With a tsk, Warwicke said, “It is always a shame to see someone unravel right before our eyes.”
“Be quiet!” Harwood shifted the pistol towards Warwicke. “Perhaps I’ll just shoot you and be done with it.”
Warwicke remained calm, as ever. “You have one shot,” he remarked. “I wouldn’t waste it.”
Harwood’s hand shook slightly, but the rage in his voice grew. “Why did you have to get involved?” he shouted at Warwicke. “Everything was going according to plan! I was going to be the largest landowner in India. No one would have dared disrespect me again!”
Evander’s stomach twisted. “This was about… respect?”
Harwood’s lips thinned. “My brother always acted superior. My mother adored him. He could do no wrong. But I—I—was the smart one. I was the one building something. I was the one who made everything work. And still, he looked down on me.”
“So you killed him?” Evander asked.
“I did what was necessary,” Harwood snapped. “He deserved it. So did Bryon. And now, I’m leaving. And if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll kill Olivia.”
Evander didn’t flinch. His voice was quiet but resolute. “I can’t allow that.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Harwood said, amusement flickering back into his expression.
But Warwicke spoke up behind him. “Actually, he does.”
Evander turned his head and saw that Warwicke had drawn a pistol of his own, aimed directly at Harwood’s chest.
“We both have one shot,” Warwicke said. “And I assure you, mine will count. Lower your weapon, and you can live another day.”
Before Harwood could respond, another sound rang out.
A loud crack, sharp and deafening.
Harwood cried out and collapsed to the floor, the pistol clattering from his hand as blood spread from his shoulder.
Evander jerked towards the source of the shot and saw his father standing behind the desk, smoke curling from the barrel of a flintlock pistol.
“You killed my son,” the earl said in a voice that sent a chill through the room. “You deserve to die.”
Harwood writhed, clutching his shoulder, but he still managed to scoff. “You think you’ve won?” he spat. “I’ll claim privilege of the peerage. I’ll walk free.”
Warwicke stepped forward and kicked Harwood’s dropped pistol aside. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “There’s a long list of charges waiting. And I made sure your name is on every one of them.”
At that moment, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the room. Evander recognized him immediately—Constable Banfield. His no-nonsense presence filled the space.
“I heard everything,” the constable said grimly. “I’ll see to it he’s taken straight to Newgate.”
“Thank you, Constable,” Warwicke said as the man took Harwood by the arm and began dragging him out of the study.
As soon as the door shut behind them, silence fell. Then Evander felt a gentle touch on his sleeve. He turned, already knowing who it was.
Olivia. Her eyes, full of compassion and worry, searched his.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He placed his hand over hers. “I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m glad we finally know the truth.”
And he meant it.
Because no matter the cost, the shadows had been banished—and she was still by his side.
20
