Джулиана Маклейн: In My Wildest Fantasies

"Pity you missed it," Rushton replied, "but I have already delivered the truth to her, so you are too late with your attempt at heroism. She knows what you did."

The earl raised the sword, but his stiff, misshapen hand could barely keep it steady. The tip of the sword dipped low. Rushton aimed his pistol at Creighton, then at Blake, then back at Creighton.

"Give her the whole truth," the earl said.

Rebecca tried to go to him, but Devon held her back. "Father, tell me it is not true," she said. "Tell me you did not kill anyone."

The earl glanced briefly at her. No one made a move or uttered a word for a long, tense moment. Then at last he answered in a tremulous voice, his whole arm shaking from the weight of the sword. "I was in love with Serena, and I was with her that day at the rotunda."

"But what happened?" Rebecca asked. "Did you kill her?"

The earl seemed barely able to form words. "Not on purpose."

"Father…"

Devon moved to take her hand, but she was distracted.

"I confess, I was involved quite improperly with her, and we argued that day."

"Over your bastard child in her womb," Rushton put in.

The earl raised the sword again and garnered his strength. "No, sir. It was your bastard child she carried. I always understood that, which is why I would not marry her."

Suddenly he strode toward Mr. Rushton, aiming the sword at his heart.

"Father, no!"

Devon dashed forward, but Rushton fired his pistol and the shot rang out before anyone could stop the earl from his useless attack.

Creighton dropped the heavy sword and crumpled to the floor.

"Father!" Rebecca flew to him and dropped to her knees beside him.

Rushton scrambled to reload his pistol, but Devon lunged at him and knocked it from his hands, sending it clattering across the shiny floor, while Blake stood back with his own pistol aimed and ready to fire.

Devon pinned Rushton down, but somehow the man swung a fist and punched Devon across the jaw. A shrill, sharp pain rang inside his skull.

"You had no right to marry her," Rushton ground out. "She was already spoken for."

"She was not given the chance to speak for herself," Devon ground out in reply, landing his own punch to Rushton's side.

They rolled into a table and knocked it over, then Rushton straddled Devon and wrapped his hands around his neck. He began to choke him. "That pistol shot was meant for you."

Gasping for breath, fighting to suck in air, Devon swung a fist and knocked Rushton over with one blow. The man rolled to the side, picked up the sword, knelt behind Rebecca and pressed the point into her back. She froze on the floor at her father's side.

"No…" the earl pleaded, clutching the dark stain of blood on his stomach.

Devon slowly, carefully got to his feet. "Don't hurt her." He should have kicked the sword away. Why hadn't he?

All at once, he was sliding back down that muddy hill again, helpless, out of control, and regretting all the little decisions he had made that had brought him to this horrific moment in time. He should have knocked Rushton in the other direction just now. He should have brought his own pistol. He should never have brought Rebecca here in the first place. But he had, and now he was forced to face the possibility of a loss greater than any he had ever known. If Rushton drove that sword into her heart and took her life, it would take Devon's soul.

Rebecca was still watching her father, who was groaning in pain. "Let me help him," she pleaded, struggling. "He's in pain."

Rushton gestured toward Blake. "Tell your brother to drop the pistol and kick it to me."

When Blake held firm, Rushton pushed the sword against Rebecca's back, and she lurched forward with a cry of agony.

"Blake, put it down," Devon ordered, his eyes trained on Rushton's.

Blake set the pistol on the floor, but kicked it to the side.

Rushton frowned. "I spent all my life fighting to recover what was taken from me-my home, my family. The Creighton name owes me that at least, and this woman was going to give it to me."

"Why do we owe you that?" she asked.

The earl tried to speak. "Rebecca, your grandfather…" But he could not go on.

"Just lie still, Father. Please."

Rushton continued the explanation for him. "Your grandfather won my family home in a card game twenty-five years ago, and came to claim it the very next day, turning us all out onto the street. My mother died two weeks later giving birth to my younger brother in a boardinghouse, then my father, in his grief, took his own life."

Rebecca looked down at her father. "Is that true?"

He closed his eyes and nodded.

She turned her head to the side to address Rushton. "I am very sorry to hear that," she said shakily. "Perhaps we could offer you some compensation."

Devon had been listening to all of this with increasing fury at the sight of that sword at Rebecca's back, and her father lying injured on the floor. She had come here with him believing he was her hero, and he had intended to protect her.

Rage-so powerful that it burned away every regrettable thing he'd ever done in the past-flooded his head. He could not repress the violent instinct to retaliate. It was festering in his gut, shuddering in his bones. He felt like a wild animal in a cage-captive, threatened, and vicious.

"If it's compensation you want," he bluntly said, "go ask your dead father. He's the one who gambled away your home."

Rushton's gaze turned to him in shock, and Devon shot forward. He threw his body into Rushton's. The force of the assault carried them both flying through the air to the other side of the room. The sword dropped with a clatter. They landed with a crash, and Devon's chin hit the ground.

He scrambled to his knees and bashed his fist into Rushton's face, then straddled him and grabbed his whole head with both hands. He smacked it once, hard, against the floor.

Shocked and disoriented, the man blinked a few times, parted his lips as if to say something, then fell unconscious.

In the meantime, Rebecca had torn off her cloak and was trying to stanch the flow of her father's blood.

Blake seized the pistol and hurried to Devon. "Are you all right?"

"I am," Devon replied, barely conscious of what he had just done. He accepted his brother's hand and let him pull him to his feet.

Blake aimed the pistol at Rushton's heart, should the man awaken and wish to make another move. Devon met Rebecca's gaze. He knelt down beside her. She was gently stroking her father's head. The earl's breathing was ragged.

"We have to do something!" she cried.

"I'm sorry," the earl whispered. "I never meant to hurt you, but you must know, the child was Rushton's. Serena was going to pass it off as mine. I don't know what happened to me that day. I couldn't control my anger. I pushed her down and she hit her head. Her death was my fault. It has haunted me ever since."

"Try to calm yourself," Rebecca said. "You're still bleeding."

"I did care for her," he tried to explain, "but she was his lover. He wanted his son to have my title." He began to gasp for each costly breath. "I have come to realize that he would have killed me after the child was born, then married her. But when she died, he turned his ambitions toward you."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" Rebecca asked. "I would have stood by you. You should not have given him that power over us."

"I was ashamed and ridden with guilt. And the scandal…I couldn't face the disgrace of a trial, the destruction of my family's good name." He squeezed her hand. "It was wrong of me. I should never have believed you would be safe with him. In my fear I was not rational. But you are free now. No need to protect me. I was brave tonight. At last. Brave for you."