“Not too close, my dear, just enough to make McAlistair think twice about reaching for that gun in his pocket. Excellent. Now then…”
He turned his full attention to McAlistair and grinned—an excited, almost giddy show of teeth that twisted his handsome features into a gruesome mask. “So, there he is, the very devil himself. Oh, I’ve dreamt of this moment. Imagined everything I would do. Everything I would say. But now that it’s come, I find I’m quite overwhelmed.” He rubbed his free hand against his thigh. “Let me see, let me see, where was I to begin? Ah, yes…Do you have any idea, any idea at all, how difficult a thing it is to find you?”
When McAlistair said nothing, Herbert looked him over as if he were studying a rare and fascinating specimen under glass. “How did you manage it? Even when we were in the same bloody house, I couldn’t find you. Just that glimpse before you left and I…You don’t know who I am, do you?”
McAlistair shook his head once, his eyes never leaving the crazed footman.
“She does.” Herbert turned that wide, maniacal smile at Evie, and her blood ran cold as ice. “Don’t you, girl? Tell him.”
“John Herbert.” Her voice came out soft and wavering. “He’s a f-footman at Haldon.”
He waved the gun at her, the smile disappearing in a heartbeat. “It is Mr. Herbert. Mister. There was a time I could have bought and sold you twice over.”
Gone were the politely modulated tones he had used at Haldon. Even more than his words, the hard edge of Herbert’s voice portrayed a raw and deep-seated hatred.
Her hands flew up, palms out. Fear shot through her, but only a small part of it was for herself. “I beg your pardon. I d-didn’t know.”
“No. No, you didn’t. You couldn’t.” He cocked his head at her, his tone turning conversational. “And do you know why you couldn’t have known?”
Evie shook her head.
Herbert grinned again and this time spun to aim the gun at McAlistair. “He does.”
McAlistair didn’t move, didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Evie ruthlessly shoved down the urge to step forward and speak, to draw John Herbert’s attention back to her. She’d do it without a second thought if she knew for certain he wouldn’t just shoot both of them. Two dueling pistols. Two shots. He could manage it if he were quick.
Herbert’s grin morphed into an angry sneer. Keeping his eyes on McAlistair, he swung his arm around to point the gun at Evie. “You’ve thirty seconds, you bastard. Thirty seconds to remember Mr. John Herbert before I blow her brains—”
“He was an agent for the war department,” McAlistair said, cutting him off.
“He was more than just an agent,” Herbert snapped. “He was a man of power and wealth and rank. He was courageous and bold. He was brilliant. The sort of man a common criminal like you couldn’t hope to begin to understand.”
“He was your father,” McAlistair guessed.
“He was a hero. He sacrificed his time, his money, the happiness of his own family, again and again, in service to the Crown. And how did the Crown repay him?” When McAlistair didn’t answer, Herbert swung the gun at him again. “Tell her how the Crown repaid him!”
“He was killed. Ten years ago.”
“Nine! It was nine years!” Herbert laughed suddenly, a razor-sharp sound that tore from his throat. “Have there been so many, McAlistair, that you so easily lose track?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It was bloody yesterday.” Herbert stopped laughing, sighed, and closed his eyes. It was just for a moment, but that moment had Evie tensing, itching to reach out and snag the gun in his hand, knock him down before he could reach for the second. Failing that last part, she could at least be certain he only had the one gun. Just the one bullet. And if he was battling her, there was no doubt he wouldn’t waste it on McAlistair.
She flicked her gaze to McAlistair and saw the slight but decisive shake of his head. It was an order. Don’t. She might have ignored it, but for his eyes. He stared at her, unblinking, his dark gaze holding a thousand terrors. They didn’t demand. They begged.
Though it cost her, she stood where she was and watched Herbert once again raise his lids.
“It was yesterday to me. I can still hear him whispering to my mother in the dark. He knew you were coming. He wasn’t afraid of you,” Herbert was quick to insist. “But he feared for my mother and me.”
“I never killed an innocent.”
“My father was innocent,” Herbert snapped. “An innocent man who made a mistake.”
“He made a choice. That choice netted him a substantial amount of money. And cost the lives of half a dozen good men.”
“He made a mistake. How was he to know what the information was to be used for?”
“He knew.”
“Did you ask him?” Herbert demanded. “Did you give him a chance to explain before you slit his throat? Did you?”
McAlistair shook his head.