Page 85 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Aye. Which is why I’m here.” Flint met his gaze steadily. “I’m done, Your Grace. This was supposed to be easy money, not a death sentence. I’ve got a wife and young ones to think about.”
Ambrose nodded, pulling out his checkbook. He couldn’t blame the man, for this had escalated far beyond what either of them had anticipated.
“How much do you need?”
“What we agreed upon, plus enough to disappear for a while.” Flint’s voice was apologetic but firm. “Peirce’s friends made it clear they know where I live.”
Ambrose wrote the check for twice what they’d discussed, then added another hundred pounds.
“Take your family somewhere safe. Scotland, perhaps. Or Ireland.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Flint pocketed the check with obvious relief. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it came to this.”
After Flint left, Ambrose sat alone in his study, staring at the cold fireplace.
The silence of the house pressed down on him like a physical weight. No Emily humming in the music room, no sound of her laughter drifting from the morning room where she took her correspondence. Just emptiness, stretching out before him like a preview of the rest of his life.
The loneliness was a living thing, gnawing at his chest with sharp teeth. But he hardened his heart against it.
He owed Lavinia justice. He’d failed her once…he wouldn’t fail her again, no matter the cost.
“You look like hell,” William announced, striding into the study without ceremony two days later.
Ambrose didn’t look up from his brandy. “How did you get in?”
“Your butler is concerned about your welfare. Apparently, you haven’t left this room in forty-eight hours.” William settled intothe chair across from him, his usual jovial expression replaced by something more serious. “Where’s Emily?”
“At her sister’s.”
“I see. And when is she returning?”
Ambrose finally raised his eyes, and whatever William saw there made him lean back in his chair. “She isn’t.”
“What the devil happened? Two weeks ago, you were the happiest I’d ever seen you, and now?—”
“Now I’m exactly what I always was,” Ambrose cut him off. “A man with a debt to pay and the means to pay it.”
William studied him for a long moment. “This is about Peirce.”
“This has always been about Peirce.”
“No,” William said quietly. “For the past few months, it’s been about Emily. You were healing, Ambrose. You were learning to live again instead of merely existing for revenge.”
“I was being selfish.” The words tasted bitter in Ambrose’s mouth. “Lavinia deserves justice.”
“Lavinia deserves peace. And so do you.”
Ambrose laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Peace? I destroyed Emily’s life twice over: first by kidnapping her, then by dragging her into this marriage. She was right to leave.”
“Was she? Or are you just convincing yourself of that because it’s easier than admitting you’re scared?”
The accusation hit too close to home. Ambrose felt his temper flare. “Get out.”
“I don’t think I will.” William’s voice was maddeningly calm. “You’re my oldest friend, and I’m not watching you destroy yourself without a fight.”
“I said, get out!”
Ambrose surged to his feet, but William remained seated, unimpressed by the display.
