooke is like comparing a snake to a stone, which doesn’t make much sense, but you get the idea.
Now, you miserable excuse for a human being, we will take you back to your brother who will decide your fate. I will cast my vote for the gallows.”
Graham slowly rose, gave Cam his hand and pulled her to her feet. He continued to hold the gun on Tally. “Did you really want Simon and me dead so you could eventually inherit my father’s title?”
“Of course, you stupid whelp. I was a good soldier, I would never desert. And like every other soldier, I knew life is fragile. Any of us can die of some disease or accident at any moment. My brother is so much older than I am, that after I failed to kill him, accidents, of course, I was content to wait and let disease befall him. There are so many ills can fell a man, an inflammation of the lung, an infection, so many things, but damn him, Vereker has always been blessed in his good health.” He stopped, gasping with pain, and pressed his shoulder harder.
Blood still seeped through his fingers, thick red.
Graham studied Tally’s white pain-leached face. “You had to know there was no other who could possibly be behind our attempted murders. Why have you remained? Why haven’t you left England?”
“Because my work wasn’t done.” He leapt at Graham. Blood flowed over his white shirt, but he was still strong. He pulled the pistol toward him and pulled the trigger.
Time froze. Tally didn’t make a sound. Slowly, Graham released him and he fell to the floor.
Graham fell to his knees beside his uncle, lightly pressed his fingertips to the pulse in his throat. Tally opened his eyes, stared up at him.
“You never deserved to be your father’s heir. Never. With any luck, you never will be.” And they heard a death rattle, then nothing. Tally’s eyes fixed on Graham’s face.
Graham pulled Cam against him. He buried his face against her throat. “My uncle. He would so joyfully have killed both of us.”
Cam felt the shock of death, the violence of it, but shoved it down. It was Graham who was important. She smoothed her hand over his hair, pressed her cheek to his. She said only, “He wanted to die. He deserves to be dead.”
They held each other for a very long time.