Page 90 of A Duke's Keeper
Hamish didn’t bat an eyelash. “No one would find his body in the peach grove.”
Charlotte’s expression lit up. “We have a peach grove?”
“We will.”
A well of emotion blurred Camille’s vision before she blinked it away. Family: This was what it felt like to have people who loved unconditionally, people who’d risk the hangman’s noose to dispatch a duke and use him for fertilizer. Even though she knew neither of them would ever go that far.
If she hadn’t given up such nonsense emotions that day at the Prodding Pony, she may have cried.
Things would change now that Renard knew she was here. It wasn’t long before she’d have to make the decision to run again or confront him. Either way, her peaceful time here with her family was done.
Camille looked up to realize her brother had gone very still.
“Did he force you?” he asked.
Camille loved the violent edge to his question. The tone emboldened her, steadied her, allowed her to shed one of the secrets haunting her past so she could force out her next statement. “No. He protected me from the men who tried.”
The stillness spread around the room like creeping death. Charlotte became like another bust statue against the wall.
And her brother... Her brother’s cold expression surpassed that of even their father at his most sadistic.
The way he stared through her, Camille knew, from experience, his mind was far away, most likely imagining the most vicious way to rip genitalia from a man and force it down his throat. She loved them for not considering pity. Loved themfor overlooking the shame that rose like bile to redden her cheeks and fill her chest with acid.
It was Charlotte who broke the silence at last. “The man you were running away from wasn’t Renard, was it?”
“Yes.” Camille smiled sadly. “And no.” She shook her head. “I ran for many reasons.”
Hamish jerked himself into the present. “This monster is still walking free?” He stood quickly; his chair cracked into the nearby bookcase. “He won’t be for long.”
Charlotte’s voice was quiet compared to his. “Who was it?”
Camille shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Truly nothing happened, and two of the three are gone.”
Hamish looked as if he’d be sick. “Three?”
She saw his mind churning, guilt building. Thinking if he’d gotten her out of her old life sooner, things might have been different, but the truth was she’d refused to go when she’d had the chance.
“This is my fault, not yours,” she said.
Charlotte blustered. “Bullocks! Neither of you is at fault.”
“You said two of the three,” Hamish said. “What’s the third’s name?”
Camille hated how she hesitated. She wasn’t afraid of Hawkins. Truthfully, she’d barely given the scum a thought since she’d come to Camine Manor.
“What’s his name, Camille?” Charlotte asked.
Camille looked at her friend, seeing the truth and love in the concerned expression on her face, and she realized her faith in others hadn’t been lost entirely. “His name is Peter Hawkins.”
Hamish crossed the room and went to his knees at her feet. He took her hand, his gaze intense. “I swear to you, sister. However long it takes, I will find that monster, and I will put him in a cell, where he will spend his days wishing he’d never met you.”
For a woman set on never relying on the strength or fleeting kindness of anyone again, she was shocked to find she believed him. Guilt bit deep. She’d known better,knewhim better. Hamish would never use violence to exact justice. He was a man of scruples. Even with his good work in Dockside, she knew he remained conflicted over working outside of the law with Markus—offering the poverty-stricken spectacles for reduced prices—asinine and unjustly enforced as the law was.
Not wishing to alarm either of them with her sudden thawing of heart, she made sure her next words came out hollow and flippant.
“Whatever you say, Your Grace.”
She couldn’t stop her mind from adding a silent,Thank you.
