Page 77 of The Duchess and the Beast

“Lower your weapon, and I’ll be happy to demonstrate further,” Sebastian retorted, his gaze locked unwaveringly on the pistol.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Virtue?” Sebastian whispered, directing his attention to his wife.

Her mouth was poorly gagged, and she managed to spit out the rag, her smile so bright it was a beacon in the gloom. “You came?” Even tied up the way she was, a pistol pointed at her savior, the look in her eyes was as if she knew everything would be alright.

“Of course I did. I am just sorry it took so—”

“This is no time for a reunion!” Wellington snapped. “Utter another word. I dare you! One more word and I'll put a bullet through her cranium!”

“Attempt that, and you might just find your blasted head severed from your shoulders,” Sebastian muttered lowly, his tone deadly serious.

Wellington’s grin was spiteful. “Ever the beast, weren’t you? TheRoyal Butcher.”

“What in the devil do you seek to gain from this madness, Wellington?” Sebastian asked the obvious question. His eyes flicked to Virtue, just long enough to meet her own—a passing conversation, letting him know he was here, that she would be alright.

“You really have not pieced it together…” Simon Wellington sneered, a question hanging on his words.

“Pieced what together?” Sebastian said coolly, taking a slow, deliberate step to his left. Predictably, Wellington mirrored the movement. “The two of you were considered my closest companions. When have I ever wronged the either of you? When haven’t I been there when you needed me?”

“Is that what you think this is all about?” His laughter was cold, that pistol still pointed into Sebastian’s chest. “Ah.Sebastian Foxworth. What am I to do with you...”

“It is what I hold to be true.” Sebastian’s heart raced but he forced himself to ignore it, to stay calm. To his left, Ralph lay unconscious on the floor. That bought him at least another minute. To his right, Virtue sat watching, expression pained with worry. And behind her, fifteen feet away, was the window that Sebastian had climbed through, which right about now, his reinforcements should be peering into…

“You understand nothing!” Wellington screamed suddenly. “Nothing!”

“I know full well that Jasper would never condone this. I know he would never—”

“Don’t you—!” The man’s body trembled with unbridled rage—face glowing red as spittle flew from his mouth. But he took a deep breath and composed himself. “Don’t sully his name with your tongue, please.”

Sebastian frowned. “Jasper?”

“What did I just say!” Wellington advanced on them, his arm trembling as he aimed the gun more deliberately. Sebastian inhaled sharply, sidestepping to his left, forcing Simon to mirror his movement once more.

“This is about Jasper?” Sebastian asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Oh! Look who has finally decided to wake up from his decade-old slumber!”

“I don’t...” He faltered, at a loss for words.

“Jasper is dead because of you,” Wellington accused fiercely. “Dead! Because of your arrogance! Because of your ego! Because you led him directly into an ambush! Don’t you deny it! Don’t you dare say otherwise!”

It was peculiar, really. Wellington seemed fully prepared for Sebastian to retaliate with justifications, to parry the blame with excuses. This grief had been festering in the man for years, evolving into such bitter resentment that he simply assumed Sebastian was indifferent—as if empathy was a trait Sebastian lacked entirely. All this while, he had maintained a facade of friendship, convinced that the man opposite him harbored no remorse over his brother’s death.

Wellington could not have been more mistaken.

“I don’t intend to deny it,” Sebastian responded slowly, his voice steady.

“So, you confess! It was indeed your fault!”

“Of course it was my fault,” Sebastian conceded, shifting subtly to his left once more.

Wellington’s face contorted with rage. “What?”

“I affirm it was my fault,” Sebastian reiterated, having maneuvered enough such that Wellington now found his back to the window. Unbeknownst to him, and so concentrated on Sebastian was he that he did not notice Lord Prescott and Justine dropping into the barn. “And I have never shirked this truth.”

“You were our commander!” Simon cried out. “The responsibility of what transpired that night rests squarely upon your shoulders!”