Page 137 of A Story of Love

He laughed, his eyes suddenly vague as he stared into the past. “It could hardly have worked out better. He picked somewhere nice and quiet—and isolated—to meet me. But I never showed up; Albert Jensen did. I’ll admit I wanted to lurk in the trees to watch how that went, but I needed to have a nice, secure alibi, didn’t I? And my alibi couldn’t be you, Fast, because I didn’t want you to have one. I wanted to plant a seed of doubt in everyone’s mind that you might have shot him.” Bevil chuckled evilly. “Who better to provide my alibi than your grandfather?” He grinned. “He had summoned me to his study to tell me about the letter he received from my taskmaster at the Home Office, Lord Burton. Your grandfather was delighted with how happy old Burty was with my services.” His mouth tightened. “As if I should be happy that I’d been reduced to such a plebian role.”

Fast had to force his hand to unclench so he could toss his coat aside. “That was a job you had because of Percy. He was devastated when your father lost everything. Percy did all that he could to—”

“I know what bloody Percy did,” Bevil snarled. “You don’t need to tell me that, you dunce! I was always perfectly aware of the many, many, many kindnesses your family did for poor little Bevil Norman whose father left him a pauper. As if I was just another charity, no better than a workhouse orphan you tossed crumbs to from your grand buffet.” Bevil’s chest rose and fell too quickly for a man standing still, and his eyes sparked with fury. He jerked his gun higher, until it was aimed at Fast’s face. “Put your hands above your head. I’m going to check you for weapons.”

Fast lifted his arms.

“If you so much as twitch I’ll kill you,” Bevil warned, standing close enough to rest the tip of the pistol in the hollow of Fast’s throat while he searched him roughly with his other hand.

He laughed when he found the pistol and then again when he came across the second and third knives. “Bloody hell!” he said when he found the fourth knife. “You came armed for battle. Too bad it won’t do you any good. Where is the letter?”

“In the front pocket of my coat.”

Still keeping the pistol trained on him, Bevil found the letter and backed away to the table before opening it with one hand, snatching glances at it while keeping his gun on Fast.

After a moment, he nodded. “Thank you, Fast.”

“I’ve lived up to my half of the bargain; let the woman go. She can take my horse.”

Bevil lifted the glass chimney off the lantern and held the letter over the flame, darting glances from Fast to the paper as it caught fire and flared. He shook his head, an expression of wonder on his face. “You really did come here alone, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did! But that’s hardly the same, is it? Albert Jensen taught me one thing, and that was never to involve anybody else when it comes to killing. For sixteen fucking years I’ve worried his loose lips would come back to haunt me. And it did, didn’t it? Well, there won’t be any witnesses this time. The damned confession is nothing but ashes and so is the only man who could have sworn to the truth of it.”

Fast gestured to Ellie. “She can say whatever she wants about you, Bevil, but she will have no proof to support her claim. It would be her word against that of a lord. Let her go. This is about the two of us.”

Bevil laughed. “Fool! Of course I can’t let her go. Ever.” A nasty smile spread across his face. “You’re not going anywhere, either. I’m going to kill you both and then set the stage with your corpses. It will be a sad, tawdry story of a depraved lord forcing himself on a defenseless woman. But this time, she’ll get the upper hand and shoot him” He cut a sneering glance at Ellie. “And then she will kill herself, too ashamed and afraid to go on.” He laughed at the shock and revulsion on Fast’s face. “If you weren’t such an arrogant blockhead you wouldn’t have wandered into what was obviously a trap. But that has ever been the way with you, hasn’t it? Women mistake your arrogance for bravery, but it’s really just stupidity, isn’t it?”

Fast ignored the question. “Did you ever love Louisa, Bevil? Or was it always just a competition to you—wanting to snatch her away because Percy and I loved her?”

Bevil sneered. “Love!” he scoffed, giving Fast his answer with just that one word. “Only an idiot believes in such a fantasy. Louisa was what every other man our age wanted. She was a beautiful heiress. She was the best and I made her mine.”

“And then you proceeded to make her life hell.”

“I made her a bloody countess!” Bevil roared. “But that was never good enough for the bitch.” His pistol in his hand shook as he suddenly lunged toward Fast, spittle flying from his mouth, his eyes glittering with something that was either madness or rage. “She mourned you and your bloody brother for years and I tolerated it.”

If Fast was going to act, he’d have no better time than now.

“You made her your broodmare and dissipated her fortune,” he goaded. “You are no better than your father. In fact, you are—”

The searing pain in his shoulder and deafening bang were simultaneous. Fast lunged toward the other man even as the sharp report rang over and over in his ears.

But Moreland was ready for him. He flung the pistol aside while stumbling backwards, out of reach, and grabbed a pistol from behind him, where it must have been tucked in his waistband. “You stay right where you are!”

Fast froze, every part of him except the fingers of his right hand, which subtly twitched the fifth knife from the sheath strapped to the inside of his wrist.

Bevil gave a hysterical but gloating laugh. “Thought I had just the one pistol, did you? But I was a step ahead of you—just like I have always been a step ahead our entire lives.” His eyes slid to Fast’s shoulder—the one grazed by the bullet—and he blenched at the sight of the blood soaking the shirt. He swallowed convulsively and wrenched his gaze away, looking as if he might vomit. “If you believe that I will—”

Fast gripped the hilt with the tips of his fingers and threw the knife. Time seemed to slow as the small dagger arrowed toward the other man and he stared in morbid satisfaction as the blade struck Bevil at the base of his throat. Before he could celebrate his accuracy, a second bang exploded.

Fortunately, this shot wasn’t accompanied by any pain.

At least not until Fast took the first step toward Bevil’s fallen form and was doubled over by a sudden agonizing pain like a red-hot poker hot in his left side. He barely made it to where Bevil lay bleeding before his knees collapsed. “Bloody fucking hell,” he hissed, dropping beside Bevil with a pained grunt. The earl’s mouth gaped like a fish, but no words came out. Based on his ragged, gurgling breaths, the knife in his throat must have severed his vocal cords as well as his airway.

“This is too damned easy for you, you piece of filth,” Fast snarled, glancing around the barn for some way to make the bastard suffer before he died too quickly and cheated him.

His gaze settled on the anvil, and he smiled. “That’ll do,” he muttered. But when he tried to stand, he couldn’t—the second wound had robbed his body of strength.