The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

Sir John closed his eyes for a brief moment, then slowly turned to see the earl of Northcliffe and Viscount Beecham and two men he didn’t know, standing behind them in the open doorway.

“I thought you were keeping a watch, Ricketts,” Sir John said through his teeth, so furious he almost choked on his own bile.

“No, guv, not since ye came along and caused all the ruckus.”

“Helen, are you all right?”

“Yes, but come here quickly. Douglas, she grabbed her stomach, then fainted. What is wrong with her?”

“Nothing at all,” Alexandra said, got to her feet and gave her husband a big smile. She swept him a curtsey. “Welcome, my lord. As always, your timing leaves me breathless.”

“Well done, Alex, well done indeed. You gave us the distraction we needed. I’m proud of you. Now, don’t move while we see to these villains.”

Douglas walked up to Sir John Yorke and twisted the gun out of his hand. He then held out his hand to Ricketts, and the little man, cursing under his breath, gave it up. “The knife as well,” Douglas said.

“Ye knows too much, ye does.”

Douglas handed both guns and the knife to Spenser.

“Go hug your wife, Douglas. These marvelous specimens aren’t going anywhere at all.”

Sir John said to his son, who looked both relieved to be alive and terrified because now he had been caught, “I should have just hired someone to shoot you. Now look at what you have done, you incompetent little sot. You couldn’t even kidnap the women without having the men on you in an instant.”

“Actually,” Lord Beecham said easily to Gerard, “your father is right. We were on you in an instant.” He added to the father, “We held back once we saw you fo

llowing your son. We wanted to find out what was going on.”

“He was going to murder all of us,” Helen said. “Alexandra is right. He is a monster.”

“She’s a lying bitch. I am not a monster.” Sir John ran at Alexandra. His son stuck out his leg. Sir John went flying. Gerard heaved himself against Spenser, knocking him sideways into Helen, then leapt through a rotting window that was covered with a thin sheet of wood. The wood splintered and Gerard was lost to sight.

Lord Beecham straightened, shook himself, and said calmly, “Mr. Cave, would you and your partner please fetch Mr. Yorke back here? Thank you.”

“Certainly, milord. Come along, Tom,” he said to his partner. “Let’s catch that sniveling cove traitor.”

Lord Beecham watched the two men run out of the cottage. Then he said, “As for you, Mr. Ricketts, you just lie down on the floor and clasp your hands behind your neck. Now.”

Bernie Ricketts stretched out on his stomach on the floor.

Sir John staggered to his feet. He was holding his left arm.

Douglas released his wife, then walked slowly to Sir John. He calmly took the old man’s neck between his large hands. “You were going to kill my wife. She is right. You are a monster. It is you who do not deserve to live. Your proud name, sir, won’t survive this day. You will be remembered as a cold-blooded murderer, a dishonorable man whose son was a traitor.”

“It is my turn when you are finished, Douglas,” Spenser said. “Don’t kill him just yet.”

“No, I won’t. I want him to stand in front of all the men in the House of Lords. I want everyone to see the sort of malignancy that exists in the highest levels of our government.” Douglas shoved Sir John back against the wall.

Sir John threw back his head and yelled, “No—you cannot tell anyone. I have spent my life fighting for the honor of England. No!”

Ezra Cave came through the front door at that moment, a knife in one hand and a gun in the other, and in front of him he was shoving Gerard. The father looked at the son, disheveled, pale, blood streaming down his arm. He yelled again in fury and threw himself against Douglas. Douglas tried to grab him, but the old man, quicker than a snake, jerked away from him, grabbed the gun and knife from Ezra Cave and turned it on his son. “I should have killed you when you were born. Your mother was a sniveling fool and that was just what she birthed.” And he stabbed his son through the heart.

He jerked the knife out of his son’s chest and used him as a shield.

Ezra Cave grabbed his partner’s gun and fired. He missed—not that it mattered, since Gerard was already dead. The bullet hit the wall beside Sir John’s head, shredding the wood, sending splinters flying. Sir John let his son’s body crumple to the floor at his feet and waved the gun wildly about in front of him. “No, none of you come at me. Just stay right there.” Then he threw his head back and yelled to the heavens, his voice thick with failure and rage, “I have done my duty to my country. I have executed a traitor. It makes no difference that he carried my blood. I have devoted my life to England. History will judge me an honorable man, a man who never shirked his duty, a man who gave his life for his country.”

Then Sir John turned the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger. Blood gushed out of his mouth and the back of his head exploded. Both his face and his head were crimson with blood. He didn’t make another sound, collapsing where he stood, over his son’s body.

No one moved for a very long time, just looked at the old man sprawled over his son, as if covering him to protect him.