Chapter 28 #2
A tense silence fell over the shop. Julian watched Eastclere’s face, looking for any sign of what he might do next. The man’s hand twitched toward his coat pocket, and Julian tensed.
“Eastclere,” he said, his voice dropping to a warning. “Do not do anything foolish.”
But Eastclere’s eyes had locked on Verity, a calculating look replacing his anger. “Lady Verity,” he said smoothly. “Or should I say Lady Julian now? How does it feel to be married to a man who chose you only because I forced his hand?”
Julian felt his blood run cold. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Eastclere took a step toward Verity, who stood her ground despite the fear Julian could see in her eyes. “He only married you to protect his family’s secret, didn’t he? To keep you quiet about his uncle’s treason? For you were bound to find out, one way or another.”
Verity’s gaze darted to Julian, but there was no hurt there – just steely resolve.
She was in this with him, not against him, and he wanted nothing more than to take her out of here, away from any danger.
But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off Eastclere’s hand, still hovering near his pocket.
“You know nothing about my intentions for my wife,” Julian said, his voice deadly quiet.
“Don’t I?” Eastclere’s smile was cruel. “I know that you, like your uncle before you, will choose your family’s reputation over love. It’s in your blood, Hartford.”
The accusation struck Julian like a physical blow. Was he truly so like Charles? Would he have continued to keep secrets from Verity if he had not been forced to reveal them?
“Verity,” Julian said, turning to her, “you know I married you because I couldn’t bear the thought of you with him.”
“I know, Julian.”
“It’s because I—”
A movement caught his eye. Eastclere had pulled a pistol from his coat, but instead of aiming it at Julian, he had turned it toward Verity.
“One more word,” Eastclere said, his voice shaking with rage, “and your precious wife suffers for your family’s sins.
Lord Norwood killed my father, and your uncle, Lord Michael, was in league with him.
Then your family covered it up so that it would never come to light. My family suffered because of yours.”
Julian lifted his hands slowly. “That might be so, and I apologize for any hurt it caused. But those are not my sins, and they are certainly not Verity’s.”
Time seemed to slow. Julian saw the barrel of the pistol, the steady hand holding it, Verity’s terrified face, and then the narrowing of Eastclere’s eyes. Without thinking, without calculating the risk, he moved.
He stepped between the pistol and Verity, placing his body between them. The cold metal pressed against his chest, but he didn’t flinch.
“Julian, no!” Verity cried out, trying to push him aside.
“Stay back,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off Eastclere. “Shoot if you must, but you’ll have to go through me first.”
Eastclere’s hand trembled, his eyes wild. “Move aside.”
“Never.” Julian stood his ground, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. “If you hurt her, you destroy me more thoroughly than any bullet ever could.”
The shop had gone completely silent. Julian could feel Verity’s presence behind him, hear her shallow, panicked breaths. He wanted to turn, to reassure her, but he couldn’t risk taking his eyes off Eastclere.
“You think you’re a hero?” Eastclere spat. “You’re just like your uncle—all noble intentions until it costs you something.”
“You’re wrong,” Julian said, his voice steadier than he felt. “I’m nothing like my uncle. He let fear and pride destroy his chance at happiness. I won’t make the same mistake.”
A flicker of movement behind Eastclere caught Julian’s attention. Damon had inched closer, his expression focused, calculating. Julian gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Drop the pistol, Eastclere,” Asher commanded. “It’s over.”
“Is it?” Eastclere’s voice had taken on a desperate edge. “If I go down, so should you.”
The pistol wavered, and in that moment of hesitation, Damon lunged forward, grabbing Eastclere’s arm and wrenching it upward. The pistol discharged with a deafening crack, the bullet embedding itself in the ceiling.
Julian spun around, pulling Verity into his arms as plaster dust rained down around them. She was trembling, her face pressed against his chest.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice raw.
She shook her head, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You could have been killed.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Julian said simply. Behind them, Damon and Asher had subdued Eastclere, the pistol now safely in Damon’s hand.
“I love you,” Julian said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
This wasn’t the time or place and they weren’t planned or polished—they were raw and real, torn from somewhere deep inside him.
“I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you.
But I love you, Verity. More than my pride, more than my family’s reputation, more than the life I had built before.
I thought that previous life was important, but it was nothing compared to what it would mean to be without you. ”
She looked up at him, her lips curling, her eyes warm. Julian barely registered all that was happening around them.
All that mattered was her.