Page 113 of The Hunter
“I’m the bastard son of a marquess, with more noble blood in my small finger than you’ve got in yourentirebody.”
Both Morley and Argent stared at him as though he’d sprouted horns.
Argent had known this, of course, but no one had dared speak of it out loud for over a decade.
Since he’d become Dorian Blackwell.
“A marquess?” Morley grimaced. “Who in the devil—”
“An old Scottish title.” Dorian studied the inspector, noting the moment the puzzle piece fit together in Morley’s mind. “One held by a Mackenzie, I believe.”
“Ravencroft,”Morley breathed. “I should have guessed. You lookjustlike him. But—that’s impossible; he’s all of forty or so.”
“His father raped my mother.”
Morley shook his head, disbelief glimmering in his bloodshot eyes. “You’rebrotherto the Demon Highlander?”
“Halfbrother.” Dorian shrugged, uncomfortable with the word. “You’re acquainted, I believe, fought in his regiment in the Second Opium War.”
Morley nodded, his eyes dazed with reminiscence. “Never saw anything like Ravencroft. Charged Chinese cannons like they didn’t exist. Bullets, cannonballs, knives, bayonets, they seemed to change their courses midair and curve around him. We all did things—killed people—but… Liam Mackenzie, he was… barbaric. Savage.Startlinglyeffective.”
The inspector blinked, as though shuttering doors to the past. Dorian found himself wondering what was back there that Morley didn’t want to see.
“Yes, well. Runs in the family, I suppose.” Blackwell didn’t want to talk about his brother. It led to their infamous father, and that was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.
With anyone.
“We were talking about why you are here,” Dorian reminded him.
Morley nodded, agreeing to leave the past firmly where it belonged. “I’m here for Argent.”
The assassin uncrossed his arms and Dorian leaned forward, wondering if Morley knew how close he was to death. “And you didn’t bring an army?”
“Not to arrest him,” Morley amended. “To employ him.”
Dorian began to wonder if all his speechless moments were going to pertain to Christopher Argent.
Turning to the assassin in question, the chief inspector adjusted his sling. “You didn’t have to pull the servant’s bell. You could have left me to bleed out. You likely saved my life.”
Dorian turned in his seat to stare at Argent out of his good eye.
Argent, the bastard, wouldn’t lift his eyes above the fireplace. “The gunfire would have brought them regardless,” he mumbled. Whether explaining himself to Blackwell, or to Morley, it was unclear.
“That isn’t the point,” Morley stated.
“What is the point?” Argent asked with his usual bluntness.
Morley took in a deep breath and stood, swaying a bit before finding his bearings. “I’m putting together an elite contingent of men. Men with very…singulartalents to help rid the city of criminals like Charles Dorshaw. To hunt for missing children and serial murderers, for anarchists and terrorists, for people beyond the arm of the law. To do… things the police simply cannot.”
“You?” Dorian gave a mirthless laugh. “A leader of vigilantes and mercenaries? Like the Pinkertons in America?”
Morley shook his head vehemently. “Not at all.” He addressed Argent. “They’d never serve private interests. Instead, you’d be a servant of justice. An agent of the crown. Think of how you protected Miss LeCour. How you saved her from the clutches of a madman, a villain. You could do that for countless others.”
Features arranged with incredulity, Argent finally looked at Morley. “I’d be the first villain on your list.”
“You’d be granted immunity from the crimes of your past, of course.”
Argent scoffed. “I alreadyhaveimmunity. You can prove me guilty of no crime. Hell, I even pay my taxes to the crown.”
