Page 109 of The Hunter
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Farah held Millie’s hand through the entire police interview. Had Chief Inspector Morley not been stabbed, they might have been able to keep the police out of the entire ordeal, but too much had transpired in one day to keep hidden.
Morley had indeed survived his wound. A doctor was seeing to him in his bachelor terrace mere blocks from the Blackwell manse.
Lady Northwalk’s soft blue receiving room, with its jewel couches and crystal lanterns, felt like a palace next to the pit Millie had been carried out of. She’d been allowed a tearful reunion with Jakub, and she’d tucked him in so sweetly, allaying his fears and his awful guilt. She hadn’t wanted him to overhear as she recounted the events of the night to the police.
The villains of this nightmare, it seemed, had both been defeated. Lord Thurston had obviously been ordering the deaths of previous lovers, of women who’d borne him sons, in the most despicable way imaginable.
Only a few troubling questions remained: what had happened to those boys, the illegitimate sons of a madman? What had Dorshaw done with them? And who had paid Dorshaw to kill Thurston? Lady Thurston? The dreadful St. Vincents? The murdered Mr. Dashforth?
The police were going to keep looking for the missing boys, but at this point, everyone knew they were searching for corpses.
Millie and Jakub, however, had escaped such a fate, thanks to Mr. Argent, and were safe to return to their lives as they wished.
Sometime after a very terse and awkward conversation with the police, Christopher had slipped away from the chaos. Millie felt his absence like a palpable irritant. An itch beneath her skin and a pang in her heart. One moment he’d been hovering behind her, big and silent and pulling curious glances from the myriad of coppers and criminals milling through the halls of the Blackwell estate. Though he didn’t excuse himself, and no one remarked at his absence, shefeltthe second he’d slithered away. The shadows were colder. The air less full of masculine potency.
She was alone in a room full of people.
Signing a few autographs and playbills after all was said and done, she thanked the police who had absolutelynothingto do with her rescue. She’d relied upon her practiced charm until they left, and sagged inside the coat Argent had given her as Dorian rudely ushered them out.
Was it truly over? Did things just… return to normal? How could they? Millie couldn’t even fathom what normal had been only days ago. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be carefree. She couldn’t seem to consider the daysbefore…
Before she’d been kissed by a killer.
“Millie dear.” Farah squeezed her hand, soft gray eyes full of understanding. “I’m going to insist you and your son stay here for the night. I’ve already had the staff draw a bath, as I’m certain you wish to wash that horrid place off you.”
As always, the countess looked as fresh as a spring orchard blossom in a high-necked lily-white gown bedecked with sage-green ribbons and stitched paisley skirts.
Millie could only nod, a melancholy exhaustion weighing her shoulders down. “You’ve been so kind,” she said. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“Nonsense.” Farah helped her to stand and looped an arm through Millie’s in a show of support. “Friends don’t think in terms of compensation.”
“Speak for yourself.” Blackwell sauntered into the room appearing much too relaxed for a crime lord covered in dust who’d only just been host to half the police force of the city. “I always think in terms of compensation.”
Farah rolled her eyes heavenward, as though praying for strength.
“The exception being this case, of course,” the Blackheart of Ben More amended, casting a chastised look at his wife. “You are most welcome to call upon us for anything you need, Miss LeCour. My wife has quite taken to you, and any means at our disposal are yours for the asking.”
Millie couldn’t think of a thing to say, and Dorian Blackwell seemed to understand as she stared at him, dumbfounded. He nodded, moved to kiss his wife on the temple, and merged with the shadows of the hallway, doubtless in search of his own bath.
“I wish to look in on Jakub one more time,” Millie murmured.
“Of course you do.” Farah guided her up the main flight of stairs, their steps muffled by lush ivory carpets, and down toward the nursery where Jakub slept in a small but well-appointed guest chamber. “He was so afraid for you, but he was brave. Andsosorry. I hope you’re not terribly cross with him. Your son loves you dearly.”
“I’m not angry with him in the least,” Millie said. “It makes me sick to think of what could have befallen him, but I feel as though he’s chastised himself enough for slipping away. And he’s not the kind of boy to forget such a hard-learned lesson.”
“No, I don’t suppose he is.” Farah smiled fondly. “In fact I—”
Jakub’s agitated voice drifted into the hall, and Millie quickened her step, though she and Farah both paused at the contrasting baritone of Argent’s reply.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again,” Jakub confessed, his voice anxious and waterlogged.
“I brought your mother back as I promised, and you’re both safe here. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“Then why can’t I stop weeping?” Jakub hiccupped.
Heart clenching, Millie made to rush to her son’s bedside and sweep him into her arms.
