Page 4 of Her Wicked Highwayman
Where was his father? Rafe struggled to sit up and looked around in confusion.
His father was across the street staring directly at him, shock and fear on his face. There was no sign of the frightening Mr. Phelps he’d been fighting with. Rafe stared back at his father as his father took a step off the curb and entered the street, not seeing the coach bearing down on him. Everything seemed toslow down, and Rafe could not move, could not blink or even cry out.
Horses screamed and Rafe lifted his head to see them frantically treading upon a lump in the road before the carriage wheels followed, thumping over the shape and crashing back down. A woman who’d been walking down the sidewalk by Rafe screamed, pointing a trembling finger at the mass upon the ground.
“Father!” Ashton’s shout caught Rafe’s attention as he saw his elder brother running after their father, who’d stepped into the street.
“Dead! The man is dead!”
The woman’s words caught Rafe’s heart in an icy grip and squeezed, making it impossible for him to move, to breathe.
Ashton raced down the steps and skidded to a stop a few feet away from their father’s crumpled body.
“Who is it?” the driver demanded as he climbed down from his perch on his coach.
Ashton cleared his throat, but the word still came out broken. “He’s my father.”
“Hewasyour father,” a dark-haired young man with a cane said as he stopped by Ashton, along with others who’d been near the tavern and witnessed the accident. “Drunken fool.” The man walked back into the club, but Ashton remained still, staring at their father, his face utterly white.
Rafe stood up, brushed his bloody scraped hands on his trousers, and walked on shaky legs toward his elder brother.
Ashton lifted his head and stared at Rafe for a moment, his eyes unseeing, then rage and fury filled them.
“What the devil are you doing here? What have you done, Rafe?”
What had he done? Rafe’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remember. They’d been ready to leave,his father had been sending him home, and then that terrible man Mr. Phelps had come after them, and they’d fought. But Father had been winning the fight, hadn’t he?Hadn’t he?Rafe’s mind ached and he shut his eyes briefly, trying to think, but he couldn’t remember.
“I . . . don’t know . . . Ashton. I don’t know . . .”
“You’ve killed him, that’s what you’ve done, because you couldn’t stay home where you belonged,” Ashton snarled. “Youkilledhim...” The last words choked from his brother as Ashton looked at Rafe in a way he never had before. With scorn—with hatred.
“No, he can’t be dead. Father . . .”
Pain throbbed in Rafe’s shoulder and head, where he’d fallen against the pavement. But none of that mattered. He knelt down and lifted his father’s head, trying to cradle it on his lap. Blood coated Malcolm’s lips and his body was bent at unnatural angles. His eyes were open, but his expression was dazed. Rafe didn’t want to think about how much pain his father was in. He’d broken his arm once, falling from a tree a few years ago, but his father was... beyond repair.
Malcolm licked his lips, his gaze slowly moving between Rafe and Ashton, who’d knelt down next to Rafe. Ashton’s face was white as marble. His lips were parted but he didn’t speak, didn’t move—it was as though he was frozen.
Rafe turned his focus back to his father. His hands shook as he gently touched his face. “Father.”
“My boy.” The words escaped Malcolm’s lips like a soft sigh, and then the glimmer of life in his eyes faded away.
Rafe held his father’s head in his lap, tears streaming down his face as he met Ashton’s gaze. His older brother didn’t move, he simply stared at their father... utterly broken.
“Someone help us! Anyone! Please!” he shouted at the bystanders who looked on with mingled sorrow and pity. Butthere was no help, not for Lord Malcom Lennox. It was far too late. Not even his elder brother could help their father now. He was gone—and Rafe had been the cause of it.
Rafe wiped at his eyes, a strange numbness creeping through his limbs as he saw Mr. Phelps and Lord Caddington staring at him from a short distance. They were more wraiths than flesh and blood. Rafe’s eyes burned with a hatred so strong that, for a moment, it filled the emptiness that his father’s death had left. They were responsible for this.
Someday he would kill them both. Even if he had to wait a lifetime. His steel would taste their blood and his father would be avenged.
Regina Lennox staredat the burning embers of the fire in the drawing room. Every bone in her body ached as her worry for Malcom deepened. She pulled her plaid shawl tighter around her shoulders. They had quarreled before, but never like this. And she’d never struck him before. But he’d done the unthinkable. He’d betrayed her trust in a way he’d sworn he never would.
That money, the dowry her father had given her, was to be a gift to their children someday. And he’d gambled it away without a thought... because he hadn’t bothered to think of her at all as he’d lingered over those tables full of vice. Her throat tightened as she struggled to keep herself from crying. Tears would do no good. She had to be strong, for herself and for her children.
It was two o’clock in the morning and still Malcolm had not returned. A hard clacking of the front door’s brass knocker pulled her from her thoughts.Malcom!She abandoned her seatin the drawing room and rushed into the entryway, flinging the door open.
“Malcolm, where have you?—”
Her voice died as she saw a stranger on the steps facing her. The man removed his hat and held it in his hand, his face solemn.
