Sam had returned to the ballroom in time to see the announcement. St Aldric was grinning like an idiot, oblivious to the fact that the woman beside him was still flushed from the kisses Sam had given her.
As he had for so much of his life, he stood by mute, struggling with his own base desires, and allowed it to happen. He had stood in the garden for a time, waiting to see that Evie got back to the house without help. There were no tears from her, no passionate cries that he return. A profound silence seemed to emanate from the spot they had been. A few minutes later, she had got up and walked away from him.
It felt like the day he had first put out to sea and watched England retreating until it was a dot on the horizon. He had seen the water as nothing more than distance between him and the woman he could not help but love. It was the same now. The ballroom seemed to stretch before him as couples filled the dance floor for a waltz. And Sam was on the only solid spot, losing her all over again.
He took a sip of his drink, wishing that it was something stronger. Another hour, perhaps, and he could make his excuses and depart. But he did not have to stand here, watching her be happy without him.
It had been so easy in the garden, when all innocent, brotherly thoughts had fled like animals before an advancing fire. She wanted him. He must have her, or he would go mad. He felt the pressure building, the desperation to drag her to the ground, throw up her skirts and lose himself in the softness of her body.
He imagined entering, in one quick thrust, the tightness of her, the rush. Her cry of shock at the loss of her maidenhead.
And discovery. Thorne’s shout of outrage. The discovery of the truth.
Disgusting. Obscene. Profane.
He’d pushed her away, horrified at what he had done, but secretly, sinfully triumphant. She was his in all ways that mattered. She would marry the duke. But each time he touched her, she would be thinking of this moment and how much she had wanted another.
It must never happen again. He would go to the Americas this time. Or Jamaica. With luck he would succumb to a fever and his suffering would end.
He turned away from the crowd, hoping to find diversion, in cards, brandy or perhaps a pretty face that might distract him from the only woman he really cared to look at.
Instead, he found their father.
‘Doctor Hendricks.’ Lord Thorne had tracked him in the crowd of well-wishers and Sam checked the height of his raised glass, the fullness of his smile, searching for any telltale signs in his person or behaviour that might show him to be less than enthusiastic for the match.
‘Sam.’ Now Thorne’s tone was as it had been, when he had still been a favoured son. Before he had made his stammering offer for Evie.
‘My lord,’ he said, with a half-smile that he hoped was not too strained.
‘St Aldric and Evelyn have nearly finished their dance. There is no reason to wait longer.’
For what? he wondered. Was he expected to depart already?
But it seemed Thorne was speaking more to himself, than to Sam, as though there was some duty that he had been delaying. ‘I … we … wish to speak to you, in my study.’ If anything, Thorne looked as uncomfortable as Sam felt. It was odd that he could not match his mood to the festivities. Surely, this must be a moment of triumph.
‘Of course, my lord.’ Sam glanced at the clock. ‘On the half-hour, perhaps? That should give enough time for the crowd to settle.’
‘Twenty minutes.’ Thorne seemed to see this as some sort of reprieve. ‘An excellent idea. Until then.’ He moved off through the crowd again and Sam watched him absently accepting congratulations for his daughter’s successful match.
It was damned odd.
And there in the centre of the dance floor was Evie. Dear, sweet Evie, looking almost as overwhelmed as Thorne. As she spun past him, in the arms of the duke, her eye caught his, if only for a moment. She gave him a smile of triumph, her eyes shining not with tears but with an almost evil glee. She had done what he’d requested. She hoped he was satisfied.
If he must lose her—not that she had ever been his—it was better that it be this way. She was angry with him and would be so for some time. If she had doubts about this decision, he would be gone before she expressed them.
But all there proclaimed St Aldric an exemplary man, truly a golden child, who had not allowed the ease of his success to taint his innate goodness. He was worthy of Evie. And he obviously adored her. He would treat her as she deserved to be treated. Sam doubted he could ever bring himself to like the duke. But he would have no cause to see the man again, so it did not matter.
The dance ended. And the precious St Aldric was not at her side, damn him. He had won. The least he could do was enjoy his prize. But Sam had seen Thorne part the couple as soon as the music stopped, whispering something to the duke.
Evelyn had watched. And though she would not have been able to hear what was said, she nodded. There was the strangest look upon her lovely face, as though she was remembering some troublesome detail that rendered the moment less than sweet. Then she had turned back to the crowd, perfection again.
Something was afoot. But damned if Sam could imagine what it might be. The clock ticked out the minutes until his appointment.
When the requisite time has passed, he made his way up the stairs to find Thorne.
And here was St Aldric as well, waiting in the office of his mentor, looking almost like an errant schoolboy, although he had no reason to. The self-deprecation was all the more annoying in its effectiveness. Had he been any other man, Sam would have been instantly in sympathy with him.
But he was not just any man. And Sam could manage nothing more than the expected courtesies. He smiled and bowed to the peer, and to Thorne. ‘My lord. Your Grace.’
‘Sam.’ And there was the old familiarity from Thorne again. Sam greeted it with a cynical smile. Now that Evelyn’s fate was sealed, he was to be a favoured son again? Not bloody likely.
‘I suppose you are wondering … you are both wondering … why I have asked you here,’ Thorne said, unsure which man to look at first. ‘It is at Evelyn’s behest,’ he said.
There was another awkward pause. ‘She realised the truth, you see. And has convinced me that, if it was obvious to her, it might be to others. She thinks that perhaps it would be kinder to settle the matter, before there was any speculation. And since you would be here, tonight …’
Then he paused again, as though the previous statements might mean something and need no addition.
St Aldric was looking back with a crooked grin, as though he could not quite contain his amusement. ‘As it stands, Thorne, the only speculation occurring is between the two of us. It is clear that you wish to share some information and that it is coming difficult for you. Please, speak. Doctor Hastings and I are quite in the dark.’
Thorne looked back and forth between the two of them now, like a rabbit caught between two foxes. ‘I must first say that I mean no disrespect to you, your Grace, or to your father, who was a dear friend of mine. Nor was it ever my wish to betray his confidence.’
‘Since he has been dead nearly ten years, he is unlikely to call you out on it,’ St Aldric said, with an encouraging smile. ‘But I take it that he swore you to some secret or other and that it is weighing heavily on you, now?’
‘It is nothing so very serious,’ Thorne said, encouragingly. ‘Nothing that many other men have not done. There was no real disgrace in it. And you must know that your father was always the worthiest of men.’
‘It pleases me to think so,’ St Aldric said with a nod.
‘It is only because the truth is likely to come forth with or without my help, that I am speaking now,’ Thorne said.
‘Then out with it, man,’ St Aldric said, with another smile. ‘The good doctor can attest that, when pulling a splinter, there is no point in drawing slowly. It only prolongs the pain, as this prolongs suspense. What is this not-so-terribly-dark truth that you have been concealing from the world?’
‘This happened when you were just an infant, obviously. And your mother still quite fragile. There was …’ another dramatic pause ‘… an indiscretion.’
Sam’s attention had begun to wander. It was clear that, whatever the problem might be, it was St Aldric’s concern and not his. Perhaps he was here in case the shock proved too great and a physician was needed. If that was the case, he would have done better to bring his bag.
But there was nothing about the duke that made him think the man would be prone to fits at receiving bad news. His colour was high, of course. But considering the reason for the evening, it was only natural.
‘Since both my mother and father are gone from this planet, I see no reason that such information should be concealed any longer. Speak with my blessing. Immediately, in fact.’ Even a saint had limited patience. It appeared that St Aldric had reached the end of his.
‘There was issue, from this indiscretion,’ Throne said hurriedly. ‘The child survived.
A boy.’
‘But that would mean …’ St Aldric gave a surprised shake of his head. ‘I have a brother?’
‘A half-brother,’ Thorne said hurriedly.
St Aldric was forwards in an instant, gripping the man’s arm. And for the first time since meeting him, Sam saw what he must look like when angry. ‘You knew of this? And did not tell me? Damn it, man, I must know all.’ He calmed himself just as quickly. But it was clear that he was eager for more news. ‘Did my father reveal anything about him? For I would like to know him. No. I must.’
‘It will not affect the succession,’ Thorne said hurriedly. ‘You are the elder. And he is a bastard.’
‘I do not care,’ St Aldric insisted. ‘He is my blood, whoever he is. He is both kin and responsibility to me. He will not want. I shall be sure if it. I have a brother.’ His face split into a grin of amazement.
As usual, St Aldric was proving himself to be the most admirable of men, showing not an ounce of jealousy or outrage at this sudden revelation. There was no sign that he viewed it as an embarrassment. To be gifted with a bastard brother was not an inconvenience to him. On the contrary, he seemed to think it a marvel. Despite his charmed life, the duke had lacked but one thing: a family. And, of course, God had granted him that. Now he was complete.
It was just one more depressing sign that he was the perfect mate for Evie. The man was as kind and generous in private as he was in public. Sam supposed that it was just another sign of his debased character that he still wanted to choke the life from the fellow.
‘He has not wanted. Not for a moment,’ Thorne said hurriedly. ‘Your father put him in my care from the first and swore me to secrecy.’ Now he looked past the duke, to Sam. ‘I raised him as my own. I told him nothing of his actual parentage. I misled him …’
And now both men in the room were looking at Sam, Thorne giving a shrug of apology.
‘I do not understand.’ But, of course, he did. This meeting had been about him, all along.
‘I did not get you from a foundling home,’ Thorne said. ‘Your mother was a seamstress named Polly Hastings, who lived in the village of St Aldric. She was struck with childbed fever and could not care for you. I took you away, shortly before she died.’
‘My mother.’ He’d known he had one, of course. But he had not thought of her in years. And his father …
‘You told me …’ He could not manage to finish the sentence, for the implications of it, though they had been horrible before, were becoming all too clear.
‘What I told you before does not matter,’ Thorne said in warning, as though he would be likely to blurt out the story he had been told, in all its repellent detail. ‘This is the truth: the old duke was your father.’
And that changed everything. In one sentence, he had gone from monster to man. His desires were neither base nor sinful. They were a perfectly natural affection towards the most beautiful of women. There was no impediment to realising them.
The room was spinning. Or perhaps he was. The sudden lightness of spirit might have set him turning like a windmill. It had certainly unsettled his brain. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not seem to call for the brandy he so desperately needed. Or the air, which he could not manage to take into his lungs.
When Sam opened his eyes again, he was staring at the ceiling. Thank God, Evie had not been in the room to witness this or she’d have teased him ‘til his dying day. It was bad enough to have fainted in the presence of St Aldric and Thorne. There was no point in arguing that he had weathered battle without incident. He had been ankle deep in blood and severed limbs, the screams of the wounded and the smell of death close about him, and had never had such a reaction as this. They must think him weak, easily overwrought, sensitive and emotional.
But it was worse to think of Evie standing over him, laughing at his discomfiture, while the man who was his half-brother weathered this news with good humour and sang-froid.
‘Are you all right?’ St Aldric was looking down at him with a bemused expression that split into another grin. An oddly familiar expression, for it was rather like the one that Sam saw when shaving. Now that he was encouraged to see the similarities, it was plain that they were brothers. Colouring, eyes, the height of the forehead and position of the ears—all were similar to his. There could be no doubting it.
The Duke held out a hand, ignoring his silence. ‘I suppose this comes as rather a shock.’
‘You have no idea.’ It had been the rush of knowledge that had done for him, just now, the new facts pushing the old certainties from his head. And the knowledge that he had been wrong, so very wrong, about the one thing he had been most sure of.
Evie could never be his. She was his sister. His feelings for her, no matter how powerful, were vile and fetid. All his adult life, he had known himself for a sick dog, or a base sinner, unworthy of the company of the one he most wanted. No amount of distance, violence or Bible thumbing had offered relief.
Then, in an instant, he had been washed clean. The well-manicured hand still hovered before him, blurring slightly as the last of the swoon cleared itself and his pulse returned to normal. Sam gripped it and allowed himself to be pulled upright.
‘It was a great shock to me as well,’ St Aldric supplied, trying to put him at ease. ‘I had grown quite used to the fact that I was the last leaf on a dead family tree.’
‘I am a natural son,’ Sam said, still confused by the man’s joy at this news. ‘I hardly think that counts me as part of your tree. A weed beside it, perhaps.’
‘Better that than blasted, bare ground.’ St Aldric was staring at him with a strange hunger, then pulled him forwards into a brotherly hug.
Sam felt the hand that had lifted him clapping him firmly on the back, then the duke gripped him by the shoulders and held him apart, staring into his face as Sam had to the other, a moment ago. St Aldric was memorising the features, cataloguing, comparing, finding the agreements just as Sam had done and nodding in revelation. ‘You have no idea what a relief it is to find kin of any kind, when one has resigned oneself to being alone.’
There was no response Sam could offer to this but a blank stare. He had never felt the need of a brother and certainly did not want the father and sister that he’d thought he had. It was better, so much better, to think oneself alone than to have those. Now, he had been thrown into yet another family that he did not wish for.
His feelings must have shown on his face, for St Aldric looked away in embarrassment. ‘I am sorry. I did not think. You know all too well what it is like to be alone. But that has changed for both of us. I will acknowledge you, of course. And I will help you in any way I can. I’d have done it for Evelyn’s sake, of course. But there is so much more reason now.’
Evie.
He had forgotten the events of the past hour. Lady Evelyn Thorne was now engaged to the Duke of St Aldric, who was, apparently, his brother. It was like losing her, only to think he had won her, and then lose her
again. Everything had been settled between the three of them. It would be most unworthy of Sam to spoil the happiness of his brother and steal Evie’s best chance at a match.
The decision took little more than an instant to make. It might be unworthy, but he would do it in a heartbeat. Evie loved him. Her words and actions had proved it, just an hour ago. Sam owed nothing to this interloper. Despite what St Aldric might think, they were still enemies. All the good will and kittens in the world did not change the fact.
‘As I said when we first met in the garden, your help will not be required,’ Sam said, softly.
St Aldric’s eyes widened in surprise, as though he had never considered the possibility that someone might refuse him. ‘What reason would you have to deny me? Surely I can open doors for you that you could not open yourself.’
‘I have been content with making my own way thus far,’ Sam reminded him.
‘Sam.’ Thorne’s voice held a fatherly warning to mind his manners and accept the charity of his betters. It gave him an hysterical desire to laugh in the man’s face. There was no earthly reason he need follow the advice. Thorne might have raised him, but the pretences were so false as to render the relationship without value.
‘And now you might be more than content,’ St Aldric said. ‘You must be my personal physician, as Evelyn suggested. It would be little more than an honorary position for many years, I assure you. I am young and healthy. But there would be a stipend attached to it. And the honour of association. You are still unmarried. I suspect that there would be many women who would actively seek you out.’
‘Evie.’ He was struck dumb yet again, and, if he was not careful, he would faint for the second time in his life, right here on the office carpet.
‘And you said she knows of this already?’ St Aldric looked to Thorne for confirmation. ‘It makes her actions so much clearer. The eagerness that we meet. The suggestion that I take you on.’ St Aldric was grinning at him again. ‘For a time, I quite thought that there was something else to it. But now it is clear. You will be as a double brother to her. And dear to both of us.’
The Greatest of Sins Page 9
