An angry growl escaped his lips as he turned sharply around and hurled the bottle into the fire.

Crashing into the fireplace, the angry flames erupted, consuming the broken shards.

He let out yet another growl, directing his anger toward the desk. He swept his hands over every piece of paper on it, shoving them to the ground, before flipping the desk over on its side. He swore, running trembling fingers through his dusty hair.

Having been in hiding for three weeks, Anthony Wilson was on the verge of madness. He could not leave London for he was certain his wanted picture was all over town. Forced to remain in hiding, he had spent several days trapped in his stable. He had fed on rubbish for days, and had only crawled into his house that afternoon after watching his charlady make her way out of the building. It had seemed safe to go in. He had promised himself he would simply find some food and return to the stable —he had been wrong.

Rather than food, Anthony found himself —several hours later— drunk, and miserable. His pathetic state of having to live amongst horses, rather than in his own home, suddenly became too much for him to bear. He did not deserve any of this! It was all the duke's fault. If the old bastard hadn't swindled his father! If the old bastard hadn't swindled Anthony by promising to let him get married to his daughter! Certainly, Anthony did no wrong by forcing himself on Lady Bianca, for at the time, he didn't know she was married! He had no idea her father would choose to give his daughter to a bastard rather than a nobleman.

And Race Belington?! What right did he have to be mad? Bianca wasn't his, she was Anthony's! If Race hadn't seduced her, she would be Anthony's wife!

Letting out a mirthless laugh, Anthony settled on a chair and pulled out his revolver; the same revolver he had used to put a bullet into Race —two bullets, actually. Twirling it in his finger, he allowed himself imagine what it would have happened if one of those bullets found a home in Race's heart, stopping his heartbeat. It would have been murder, he knew that much, yet, he wasn't sure he cared what the consequences would have been. He honestly wished he had succeeded in killing Race. As it was, he was already guilty of attempting to murder Race, and the punishment of a few years in jail would certainly have the same effect as the punishment of death —being disgraced and losing his respect before society was as good as dying.

Rising to his wobbly feet, Anthony stared into the angry flames in the hearth, deciding in that second that having to hide like a fugitive was no way to live. He would rather die, but he wouldn't go down silently; he would have his revenge, against the duke who stole from his father, his daughter who married another, and his son-in-law who was responsible for taking everything away from Anthony.

*

Bianca stifled a yawn, her vision clouding as she reached out with a trembling hand to replace the tea cup on the tray. A loud crash followed her actions, the cup falling to the floor instead.

Suddenly weak, she staggered to her wobbly feet, her vision immediately swirling. She forced one foot forward, confused as darkness enveloped her. The last thing she heard, was the sound of her body as it made contact with the wooden floor.

*

“Down!” Anthony roared, pointing the gun at the trembling maid who seemed incapable of doing anything but stand there and stare wide eyed at him.

The proximity of his stable to the streets made it possible for him to hear conversations between complete strangers, and seeing as the incident of his shooting Race was the biggest topic in town, it was all people could talk about. In one of those conversations, he heard a man make mention of Race staying in one of Camden's property. It wasn't difficult to guess which one.

After sneaking into Lord Camden's estate and forcing a maid at gun point, to put a sizable amount of laudanum in their meal, he led her out to the stable where he planned to keep her bound until he could successfully carryout his plans.

But rather than obey his commands, she stood trembling and weeping into her hands, irritating him.

Swearing, he turned the butt of his gun, smacking her over the head with it. She fell to the ground, passed out.

Turning from the stable, Anthony crouched down and made his way in the darkness back to the building, entering through the back door. The house was silent, and as he made his way through the hallways, he found the butler lying flat on the floor by the foot of the stairs.

He wasn't certain how many servants Lord Camden had in his employ, but he was in a hurry, fearing the possibility of getting caught.

Hurrying through the halls, he found the modest drawing room, the fire alive in the hearth. Finding a candle on the mantle piece, he lighted it, before turning to the blue curtains, and setting them on fire.

He turned the coffee table over on its side, setting the finely woven tug underneath on fire.

Hurrying out of the room, he dropped the candle on the oil lamp that sat on the table in the kitchen. Reaching the door, he got out of the house just before the lamp exploded, setting the entire kitchen on fire.

*

Breathing heavily, Anthony pushed the door to the most prestigious men's club in all of London wide open and stepped in, his gun pointed at the room.

He heard the loud gasps of the lords as their eyes came to settle on him. He wasn't certain if they were surprised by his raggedy appearance —shirt ripped at several places worn over dirty black trousers— or their surprise laid in the gun that was pointed at them.

“Lord Wilson,” He recognized Lord Henson's voice. The baron and his father had been friends for many years, but the second his father's fortune began to dwindle, he turned his back on him. They all did! Every single one of these 'noblemen' turned their backs on Anthony and his father. They watched one of their own be disgraced and didn't blink an eyelid. “Put the gun down, Anthony!”

Bitterness rippled through his veins until he shook with it. They all deserved to die! Them, as well as the duke and his entire family.

He shook his head. “Nobody moves.” He slurred.

“Anthony!”

Swearing, he pointed the gun at Lord Henson. “You are all despicable! You hunt me down like you're better than me, but you're not! Despicable pieces of dirt!” Shaking his head, he let out a mirthless laugh. “Perhaps I deserve this punishment. Perhaps I deserve to be hunted like an animal for raping Lady Bianca, the daughter of Lord Leeds,” Tears sprang to his eyes. “But I did it out of ignorance! Ignorance and frustration! Frustration you all caused! I deserve to be punished,” His hands trembled as his finger reached for the trigger. “but you all deserve to die!”

Just as he made to apply pressure to the trigger, something struck his chest. He pulled the trigger then, his hand weakening on the gun. It fell to his feet, his lungs suddenly constricting as he staggered on his feet. He couldn't breathe, he thought, listening to his heartbeat slow down. He couldn't breathe, and standing was suddenly difficult.

His knees buckled, forcing his body to crash to the wooden floor. Tearing his lips apart, he struggled for air.

He thought he heard a sound, but he wasn't certain. He wasn't certain, for darkness immediately consumed him and he breathed his last.