The men had arrived at a coach that was parked at Drummond Cottage. They tossed Damian in as if he was a bag of rubbish. As far as she could discern, he hadn't stirred.

Was he unconscious? Or was he dead? Had they killed him? They'd hit him so many times!

She tried to yank away, but Miles tightened his grip.

"You can't help him now."

"What will happen to him?"

"I told you. He'll be sent to Australia."

"He's not an escapee!" she bellowed.

Miles smirked. "If he is or if he isn't, who is there to gainsay me? He'll be on a prison ship and bound for Botany Bay before he can find anyone to assist him." He spat in the dirt. "Good riddance, you prick."

He laughed and strolled to the manor, leaving Georgina dazed and alone.

She hastened toward the coach where it was starting to pull away. Several of the men had mounted horses and were riding alongside it. Others were perched in the box, while the leader was inside, keeping a close eye on Damian.

They had pistols drawn and were nervously glancing about as if expecting an attack-as they should. Where were Damian's guards? Hadn't they heard the commotion? Hadn't they heard her scream? Where were they? Where was Mr. Roxbury? How could he have disappeared at the precise moment his friend needed him most?

"Stop this instant!" she called. "You're making a terrible mistake!"

But she might have been mute and invisible. The driver cracked the whip and the team galloped away. Damian Drummond vanished as swiftly as if he'd never been at Kirkwood a single second.

Damian at 20...

I'll be fine."

"You know how to contact me if there's trouble."

There won't be any trouble, Anne said with her eloquent eyes.

They didn't really need to talk aloud. They were quiet, solitary people who'd been brutalized to the point of madness. Their minds worked in the same way with no words necessary.

They were in the saloon Anne's second husband had owned. Kit was with them too. Damian's horse was saddled, his bag packed, as he prepared to leave for gold country. Kit had begged Damian not to volunteer for the hazardous job, but Anne hadn't protested, understanding that Damian was anxious to get out of Botany Bay.

But he had no intention of toiling away in the gold fields. He'd find another route to earn his money rather than suffocating or being crushed to death in a mine on behalf of the Crown. That had always been his goal: to survive whatever king and country threw at him. So far he'd succeeded.

Butler had forced Anne to marry. It had been during a period when he'd forced all the single women to wed. With there being so many more men than women, it was supposed to establish social order, but Damian hadn't seen any evidence that it made a difference.

She'd been so vehemently opposed that she'd nearly killed herself over the edict, but Damian had saved her, had persuaded her to comply.

He'd investigated the possible candidates and picked her husband for her. When he viewed her as being so extraordinary, who could meet his high standards? The oaf he'd selected had been kind and courteous and in failing health so he hadn't lived long after the wedding, which was exactly what Damian had promised Anne would occur. It was the only way he'd been able to push her into it.

Anne was serving a life sentence so she couldn't inherit the business after her husband had perished. But he'd conveniently drafted a Will that left the place to Kit whose sentence was completed. The arrangement had several benefits. It gave Anne a safe spot to call her own-she resided in an apartment upstairs-and it gave Kit a means of accumulating the money required to return to England. He was eager to depart, and Damian couldn't dissuade him.

His parents were deceased, his siblings scattered to the four winds. Why go back to a country that had delivered nothing but injustice and heartbreak?

"Take care of her for me," Damian told Kit.

"You know I will."

Anne said without speaking, I don't need anyone to take care of me, especially not a green boy like Kit.

Anne liked Kit well enough, but she was too much like Damian. The day she'd abandoned her children on that dock in England, an important part of her had been destroyed. She had no optimistic opinion of mankind and saw no reason to be hopeful or law-abiding. She thought Kit was ridiculously foolish.

Anne was focused as Damian was focused, and her goal was to escape from Australia. She planned to travel to England someday and murder those who'd wronged her and harmed her children. It was a harsh objective for a female, but she was determined to pursue it. Damian never tried to discourage her.

She was hunkered down in Botany Bay, waiting for Lt. Butler to pass away or be transferred. Then she would flee the colony. He'd already decided-if he could amass riches in the gold fields-it would be easy to buy her the conclusion she sought.

"Let Kit help you while I'm away," he said. "Please?"

She shrugged.

"Write to me when you can," he said to her.

She shrugged again. She didn't like to write, didn't like to have a connection anymore than he did. Bonds were absurd. Everyone in their world died or vanished, but they were linked-by their loneliness, by their need for revenge.

In all the years Anne had been in Australia, Damian was the only one she'd allowed to be close. For Damian, it was the same, with the exception of Kit. But Kit wasn't dead inside as Anne and Damian were. Kit could never truly understand why Damian had glommed on to Anne. Kit assumed it was due to Anne's mothering, to her saving his life when he'd been flogged nearly to death, but it wasn't that.

They looked at each other and saw two walking ghosts. They'd wandered out onto the edge of Hell, and they would be together when they leapt into the abyss.

"I will make my fortune in gold country," he murmured to her.

I have no doubt you will.

"After I do, I'll take you home. I will kill your enemies for you."

It was a pact they'd sworn in blood. They would return to England and wreak vengeance on those from their pasts who deserved it.

Then...?

It didn't matter what happened after that.

"Goodbye," he said to her.

She didn't reply but stared as he shook hands with Kit. He left without another word. What was the point? Anne knew what he was thinking without his having to tell her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Michael Scott! Is that you?"

"Yes, but it's Michael Blair now."

Kit reined in his horse and gaped at the man approaching from the other direction. He shuddered, feeling as if a ghost had walked across his grave.

When Kit had first been orphaned, he and Damian had worked for Michael as pickpockets. At the time, Michael had been little more than a boy himself, but he'd already acquired a reputation for violence and shrewd dealing.

He'd treated Kit and Damian fairly, had taught them most of what they knew about brutality and vice, but he was also the person responsible for their being arrested and transported to Australia.

If they'd never embraced his life of crime, they wouldn't have been swept up as incorrigibles. Then again, if they hadn't worked for him, they'd likely have starved on the streets of London. They certainly wouldn't have survived the sea voyage or their incarceration in Botany Bay.

It had been a dog-eat-dog world, with boys jockeying for position and committing unspeakably cruel acts in order to gain a bit of power. Damian had thrived in the established hierarchy. He was fearless, braver than anyone Kit had ever met, and absolutely undaunted in his ability to persevere and get what he wanted. But Kit hadn't been quite so successful.

"Damian told me you'd taken your mother's name," Kit said.

"And my father's."

"Why are you at Kirkwood?" Kit asked.

"I'm on my way to London, but my mother insisted I stop and see how Damian is faring."

"He's surly and angry and impossible."

"In other words, he's the same as always?"

"Yes. I heard your mother was back from the dead."

"I still can't believe it."

Michael had been lost on the streets as a toddler, and he'd been given the surname of Scott at an orphanage. Now...he'd found his mother, Anne, had retrieved his father's heritage from his despicable kin, and he proudly wore his parents' name.

For someone like Kit who yearned to locate members of his own family, it was a heartening development.

Michael's mother had been transported to Australia too, and it was the reason Michael had had such a difficult childhood. He and his siblings hadn't known what happened to her and had grown up assuming she was deceased. Damian had brought her back to England.

"Do you ever ponder Fate?" Kit inquired as they turned up the lane that led to the manor.

"No, why?"

"It seems so odd to me that you, Damian, and I were together in London, then he and your mother became such close friends in Australia."

"She cared about him, which was exactly what she required."

"He needed a mother."

"Yes, and she needed a son."

Anne and Damian had both been stubborn and obstinate so they'd suffered egregiously in Botany Bay. They had a bond that even death would never break.

"How is the foreclosure going?" Michael asked. "My mother has been very worried about it. She didn't think Damian hired enough men to secure the place."

"It went fine. Edward Marshall passed on ages ago, and Miles Marshall is a coward and pompous dunce. He didn't have the resources to halt Damian."

"Good. Mother will be relieved, and if Damian had distressed her, I'd have had to thoroughly pummel him. My brothers and I have decided that she will never fret over anything ever again."

"The whole process is progressing with little bother. The Marshalls are upset of course, but no one else is. They're generally disliked by all."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"In fact, they're supposed to move out this afternoon. Damian gave them a week to pack and arrange their affairs."

"He was nicer than I would have been."

Michael ran a notorious gambling club in London, along with many other businesses that involved smuggling and blackmail. He was filthy rich and liked to use his fists when dealing with reprobates. He terrorized others and enjoyed his power. People recognized his brutal tendencies too. When he walked through a room, they skittered out of his way.

"I'm hoping they departed without too much drama," Kit said, "but I thought I'd better check. Miles vanished several days ago without making any plans for his female relatives."

"He's happy to have Damian kick them out on the road?"

"Apparently yes."

"The man's even more worthless than I imagined."

Kit had spent the night at a coaching inn a few miles from Kirkwood, and the eviction was an excuse to return. He had to gauge Damian's mood, to discover if he'd calmed, and he had to talk to Sophia so he'd know where she was staying. But as they approached the manor, he wasn't sure what was occurring.

It was obvious no one had left, and it was also obvious that trouble was brewing. Miles and his fiancee, Portia Smithwaite, were standing on the front steps and there was a crowd of furious men facing them. A quick perusal indicated they were Damian's guards, but Damian was conspicuously absent.

Miss Fogarty was there too, and a quarrel was ensuing. Miles was armed with a small pistol, holding it loosely and not aiming it, but he certainly appeared as if he wouldn't mind pulling the trigger.

"What the devil?" Michael muttered, and they kicked their horses into a gallop and raced up the drive. They jumped to the ground and had barely landed before Miss Fogarty was upon them.

"I'm so glad to see you!" she fervidly said to Kit. "You won't believe what happened!"

"Yes, I will." Kit pointed at Miles. "Why is he preening?"

"He found out about Mr. Drummond's past."

Kit felt sick. "From who? Was it Miss Sophia?"

"No, it was me," Miss Fogarty glumly admitted. "I blurted it out without thinking. I shouldn't have, but I was distraught."