Jackal (Regency Refuge 2) (19 page)

The Hunter shifted his eyes to the duke. "Did no one ever tell you the name of the man who killed your father?" The question seemed out of place, the words ordinary but the tone boastful.

"No." Thomas' single syllable was venomous.

"Go ahead! Tell Rupert here who I am, the old friend of your father's."

Rupert felt the stiffening in Thomas' stance.

"Devin Therin."

His lifeblood oozing out onto the snow, Rupert had little energy to be roused by the announcement. Nonetheless, he played along. "
Perfect Hunter
. You mixed French and Greek names and hid in the open. Unless someone had heard of The Hunter, they wouldn't have connected the name to your past deeds."

"I couldn't very well give the duke my real name, now could I? I've spent so little time in England these past years that I wasn't likely to be recognized, but if I'd gone carelessly throwing my name about, it would have drawn too much attention."

Thomas spoke up. "Then who are you? Tell me the name of the man who killed my father and plans to kill me. Be a man of honor, and stop hiding behind your fancy words with hidden meanings."

The Hunter's eyes narrowed as anger rolled off him in waves. "You might want to know before I kill you, no help is coming. I found myself a crew of smugglers and paid them handily to protect the perimeter of the park. Your man Barrows and the rest of your supposed staff are all either dead or mortally wounded by now."

Rupert watched, helpless to stop him, as The Hunter lifted his rifle. He was still too far away for his pistol to reach.

"Get down!" It was his last hope, to shield Thomas with his own body.

Rupert closed his eyes as the gunshot sounded, but no further pain accompanied it, and he feared the worst. Twisting to search the duke for injury, he instead saw Thomas' mouth drop open in surprise. Rupert's gaze moved of its own volition back to The Hunter. He watched, stunned, as his nemesis' face contorted with macabre horror. The sound of strangled gurgling, the breathing of someone whose lungs filled with blood, reached across the clearing.

Struggling to his feet and leaning heavily on Thomas for support, he took a step toward his old enemy.

"If I die, I'm taking you with me, Jackal." The brute refused to die easily.

Rupert watched as the rifle was again lifted to aim. His slow gate still kept him too far away for his pistol to do any good. He again tried to push Thomas behind him, but he was too weak.

The loud
pring
of a small pistol sounded, and The Hunter went down, falling face-first into the snow. Juliana stood ten paces behind him, a smoking muff pistol in one hand and the gun Rupert had given her, also still smoking, in the other. She'd used both and had brought down one of the most nefarious and shameless traitors England had ever known.

"My Jewel…" Rupert reached out a hand toward her, but the loss of too much blood became his enemy, and darkness closed around him. Thomas was no match for the dead weight he provided. The snow received him with an icy embrace as he crumpled to the ground.

"It's going to be okay, Rupert. Claire went for help. You'll be fine."

He felt her touch, a firm grip on his hand and feather-light caresses on his face. It was as though he floated, tethered to the mortal world by the feel of her skin against his. Should she let go, he would slip away into eternity.

Eternity isn't so bad. No more pain, no suffering, no evil. It might even be…

"Don't you dare leave me, Rupert Birmingham! You have not been dismissed!"

Claire will never reach help, not if the park is as choked off as he said. I'll die here in Juliana's arms. There are worse ways to go.

"Rupert, please fight. Please. I need you. I don't want to live without you. You make me laugh and yell and feel alive. Please don't go. Fight.
For me.
"

Chapter Thirty-One

Voices swirled and mingled in the air like the smoke trail of too many cigars. Rupert failed to make sense of them. He couldn't ascertain their sources or grab onto any of the threaded trails they left behind. Weight pushed down on his chest, and waves of heat and cold surged through him in chaotic alternating surges. Much as he tried, he could not force his lips to move. Not a single sound came from him before he drifted away on the clouds of fire and ice.

****

His eyes were closed, but the brightness still blinded him. Were they in the clearing? Was that the sun? There were no sounds to speak of. No birds, no wind. No Juliana ordering him about, telling him he had not been dismissed. There was, however, sensation. The feeling of a hand holding his. Warmth moved through him starting at that single point of contact and spreading until the comfort of it calmed his frantic mind and lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

****

Everything was hot, so hot. Rupert couldn't bear the heat anymore. He tried to throw the covers off, but his arm wouldn't work. His leg burned until he could stand it no longer. Each beat of his heart caused a new pulse of pain, building one upon the other until it was too much.

Rupert screamed. He heard the sound. It was garbled and dry and horrific, the sound of a man in the throes of death. Listening to it withered his hope, but he was helpless to stop it. With each new throbbing flash of pain, he screamed until nothing but the echoes of his own voice filled his head.

****

They'd left him in the snow. He was too cold. Shivers quaked through his body and wouldn't stop. He hurt enough already, but each chilled shudder caused new points of fire to shoot up and down his leg. His arm was a dull throb by comparison.

Shivering is good. It means your body hasn't given up on you yet. When you stop shivering – then you need to worry.

Had he dreamed it? Was The Hunter dead? Was Juliana safe?

"Jewel…"

****

Voices again, but not the detestable mocking of The Hunter. These were mere wisps of sound.

"Dead."

"Minister."

"Scandal."

"Safety."

"Kill him."

"Chakal."

He tried to reach out toward the voices. He wanted to see Chakal Manor again. It had always been a refuge for him, and now it would be his home. He'd never even told Juliana the whole story of how he'd come into the line of work that was taking his life.

****

"I've had enough of this!"

Movement surrounded him with the swishing swirl of skirts.

"Rupert Birmingham, you've pushed me too far this time!"

Ktink, ktink, ktink.

"By all that's holy, fight!"

More sounds of moving fabric and of his… cane? Someone was using his cane, but it wasn't making the same
kthunk
it normally made in his hand.

He tried to speak.
Give me back my cane!

But no sound came.

****

"Now listen here, young man."

Was the mummy speaking to him?

"I know more about your family than you realize."

Mrs. Burnham! Of course that was her name, and she wasn't a mummy. At least, he didn't think so.

"Juliana and those girls need you."

What does she mean, she knows more?

Sleep again pulled him under, and the rest of her words were lost to him.

****

Air moved against his skin. Was he outside? That couldn't be, could it?

"Mmm." The ability to form words escaped him. Had he even made the noise, or had it too been in his imagination?

A sudden clamor told him it must have been real. He'd finally managed to force a sound.

Cold hands fluttered across his face with feather-light touches, then down lower onto his chest.

"Please, please say something."

Juliana. He would try, for her.

"Zoo…el"

****

"He's coming around. I know he is."

"Miss Clairmont, as I've told you before, with the amount of blood he lost, he may never regain consciousness, and even if he does, he likely won't have all his faculties. He'll need to be institutionalized the rest of his life to keep him and the people around him safe."

"Barrows! Get this man out of here!"

"He'll pull through, Miss Clairmont. He's strong."

Owen's voice. Familiar. But they'd been here before, hadn't they?

"Miss Clairmont, if there's anything I can do…"

An impatient sound from his jewel. She didn't seem overly fond of that person. Who was it? Ah, yes. Lucien's voice.

"Your kind of help is not needed here."

Chapter Thirty-Two

April 27, 1817

Darkness everywhere. Rupert fought to open his eyes. If he could just get them open, the rest would come. He'd been down this path before. It was long, hard, and miserable, but it was survivable.

His lids lifted by increments. He had to fight for it, teeth gritted, but eventually his eyes were open enough that he could see. It must be night. The quiet of the townhome surrounded him. His room smelled different, medicinal, but it felt the same. The mattress was familiar. Angling his head the smallest bit, he looked toward the fireplace. The sight of glowing embers was blocked by a shadowy form in a chair.

"Jewel."

No response. She was asleep. She would be sore come morning.

Rupert drifted back into darkness but woke again as the room started to lighten with the first predawn rays of the sun. She was breathtaking when she slept.

It's indecent to notice without the benefit of marriage.

He stared at Juliana's lovely face softened in sleep.

Decorum be hanged. I'll stare all I want.

Movement from the opposite side of the bed drew his eyes. Barrows stood there. His right arm was bandaged and held close to his body with a wrap, but other than that, he looked unharmed. Surprise at seeing Rupert awake showed on his face, clear evidence Barrows wasn't cut out to be a butler. He was a soldier at heart. Soldiers need only hide their emotions when it was strategic, far easier than being a butler.

Rupert gave the man a slight nod. Barrows bowed his acknowledgement and backed out of the room quietly.

Some minutes later – Rupert had no idea how many – Juliana stirred. She stretched, eyes closed. Even cramped by the chair, it was a glorious stretch, a declaration that life would go on. Her eyes fluttered open, still clouded by sleep. Rupert witnessed the exact moment she realized he was awake. She jumped from her chair and rushed to the bedside, joy lighting her from within until she glowed. Her fingers danced across his face, and he reveled in the sensation.

Longing filled his heart. Could he do it? Could he ask her to marry him? What if he never walked again? She would be trapped. If he truly loved her, he should let her go so she could have a full life. Trapping her into marriage with an invalid dishonored her in the worst way.

"Don't say it."

His eyes popped open, and he couldn't deny what was written on her face. She knew he'd been thinking it.

"Shh. It'll work out, and you're going to be fine."

"Institution." His throat was dry, and it hurt to speak.

Juliana quickly reached for the pitcher and poured him a cup of water. She supported his head with an arm behind his neck as she helped him to drink. "You were supposed to hear the good things, not the bad. That doctor was an imbecile, a shame to his entire profession. I didn't like him from day one, but after he had the gall to say that, I banned him from the house. You're going to make a full recovery."

"How long?"

She helped settle him back onto his pillow. Eudora and Eleanor, no doubt drawn by the sound of their sister's voice, wandered into the room. They couldn't get near him because of Juliana's hovering, but they each gave his hand a squeeze before settling on the window seat.

He asked again, "How long has it been?"

Avoiding his eyes, Juliana straightened his bedcoverings and fussed with something on his bedside table.

"How long?"

Irritation permeated the air as she sighed. "Fine. The shooting was seven weeks ago."

Seven weeks. He'd been lying unconscious for seven weeks. So much time.

Sleep pulled at him, and he could fight it no longer. The darkness closed in as he listened to the hum of the girls reading from the society column of the newspaper.

****

"Yes, well, I understand your concern, but I think this is for the best." A man's voice… but whose? Rupert concentrated.

It hit him in a moment of clarity. Lucien. A strangled groan escaped his lips as he fought his way to wakefulness. Why was he panicked? Why was it bad that Lucien was here?

A firm hand on his shoulder pinned him to the bed.

"Everyone is well, Rupert. Calm down. You're safe, and so are the people you care about."

Thomas. Thomas was in the room with Lucien.

Why is Lucien to be feared? Wait… should he be feared?

At long last he got his eyes open and gazed around, taking in as much as he could. Where was Juliana?

"Sit." The commanding voice was Thomas'. Rupert watched as Lucien backed away from the bed and took a seat in a feminine chair with spindly legs and floral brocade.

Rupert couldn't tear his eyes from Lucien.
The man was evil, but why…?

Thomas, his hand still on Rupert's shoulder, asked, "You know The Hunter is dead, right?"

Rupert blinked, trying to gather together the stray threads of his memory. "Shot."
The Hunter… Lucien… No, Lucien wasn't The Hunter. Had he worked with The Hunter?
Rupert's scattered thoughts pulled together and began to take shape. Who had The Hunter's allies been? Could Lucien be trusted?

"Yes. Juliana shot him. She saved us both. She snuck up behind him while he was distracted with us. It would have been a heart shot if his ribs hadn't gotten in the way. When he didn't go down right away and raised his rifle instead, she shot him a second time, and he expired. The funeral was a quiet affair attended by almost no one."