The words had barely left his lips before he caught the glint of a knife in his father’s hand. The wicked villain planned to finish what he had started. “Oh, it will end here and now. I promise you that—you won’t leave this room alive,” bellowed the earl.
He leaped forward, slashing at Flynn’s chest. The blow went wide, but not wide enough. It broke skin, and blood immediately stained the front of Flynn’s shirt. Fiery pain exploded through him.
Shock had Flynn staggering back. He didn’t have time to react before a second slash tore across his upper arm. If he didn’t do something and quickly, he was going to die. The earl would win.
Rage born of years of abuse, humiliation, and violence roared to life. “No! I have everything to live for. A wife. And a child. You don’t get to win,” he ground out.
The earl shifted, drawing back his knife, moving in for the kill. “I won’t fail this time. This time you will stay dead. And then I will come for your family. Every single one of them!”
Flynn had always been a good swordsman. The elegant hours with Matteo de Luca at the fencing academy in Rome had taught him a better technique, but the hungry, desperate days living rough had taught him how to survive. Those street-fighting skills rose to the fore. His fingers wrapped around the sharp weapon his Italian friend had gifted to him.
I will defend Augusta and our baby with my last breath if that is what it will take.
He lifted the knife and lunged. The flat blade pierced his father’s chest and went deep. The earl dropped to his knees; his weapon fell from his fingers.
Flynn, clutching at his own wounds, bent in front of Earl Bramshaw. He met his father’s eyes. They were full of fury and hatred. The earl’s lips were moving, but all that came out of them was a horrid wheezing, and blood.
The light in the earl’s eyes began to dim. He was dying.
“Why did you hate me? All I ever did to you was to be born your son. You blame me for being the reason why my mother detested you, why she couldn’t bear to speak your name. But it wasn’t me. It was you—you did that all on your own.”
There came the sound of running feet. Then shouting. Christopher appeared in Flynn’s line of sight. His cousin turned to the wide-eyed servant who had followed him. “Call for a physician.”
“I don’t think a doctor will help Lord Bramshaw,” said Flynn.
“Not for him, for you.”
Flynn’s knees went from under him as he turned back and glanced at his father. He dropped to the floor. Christopher came and knelt beside Flynn, who waved him away. “Check on the earl, make sure he can’t harm anyone else.”
Christopher lifted his uncle up in his arms. A long, painful rattle rocked through Earl Bramshaw’s chest, and then it all went silent.
His cousin quietly swore, then murmured, “Your father is dead.”
Earl Bramshaw had lived a life of cruelty and violence, and now it had cost him his life.
ChapterFifty
Augusta and her mother had been busy deciding how best to repurpose three adjoining rooms on the fourth floor of Mowbray House into a private suite of rooms. They had finally settled on which pieces of furniture would go where, when Augusta suddenly dismissed the servants who had been assisting them.
I have to set us back on an even keel. We cannot go on like this.
As soon as they were alone, she turned to her mother. From the unshed tears in Lady Anne’s eyes, it seemed she wasn’t the only one wishing things were better between them.
“We have to do something about this awful tension which exists between us. Find a way to be able to deal with one another.”
The duchess promptly burst into tears, and mother and daughter quickly embraced. “I’m sorry I lied to you in Rome. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for so many things, Augusta,” sobbed Lady Anne.
Augusta hugged her. “And I’m sorry too. I was so angry with you over leaving Papa and all the lies that I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you. Those final weeks in Rome were terrible.”
Giving voice to her pain brought it all back. But she had to tell her mother the truth of how she had felt. Why she had kept things from her. And still did.
“Is that why you didn’t invite me to your wedding? To punish me.”
Augusta winced at the painful accusation. She had stopped being angry with her mother, and was slowly finding her way to forgive, but nothing could change the past. Of what both women had done. “At first, I considered that keeping you in the dark about my marriage was a way to strike a blow against you. But I soon realized that was a foolish notion. How could I hurt you if you didn’t know? I had thought that the idea of you missing out on me marrying and raising a family back in England might help to change your mind and make you get on board the boat. But you didn’t say anything when Gideon and Serafina were married, so I decided you didn’t really care.”
“Of course, I cared. I was in a terrible frame of mind at that time. I knew I had been a fool, but I couldn’t find a way to come home and save face. In the end, it was your father’s love letters that made the choice for me. If he could still love me after all I had put him through, it would be utter madness for me to stay behind.”
She hadn’t understood what had happened between her parents. Gideon had made vague mention of matters, but nothing was clear. Now seemed as good a time as any to ask. “Why did you want to leave Papa?”
