Chapter Sixteen #3
“Oh, but it is,” Echerson crooned as he drew the tip of the blade along the ivory skin of her throat.
A couple of tiny drops of blood welled in its wake.
“Darkemore was flawed even before I met him on that fateful day in Paris. The man has darkness in his soul; no one can evict it. The crimes he’s committed in the name of King and Country will never be cleaned or forgiven.
Always will he carry that knowledge, and has no doubt haunted him over the years.
When you think about the issue that way, I’m doing everyone a favor, really, by removing him from this mortal coil. ”
“As if your crimes don’t carry the same weight?” Echerson didn’t lessen his hold on Evangeline. “Hell, you are a traitor to England in addition to being a murderer. Of the two of us, which one is more likely to rot in hell?”
“You shall realize I’m on the right side once England and its ridiculous regent are put down and a Napoleon is back on France’s throne.”
“Listen to yourself, you dim excuse for a rat. France has been in disarray for a decade or more because that despot destroyed it in exchange for power and accolades from sycophants to garner false respect on the world’s stage.
” Michael changed his grip on the butt of his pistol.
It sat comfortably in his left hand even though it wasn’t his dominant side, but he’d been trained far too well and could fire from either one.
“All the while, England’s economy is thriving in various sectors.
Prinny might be a fool, but his country is growing and his damned military is fed. ”
“Bah. Details.” Once more, Echerson moved Evangeline to the right. He didn’t stop when she tripped on her hem and faltered. “We have wasted enough time. Lower your weapon or I’ll slit her throat.”
“No.”
“Very well. Upon second thought, it will give me great pleasure to watch her die and see the anguish on your face for a bit before I dispatch you.” As he spoke, he tightened his hold on her and pressed the blade to her throat. This time a scratch welled with a thin line of blood.
A faint cry came from Evangeline. Fear was stark in her eyes from the dim illumination.
“I have grown weary of this. Here’s hoping you’ve made peace with whatever deity you believe in, Echerson.
” In that moment, he knew one thing with surprising clarity.
He didn’t wish to lose his wife. In fact, he would do anything for her that would make her happy and keep her safe.
Which was why, after tonight, he would vanish and let her life out her life on her own terms.
Without him.
Evangeline’s eyes widened as she found his gaze. “Don’t do this, Michael.” Her voice was little more than a raspy whisper. “You are better than this, and you are certainly not the man you were in the past. Find another way.”
How could she say that with any sort of authority when he hadn’t confessed all the horrible things he’d done as a soldier and a spy? Some were in self-defense but some were for the good of England in cold blood.
“I must, Evvie. Echerson destroyed every aspect of my life. He left me a scarred, limping shell of myself, shunned from the very society I’m doomed to live in. I have no honor left, so why shouldn’t I do this?”
“Do it for me,” she implored in that same whisper. “Make that decision because I believe in you.”
There was a collection of slowly passing moments in which his vision narrowed and he had a glimpse of what might have been if he were that man she had in her mind. They could have grown old together, perhaps had a family, enjoyed friends around them. Found peace.
“What a sickening story. It’s almost as compelling as a bad Drury Lane production.” Sarcasm fairly dripped from the viscount’s words. “Unfortunately, this one won’t have a happy ending, because men like you, Darkemore, aren’t capable of that.”
Then time sped up again and crashed into reality as he knew it.
He took a deep breath as he took aim once more.
In the seconds that Echerson paused and stopped moving while he baited with his words, Michael massaged the trigger of his pistol with his glove-covered finger.
In the end, no matter that he wanted to be a better person for Evangeline, he could only be the man he was.
The man he was ever always meant to be.
“Perhaps I’ll rape your wife as you lay dying, Darkemore. That will be a fitting last image for you to see as you go to your just reward, don’t you think?”
Another whimper came from Evvie. A wave of hot anger roiled through his chest and a red haze fell over his vision. Then Michael blocked everything else from his mind.
“Fuck off, Echerson. I hope you are remembered for the traitor you are and that you suffer for all eternity for everyone you’ve betrayed.”
He squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
The smoke from his discharging pistol floated in the air like a curious wraith.
Evangeline’s tortured scream echoed through the area while the viscount fell to the muddy ground with a dull thud.
She tumbled to the ground beside him, crumpling into a heap of red silk.
Blood oozed from the hole in the center of the viscount’s forehead, for Michael had been sure of his shot.
“My mission is finally complete.” It was over.
Not knowing what else to do, he turned his back on the scene. As he hobbled away with pain throbbing through his tense and overwrought muscles, he passed Steppingford. Without a word, he thrust his spent pistol into the duke’s hands and he kept walking.