by Lara Temple
‘Good God, Rafe. You look like hell. Are you ill?’
‘Blunt as usual, Edge. No, I had a little altercation with a cutpurse. I wasn’t paying attention. My stupidity entirely.’
Edge seemed to waver as if contemplating pulling his brother into a hug, but then he strode over to the bell cord and gave it a tug. ‘You need a doctor.’
Rafe sighed and nodded.
‘I hoped to manage without a blasted surgeon, but that was probably optimistic. I think I might need a few stitches’
Tubbs appeared promptly at Edge’s summons.
‘We will need a doctor, Tubbs,’ Edge said and the butler nodded.
‘I know just the one. What shall I tell Lady Edward? She is worried.’
‘Ask her to wait.’
‘Not your run-of-the-mill servant,’ Rafe commented when the door closed behind Tubbs. ‘I’ve heard the Sinclairs have their little battalion of efficient minions.’
‘Yes. And, knowing him, that doctor will be here in moments so I suggest you take that time to explain why you have put me through hell these past months. I thought you were dead, Rafe.’
Rafe winced at the mix of fury and pain in his brother’s voice.
‘Don’t look like that, Edge.’ He tried to rise. He was not comfortable facing Edge’s justified anger stretched on a sofa like an ailing aunt. But his leg, having carried him thus far, gave a shriek of outrage and buckled. He sank back down, breathing heavily. ‘Damn this leg. I know you’re furious and you’ve every right to be, but I knew it would take something drastic to drag you back into the land of the living. Every time I told you to return to Egypt you told me to jump off a cliff. So I did, figuratively. A contact of mine forged that letter from the embassy claiming I was presumed dead. I knew you probably wouldn’t believe it, but you couldn’t ignore it. I planned to leave clues along the way and wait for you in Luxor and have you finally show me this precious Egypt of yours.’
‘So what happened to that charming little plan?’
Rafe shifted his leg with both hands and wiped his forehead.
‘I came across someone who’d become separated from her family in a very inhospitable corner of the world.’
‘Miss Osbourne,’ Edge confirmed.
Rafe looked up with a grimace.
‘I was wondering about that advertisement in The Times. It wasn’t quite accurate so I knew it wasn’t that unctuous little worm Pettifer. Still, it was clever of him to change the text to warn me. At least this saves me the need to visit him to find out why. How did you figure it out, by the way?’
‘We had some help. But what has that to do with being stabbed?’
‘That was purely my foolishness. I thought I had a lead on finding her brother.’
‘Brothers appear to be disappearing at an alarming rate recently.’
‘As amusing as ever, I see. I never really disappeared. I always knew where I was.’
‘As annoying as ever, I see. You do realise you are now the Duke of Greybourne and have been back in England for several weeks and have not yet even contacted the lawyers, let alone the brother who you led to believe was now about to assume your title?’
‘I planned to do so once I resolved this little issue. And I made sure that fellow you paid to look out for me in Cairo followed me to Alexandria so you would know I was alive and well and on my way to England.’
‘I would have appreciated a note to that effect. The fact that you disappeared again once you reached London wasn’t precisely encouraging.’
‘Yes, well, I was distracted. I needed to arrange some matters.’
‘Yes, meeting with fraudsters and convincing them to pay debts they’d never considered paying and then securing a companion’s position for Miss Osbourne. I can see why your only brother’s peace of mind would rank below those.’
Edge set to pacing the room, following the geometric design of the rug, regimented even in his anger.
‘I’m sorry, Edge. If it’s any consolation, you dealt me quite a shock when I heard you had somehow managed to marry your Sam while chasing me down. Good for you. I don’t know quite how, but I feel I ought to receive some credit.’ Edge continued his pacing and Rafe hesitated. ‘That is good, isn’t it, Edge? I mean, you’ve wanted her for ever, as far as I could tell. We’ve never talked about it, but devil take it, man, I would have had to be blind and dumb not to realise how important she was to you. The only times I’ve ever seen you light up were around Jacob or when you received the drawings she made for your books. And when I came to haul you out of Chesham after the funeral you were quite voluble about—’
‘I was drunk,’ Edge snapped, not stopping.
‘In vino veritas, as they say. When I heard she was widowed as well I thought...if Edge had an ounce of sense he’d go see the lay of the land. But, no, he stays stuck in Brazil like a barnacle. So I decided to scrape you off and see what happened. You can only write love letters so long, Brother mine.’
Edge snorted in disdain. ‘I’ve never written a love letter in my life.’
‘No? I’ve read four of them so far and so have thousands of other adoring readers. Damn long ones, too, but at least there’s some adventure and excitement and history along the way while we all wait for Gabriel and Leila to come to their senses and admit they are batty about each other. That’s why this last book has everyone swooning, from what I hear. I’ve been damn busy these past few weeks, but even I’ve heard the raving. I managed to leaf through my housekeeper’s copy and those last lines, on the cliff? “It was only ever you.” Damn romantic. No wonder Sam agreed to marry you. She finally discovered the romantic pudding under that dour exterior.’
Edge shook his head and sank into a chair, suddenly looking as shaky as Rafe felt.
‘My God, I’m pathetic.’
‘Damn it, Edge, that’s not what I meant. Any woman would kill to have someone write masterpieces about her and for her. Don’t tell me Sam doesn’t appreciate them—her illustrations are a work of love in themselves.’
‘Not to me. She had no idea I was the author. That is just the way she is.’
‘But...you told her, didn’t you?’
‘She found out a week ago. In a book store.’
‘Oh. Well. That must have been...uncomfortable.’
Edge shoved his hands through his hair.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you mean to say you proposed to her, but didn’t think of telling her the truth?’
‘I didn’t propose. She did.’
Rafe couldn’t hold back a sigh and Edge gave a bitter laugh.
‘I told you I am pathetic.’
‘No. Stubborn. Wary. And luckier than you deserve. What is wrong, then? You should be in seventh heaven.’
Edge laughed again.
‘I was on fourth and climbing, but I’ve fallen a few rungs. I knew from the beginning Sam wanted to marry me because she wanted a family and a home and I was willing to make that devil’s bargain. This shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.’
‘What shouldn’t?’
Edge scrubbed his hands through his hair once more.
‘It’s a damn long story.’
‘I’ve nothing better to do until the sawbones arrives... Ah, hell.’ He broke off at the sound of voices approaching. ‘He could not possibly have found—’
‘Mr Haversham, Your Grace. A skilled and discreet man of medicine,’ Tubbs announced and stood back to allow a short man with unruly white hair to enter.
‘Your Grace, Lord Edward,’ the man said hurriedly, as if in a rush to dispense with niceties and get to the business of carving up his patients. ‘What have we here? Bullets or swords?’
‘A knife. To the thigh,’ Rafe admitted.
‘Excellent. Bullets are a nuisance. Give me a good clean cut any day. We’ll need a bed, hot water, li
nen and a good fire. And some brandy if there’s stitching to be done so we can celebrate a job well done when I’m through. Not for you, Your Grace. You look feverish enough as it is. Gruel for you, I’m afraid.’
For the first time since he arrived Edge grinned outright and Rafe was too pleased at the sight to resent it.
* * *
‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Greybourne, is in the drawing room, Your Grace. I thought you might wish to know.’ Tubbs stood in the doorway to Rafe’s bedroom at Sinclair House, a distinct twinkle in his eyes. Rafe lowered his brother’s book.
‘Ah, hell.’
‘Precisely, Your Grace. Your brother and Lady Sam are with her already. Here is your cane.’
Rafe debated claiming he was too ill, but that would not only be cowardly, it would leave Edge to face the dragon’s wrath alone. Besides, he’d slept most of yesterday after the doctor was done with him and needed to get back on his feet. He had a visit to pay that was already overdue.
At the thought of Cleo, a surge of yearning coursed through him and he took the cane and let Tubbs help him to his feet. They had not gone three steps in the hallway when Edge came striding towards them, his mouth so tightly held it looked as though his jaw might shatter.
‘Rafe...’
‘Tubbs already told me she’s here. Bad luck.’
‘I know. Come. Before she says something to Sam I might regret.’
‘You left Sam alone with her?’
‘Hurry.’
* * *
The drawing room door was ajar and Sam’s voice carried towards them, tight with fury and pain.
‘I am sorry, Your Grace, but you must excuse me for a moment. I... No, I am not sorry. I am so very, very grateful to you. You will never know how much.’
‘Grateful, Lady Edward?’
Rafe flinched a little at the sound of his mother’s voice, as cool and distant as ever. Edge surged forward but as Sam’s voice rushed on, Rafe caught his brother’s arm, stopping him.
‘Yes, grateful, Your Grace,’ Sam answered. ‘I did not understand how you could have given away your child, a boy of six, but it was the very best thing you could have done. His uncle and aunt loved him with all their enormous hearts, unconditionally. They helped make him the marvellous, unique man he is. It broke their hearts when your...when their grandson died. It broke their hearts when Edge went even further away and they had to let him go and hope he would return. I saw their faces when he arrived in Egypt. That is love. And that is why Edge will always turn to them when he needs to see what he is really like. Not to you.’
‘Yes. I know. And now to you. So, if you refuse to call my son by his given name Edward, what do you call him when you wish to annoy him?’ the Duchess asked, her tone tinged with absolutely unfamiliar amusement. Rafe felt the jolt of surprise run both through him and Edge at the same time, finally propelling them into the room. Sam turned to them, her cheeks blazing, but her eyes confused and searching. Rafe took pity on her and spoke.
‘Yes, Sam. What do you call this lug when you wish to annoy him? I could use some leverage. Hello, Mother. I admit you have succeeded in surprising me.’
‘I dare say I have. You are not looking well, Rafael. The years have not dealt kindly with you. Do sit down before you fall down.’ She patted the sofa by her, but Rafe eased himself into an armchair. Edge took Sam’s hand and sat with her on the sofa opposite, turning to their mother.
‘What game were you playing just now, Mother?’
‘Game?’ Sam asked.
‘I do not indulge in games, Edw... Edge. I was curious about your wife, that is all. She is nothing like Dora.’
‘No. Thank God.’
‘Yes. Dora was a charming girl, full of light and laughter as long as the sun shone, but not built for hardship. A delightful lapdog to your current lioness.’
‘You were testing me?’ Sam’s voice squeaked in outrage, but the Duchess turned to Rafe and Edge.
‘I am aware my choices when you were young mean I will always have but limited access to you and I have accepted that. I still believe it was the best decision under the circumstances after the effects of your father’s accident became apparent. Now that Rafael has little choice but to assume the responsibilities of his title...’ she glanced at Rafe as he shifted in the armchair ‘... I will remove to the Lancashire property. I have only remained until now to ensure Greybourne does not fall into disrepair and I hope I have not done too ill a job. I know neither of you will voluntarily seek my company in future, so naturally I wished to take what is likely to be a singular opportunity to see if this woman will make you a good wife. I see that she shall and I was wrong to worry.’
Something flickered in Rafe’s mind at her words, but it was Sam who asked the obvious question.
‘What accident? And what has it to do with sending Edge away?’
‘I am surprised you have no memory of this, Rafael,’ the Duchess replied, her grey eyes fixing on him now. ‘You were, after all, seven years old at the time. The Duke was thrown from his horse and suffered a severe injury to the head. For a long time, we thought he would not survive. He did, but it soon became evident he was no longer the same man. He became most pious and intolerant and...occasionally violent. After the incident when he broke your arm, Edw... Edge, Dr Parracombe and I decided it was judicious we limit his access to the children. There was no question of having him confined. The scandal would have stained the Greybourne name beyond repair.’
Edge clasped his left arm.
‘He broke it? My father broke it? How?’
‘That day...you were reading to me and Greybourne walked in and tried to take the book from you. You were always stubborn, my boy, and unfortunately you held on. Before I could even think he threw you against the wall. By the time Dr Parracombe treated you and sedated him I had made a pact with myself. I would protect my children by whatever means possible and that meant removing you from danger.’ She smoothed her dress again, but as no one broke the silence she continued. ‘I could hardly expect the Duke to condone sending his heir to Egypt, Rafe, but I ensured you spent most of the year at school or up by the Lakes, and the girls lived with the governess in their own wing. Naturally we could allow no taint of madness to cling to the Greybourne name and as far as I know there have never been rumours. Rigid religious beliefs served as a fine excuse for his...spells. Now he is dead we need no longer be concerned with discovery. Dr Parracombe is completely trustworthy.’
‘Trustworthy... Mother, why did you never say a word of this? We have not been children for a long while. We deserved to know.’
‘I thought it the best course of action.’ She turned to Rafe. ‘Greybourne is your cross to bear now, Rafe. I do hope you find someone to share it with who will make it a happier place.’
Rafe shook his head, feeling utterly shattered. He wanted to be angry at her for having kept the truth from them, for having them live in doubt and fear and loneliness. He could see now she’d meant to protect them, but this...
And just as quickly came a slashing sense of loss. A completely different life had been snatched from them, from all of them, through no one’s fault but fate and a bad fall. Had his father understood anything of the tragedy? He hoped he hadn’t. He didn’t wish that on anyone.
What a waste. His whole life could have been different. Edge would not have been sent to Egypt and he would not have run away.
And neither of them would have met the women they loved.
He met his mother’s gaze as it moved over his face. Her fingers reached out, hovered within reach of his scarred jaw.
‘I hope...no more of this for a while, Rafe?’
He shook his head again. No. No more of this. Time to go home.
‘Good,’ the Duchess said briskly as she rose and fastened her dove-grey pelisse. ‘I have promised to visit with some friends while I am in town and t
hen I must prepare for my departure to Lancashire now I have seen all is well. Do ring for my carriage to be brought round.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘A Mr Grey to see you, miss.’ Betsy’s voice held more than a smidgen of disapproval.
Cleo’s pen stuttered mid-word, the ink creating erratic constellations over her description of Cairo.
Mr Grey.
She’d expected him to arrive yesterday, as he’d promised, and she’d resolved to show her gratitude and not a hint of all the other emotions crashing about inside her like billiard balls in an earthquake. But as evening fell she’d come to accept he was not coming. She’d even kept Percy out longer on his evening walk, scanning the darkening square, but it remained stubbornly empty. She could only surmise that he’d heard from Lady Edward that Cleo was now aware of his true identity, and was too much of a coward to face her until she absorbed the news and calmed down.
Well, she had not calmed down in the least.
Mr Grey.
No matter how many times she repeated to herself he was not like William, not like her father...that he owed her nothing and had promised nothing, yet had done more for her in the short time she’d known him than anyone since her childhood world fell apart...that she could and did trust him...that he owed her nothing in the end...even that he had every right to keep his identity to himself—she knew all this, but it still hurt to her core.
No wonder he’d tried to keep her at bay. He’d probably realised that despite all her protestations that she did not want anything beyond the moment, she was weaving him into her foolish dreams of cottages and her little pack of jackals.
The Duke of Greybourne, even returned from the wild, could have no part in that fantasy. Whether he wished it or not he was about to be swept back into a world in which she had no part.
What is in a name?
A chasm. A line as deep and treacherous as an ocean.
