But then?—
Live, my boy.
His father’s voice. Not “avenge”. Not “prove”.Live.
And then Elizabeth’s. Her eyes, her voice, pleading with him to come back to her. To choose life. To chooseher.
His fist hovered.
Kittridge whimpered.
Alasdair roared. Not in triumph, not in defeat, but in agony. He let the fury tear from him like a storm. Then he let his arm fall to his side.
It was over.
Kittridge stared up at him, eyes wide, snot and tears streaking his face. “W-why didn’t you do it?”
“Ye’re finished anyway,” Alasdair said grimly. “They’re already on their way.”
And they were.
The thunder of boots echoed through the warehouse as Bow Street Runners burst into the room.
“Giles Marwood, Marquess of Kittridge,” the officer barked, “you are under arrest.”
Alasdair stood slowly, every movement laced with pain. Kittridge just stared, stunned.
“Y-you planned this,” he stammered.
“Aye,” Alasdair said, voice low. “I came unarmed, as promised. Butyeproved me right, Kittridge. Ye always do.”
“Will you be all right, Your Grace?” one of the officers asked, glancing at the blood pooling on Alasdair’s side.
“I will be,” he said, even though speaking those words made the pain intensify.
He would be. Hehadto be.
They hauled Kittridge to his feet. The marquess struggled for a heartbeat, then sagged. A man undone.
It was over. Truly over.
Alasdair watched the officers lead him away, then staggered to the nearest beam, pressing a bloodied hand to his ribs.
His body ached. His knuckles throbbed. His shirt was soaked with blood. His legs trembled.
He’d won.
He should feel triumph. But all he felt was… the absence of her.
Elizabeth.
He thought of her voice, her hands on his chest, her laughter spilling through their rooms. She saw through the broken, brooding mask. She’d trusted him.
And he’d walked away from that love. Left without a word of promise.
Damn.
The truth struck him harder than any blow he’d taken tonight.