Page 126 of The Hunter
“He was going to divorce me all those years ago when your precious son was born.” Lady Thurston’s voice took on an almost singsong quality. A lilt that only belonged to a toddler or the touched. “To shove me, a countess, into some middle-class London disgrace with the stipend of a pauper while he legitimized his Polackbastard. Said he was in love, with an immigrant actress. That she’d borne him a son, and that he was going to marry her and retire to the country!” She turned to the audience, the barrel of the pistol still pointed at Millie’s heart. “Can you imagine?”
No one answered, though a buzz had begun in the crowd. Uncomfortable shifting, questions whispered behind white gloves and sparkling fans.What was going on? Was this really part of the play? A new and gauche Continental performance art, perhaps?
“Turns out I erred when I ordered the death of the wrong Polackactressall those years ago. I thought I was rid of all of my husband’s whores by now, that I’d collected all his bastards.” She pulled back the hammer of the pistol, the thrill of victory speeding her breath. “After tonight, I will have done. I was going to use one of them, make him say he was mine. But in the end, I think it’s best that my husband’s line ends. That his title not be held by a bastard.”
“You…orderedAgnes’s death?” Rage surged through Millie, thundering through her veins and clearing her throat of fear and tears. The anger felt good, reminded her that she was yet alive. She gained strength from it, and courage. No matter what happened to her, this woman wouldnotwin. Agnes, her dear sweet friend, would have justice, and the boy they both loved more than life would at least be left his birthright.
“I have evidence your husband wanted Jakub to be his heir,” Millie stated coldly. “It’s right here.” Pulling Lord Thurston’s letter out of her bodice, she held it up to a thousand witnesses. “He’s officially legitimized Jakub. What’s done is already done. The moment your husband died, my son became anearl.”
Katherine Fenwick screamed, but no one heard it above the gunshot. A puff of white smoke rose from the barrel and several women added their shocked screams to the countess’s before all fell eerily silent.
Time. That most precious commodity. It slowed almost to a stop. Everything took an eternity, and yet happened so fast.
Millie expelled a relieved breath as the door to the back of the theater burst open and a man flew down the aisle, hurling himself on long powerful legs. Other men followed him in, ushers and someone in a dark suit with ebony hair. Theatergoers surged to their feet, but Millie could only seehim. Taller than all the rest and fast, so incredibly fast for someone so broad and thick.
“Christopher?” She whispered his name and the rage faded. She wanted to call it back, to direct it at him, but she couldn’t seem to summon it. Instead, her throat clogged with tears and her traitorous heart leaped with joy.
His lips formed words, but she didn’t hear them. His eyes, his beautiful blue eyes locked on her, but didn’t rise above her torso.
Look at me,she begged.Look into my eyes.
He didn’t. Instead his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl, and he reached into his jacket as he surged forward, producing a gun of his own. He pointed it toward the stage.
And pulled the trigger.
Millie felt it then, an ache in her side, a twinge in the muscle and then a burn. Her hand flew to her middle, and came away sticky. She made a startled noise, and then another.
Katherine Fenwick dropped to the ground beside her.
Oh thank God.
“It’s not mine,” Millie whispered, holding her slick hand drenched with crimson up for him to see. “The blood, it’s not real.”
“Millie!No!” Christopher Argent’s cry boomed above all the others.
“It’s not mine.” Millie lurched forward on feet unsteady with fear. She needed to tell him, but her face had grown cold, her tongue thick and heavy. She could feel the packages against her dress. They’d just beenpuncturedwas all. The warm sticky liquid was merely honey and coloring.
But how?She paused. Confusion furrowing her brow. Jane had never come out with the knife.
The burn intensified, feeling more like a tear.
Christopher vaulted over the orchestra pit and onto the stage.
Millie cried out, stumbled, and then his arms surrounded her. Those arms were just like she remembered. Hard and strong. He was warm and solid as a brick wall as she slid against him, letting him hold all of her weight that had seemed to become too much for her liquefied bones. He lowered her gently to the ground, bellowing for help, for a doctor.
She’d never seen him like this. His cold, brutal features a mask of terror and pain.
“You’re not afraid of anything,” Millie reminded him, blinking away black spots from her vision.
“Yes, Millie,” he said, panting. “Yes, I am. I’m afraid of losing you.”
A cascade of hot tears flowed down Millie’s face as she reached up for him with a cold, pale hand. “But you let me go.”
“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head, grasping her to him; clutching her with a hard desperation of which she hadn’t thought him capable. “I thought I could, but I was wrong. You can’t leave me, Millie. Because I’llneverlet you go.”
Millie’s hand went limp and slid to the ground, landing in a puddle of warm, sticky liquid. She could feel it spreading out beneath her, reaching toward his knees.I don’t want to go,she pleaded to the light above her head.I don’t want to leave him.
What a tragedy,she thought as the lights above no longer warmed her. That the man she loved had to lose another like this. Kneeling in a pool of her blood.
