Page 83 of Suddenly a (The St. Clairs 5)

“I’ve got you, love,” Hudson assured her, bringing her head against his chest. Looking at the others, he said, “He’s mine. No one else’s.”

They turned on the lane leading up to Morris Park. A calm had descended over him. He would avenge Mia. Nothing else mattered. As the carriage entered the drive, he asked, “Do you know where your notebooks are?”

She nodded. “Two trunks were placed in the foyer when we arrived. I’m certain they must be in one or both of them.”

Hudson thought a moment. “Where might your mother’s locket be?”

Tears sprang to his wife’s eyes. She tenderly touched his cheek. “The last I knew, it was in my bedchamber. I always placed it on the table beside my bed.”

“I will find it,” he vowed. “And your notebooks.”

The carriage slowed before it came to a halt. Luke flung open the door and said, “Jeremy and I will look for this driver and servant.”

“I’ll go with you,” Evan told Hudson. “Anthony, you should stay with Mia in the coach.”

Hudson stroked her hair. “I’ve got to go, love. I’ll be back.”

“He has a gun,” she warned. “I heard a shot before I fled the house. Another outside. I don’t know if the other two men are armed or not.”

“I’m an excellent shot,” he assured her. “How many servants are there?”

“None that I saw.”

Lifting Mia off his lap, he stood and placed her on the bench. He looked at Anthony.

“I’ll guard her with my life, Hudson,” his brother-in-law promised.

The four men spilled from the carriage and George asked, “Is Mrs. St. Clair all right?”

“She is,” Hudson replied. “Morrison has a gun. If you spy him, drive away. Keep her safe at all cost, George.”

“Yes, Mr. St. Clair,” the loyal retainer replied.

Jeremy and Luke broke away, going around to the back of the house, as Hudson and Evan entered through the front. The door stood wide open. They only went a few feet before Hudson saw Hortense lying in a pool of blood, staring at the ceiling, a look of horror on her face.

“He shot her. Killed his own wife,” he said, shock running through him.

Evan bent and closed her eyes. “He’s a monster and deserves to be put down.” He glanced around. “If we’re going to search the house for him, we’ll need light. I’ll go find candles.”

“I’ll stay here in case he comes through the front.”

Hudson watched Evan retreat and stood warily, pistol in hand, ready to use it the moment he saw Morrison. He glanced around, seeing renovations had begun on the dilapidated house, with two scaffolds standing in the foyer, tarps spread below them. He heard a noise and glanced up quickly, spying Morrison above him in a long, narrow gallery that overlooked the foyer. The balustrade came to his enemy’s waist. He held a lantern in front of him, blocking any shot.

Unless Hudson went for his head.

“It’s over, Morrison,” he called out. “Mia said you’d admitted to torching the warehouse. A night watchman was killed. You’ll hang for that—and for murdering your wife.”

Eerie shadows from the lantern danced across the viscount’s face. “Hortense deserved it. She thought the money would be ours. Women are such fools.”

“You mean the money you’d inherit once your murdered me and then Mia?”

“You’re a guttersnipe, St. Clair. You don’t deserve a large fortune,” snapped Morrison.

He’d been called worse and let the insult roll off him. “Whether I deserve it or not, I earned every pound of it. I might be a by-blow but you are an ass. You have wasted everything given to you. I’ll see you hang from a gibbet.”

Morrison sneered. “That will never happen. I am a peer. I am untouchable. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done.”

To a large extent, the viscount’s words were true. He recalled Easley’s words.

---