She frowned. “I thought he didn’t answer.”
Colin scraped a hand over his face, then dropped his head to stare at the floor. “It was later. He and Tannenbrook were playing billiards. Chatham and I overheard them discussing his plans for you.”
“You eavesdropped on them. Perhaps you misunderstood.”
Eyes that were the same blue-green as her own rose to search her face. They were sad, regretful. “Atherbourne said he only married you to take you away from Harrison. His aim was to ‘deprive Blackmore of the only thing he holds dear.’ It was his plan all along, Tori. I’m sorry.”
A part of her had already known. That voice she wished to silence whispered it over and over. She’d chosen to ignore it, to believe Lucien’s plan was one of opportunity, rather than design. Why it mattered, she wasn’t certain. But it did. Oh, how it did. She slowly backed away from Colin. The air grew thin, the light ashy. Eyes frantically darting about, she sought a different answer, one that would allow her to breathe.
You never meant anything to him.
No, he cares for me, I know he does.
He used you, and he will toss you aside as soon as his revenge grows cold.
No, please. Not that.
“… not going to swoon, are you?”
Colin’s voice drew her attention to her brother’s concerned frown. Shaking her head, Victoria gripped the back of a nearby chair and sucked in a stuttering breath. It brought the room back into focus, but did nothing to staunch the frantic internal quarrel.
“I don’t understand it,” she whispered achingly. “What would cause him to go to such lengths?”
The silk of the settee rustled as Colin shifted restlessly, then shrugged with studied casualness. “Must still be vexed about losing his brother.”
“Did you know Gregory Wyatt?”
Tossing back the last of his tea in a swift motion, Colin nodded and set the cup on the table with a clink. “Met him a few times. Nice chap. Shame about the duel.”
She moved around the chair, plopping gracelessly into the seat. “What—what was it all about, do you know?”
Colin’s eyes glinted sharply, narrowing on her. “Atherbourne didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head. “He refuses to discuss his brother at all.”
Dropping his gaze from hers, Colin rose unsteadily to his feet and paced to the windows, staring out at the square, his arms folded over his chest. “Atherbourne—the last one, that is—accused Harrison of dishonorable behavior.”
She glared at the back of her brother’s tousled blond head. “Thank you, Colin,” she said tartly. “I had deduced that much. What, precisely, was his accusation?”
“It is not for a lady’s ears.”
Victoria snorted disbelievingly. “You expect me to believe Harrison—our brother, the Duke of Blackmore—was accused of something so dastardly, you cannot even speak of it in my presence? What poppycock. He is far from perfect—”
This time, it was Colin who released a snort.
“As I was saying, Harrison is not without his faults, but he is, above all things, honorable. Besides which, he is a duke with considerable influence. For a peer to call him out, there must have been a dreadful misunderstanding.”
Colin’s voice was thin and rather muffled, but she heard him reply, “Atherbourne did not appear to think so.”
Her patience teetering, Victoria threw up her hands and cried, “What in heaven’s name could be a matter of honor so dire that a man died over it?”
“That is an excellent question.”
The words whipped across the room from the parlor entrance. Victoria stood, spun, and gasped, her hand splaying across her midsection in a protective gesture.
“Lucien,” she whispered breathlessly.
He looked … explosive. Dark fury fired his eyes, flexed his jaw, bristled through his taut form as he advanced menacingly into the room.
“Shall I answer, my darling?”
She shook her head. “I—I don’t …”
His eyes refused to leave hers, burning through her weak protest. He stopped directly in front of her, his size and nearness overwhelming. “The most honorable Duke of Blackmore seduced my sister then left her to suffer the consequences alone. She was seventeen.”
Pain. So much pain shone in his eyes, it made her throat tighten on the longing to soothe him, her arms aching to hold him. What he was saying made little sense, but there was no denying he believed it to be true.
“She could not bear it. The humiliation,” he rasped. “He took her innocence. And she took her life.”
Again, Victoria whispered her husband’s name, reaching for him. He reeled back several steps as though she had tried to cut him.
“That is your paragon of virtue and honor, Victoria. He caused my sister’s death. Then he shot Gregory without so much as wrinkling his cravat.” Lucien stopped as though out of breath. A muscle beside his mouth twitched with emotion. “Within a fortnight, I lost all the family I had left. And your brother is responsible.”
~~*
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Were we ever such fools when we were that age, Meredith? I think not. Perhaps it is something in the water.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Berne upon spying a young lord falling into the Serpentine.
For a full minute, Victoria struggled to breathe, to absorb Lucien’s accusation. It couldn’t be true. It was, quite simply, impossible. The Harrison she knew was strong, intelligent, principled. He was also one of the most controlled people she had ever met, especially when it came to women.
As the Duke of Blackmore, her brother represented the ultimate catch—handsome, wealthy, and titled. She had watched him over the past two seasons, fending off one boldly flirtatious debutante after another, eluding and deflecting their advances like a wily cat escaping capture.
The idea that he would involve himself with a seventeen-year-old girl at all, much less ruin and then abandon her, was so far out of character it was patently absurd.
But Lucien, who still stood broodingly several feet away, clearly believed it, as had his brother, Gregory. For Victoria, it was confusing, exasperating. She knew almost nothing about the circumstances surrounding the duel, as Harrison had never deigned to discuss it with her. She had not even been aware Lucien had a sister, for heaven’s sake. Given the unfortunate manner of the girl’s death, it was somewhat understandable—one did not even whisper of such things in good families. But how could Victoria be expected to unravel such a tangle when it was shrouded in the secrecy of shame and infernal male pride?
Taking a deep breath, Victoria eyed her husband, steeling herself against the urge to simply accept his version of events and wrap him in her arms. Unquestionably, her foolish heart felt it belonged to him, wanting to forgive him for its deep wounds, yearning to heal his.
“I can see you believe Harrison to be responsible for your sister’s death—” she began hoarsely.
“Because it is the truth,” he interrupted, his voice low and dark.
Victoria gritted her teeth and sighed. “Honestly, Lucien, I did not even know you had a sister. Do you not think you could have explained the situation a bit more fully? I am your wife, after all.”
Brows lowered in a scowl, he took two long steps toward her, causing her skin to prickle and her heart to thud once. Twice.
“About that,” he said silkily. “The wishes of your husband were perfectly obvious, my dear. How is it that you are here?”
Righteous anger bloomed from deep within her, outrage returning in a fiery surge. “You dare to ask me that? I am here to see my brothers. And thank goodness I came, or I would not have suspected Harrison had been turned away from my home five or six times!” By the last word, her voice had risen to a full-on bellow.
Fuming and fixated on her dark-haired devil of a husband, she only dimly noticed Colin edging toward the parlor doorway. As he passed Lucien, he murmured, “Best take cover, Atherbourne. Last time I saw her
like this, I nearly lost a toe.”
Without removing her eyes from Lucien’s glowering face, she pointed toward the entrance and spoke one word to her brother. “Leave.”
Brows raised and eyes wide, Colin held both palms out in surrender and backed out of the room. “Leaving,” he said.
By contrast, Lucien was not intimidated by the threat of her unusually intense anger. Beyond mere vexation, she was incensed that he could treat her so callously, profoundly hurt that he did not care for her enough to alter his strategy.
He either did not realize or was not bothered by the depth of her feelings. He propped his hands on his hips and tilted his head almost casually. “Perhaps the promise to obey me should have been removed from our marriage ceremony. It is clear you never intended to keep it.”
She sucked in a breath, disbelief flooding through her. “You—you insufferable—”
“I give you credit for cleverness—”
“—scurrilous, despicable—”
“—but it is time you returned to where you belong.”
“—pompous, controlling ass.”
Unwisely, he smirked. “Now, now, my dear. Language.”
That. Was. It.
She screeched straight through her boiling point and, before she could stop herself, she charged him, her straightened arms shoving hard at his chest. If she had not been so blinded by fury, she might have laughed at his wide-eyed gape.
Much like a stone wall, Lucien was typically unmovable. But taking him by surprise, her physical attack was a shocking success, causing him to stumble backward. As she swung wildly, pummeling his thick arms and chest, their feet tangled. Lucien lost his balance, then his footing.
With a loud thump, he dropped hard onto his backside, taking Victoria to the floor atop him where she soon directed her blows to his face. He managed to grasp one of her arms, but her right fist sailed straight into his left eye. Shards of pain shot through her knuckles as they glanced off his brow bone.
Simultaneous cries of “Ow!” echoed in the room. Victoria scrambled to stand, hampered by her skirts, yanking at the fabric where it was trapped beneath his boot. Meanwhile, Lucien cupped his injured eye, uttering a foul curse.
Her hand throbbed, and she felt like an idiot for losing her temper so abominably, but she had to admit to a twinge of satisfaction at finally bringing her husband to his knees. Or, rather, his backside. At last gaining her freedom, she stood over him, breathing heavily, watching him scramble to his feet, one hand still over his eye. He lowered the hand. And the remorse began. His poor eye was red and rapidly swelling, especially near the brow line.
Backing up a few paces, she absently rubbed her knuckles. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Not really.
“Good God, Victoria,” he said incredulously. “Where did you learn to hit like that?”
She tightened her lips and raised her chin. “I grew up with two brothers. Not that it matters to you.” Brushing briskly at her skirts, she continued bitterly, “If you had your way, I would never see them again. What did you think I would do, hmm? You claim Harrison robbed you of your only family. Did you expect me to sacrifice mine without a fight?”
He tentatively pressed the skin at the corner of his eye, wincing and clenching his jaw. “Considering you are my wife, I expected you would accede to my wishes.”
“Rubbish. You knew better, or you would not have enlisted the servants to aid in your deception. Tell me, how many letters from Harrison were intercepted by Billings?”
Lucien sent her a dark look from beneath lowered brows.
“I thought as much,” she said tartly.
He shook his head, suddenly appearing tired. “I do not wish to discuss this here.”
“I can only surmise you place a dear value on the punishment for Harrison’s sins—”
“Victoria.”
“—but surely you considered the consequences for me. Your w-wife.” She heard the strain, the heartache in her own voice, causing it to go thready and high. “Did you want to punish me, as well, Lucien? Losing your brother must have been agonizing. Did you ever think I might experience similar misery upon losing mine? Is that what you wanted? Or was it simply a wound you were willing to inflict, so long as you could have your revenge?”
“Victoria, stop,” he growled.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She needed to know.
“Do I matter to you in the slightest, husband?” she whispered.
He hissed and moved swiftly toward her, grasping her upper arms before she could take her next breath. It hurt—not physically, for while his grip was firm, it was also gentle. But, oh, how it hurt to be touched by him, to feel her breasts press against him, to be surrounded again by his heat and spice. As though sliced and bleeding inside, her heart writhed and became sluggish. Her head grew light, her body weak.
He gave her a small shake. “Stop this. You are upsetting yourself needlessly.”
She braced her palms on his gray woolen lapels and leaned closer to him. Her forehead slowly fell into the cushion of his cravat. Her eyes squeezed closed, forcing tears down her face in a warm trickle.
When she spoke, her voice was raw, muffled. “Please just tell me, Lucien. Do I matter to you?”
A long pause was followed by his deep baritone rumbling above her head, beneath her fingers. “He must pay for what he’s done.”
The simple statement was all the answer she needed. Darkness yawned before her, clawed viciously at her, whispering and then murmuring and then shouting that he did not love her at all. He never had.
She had been his weapon. Nothing more.
Stupid, stupid girl.
His hands stroked up and down her arms in a soothing motion, much as a parent would gentle a child. A cold shiver ran through her, and she pushed away from him. He let her go, his expression strangely closed, vaguely desperate. His arms remained stretched outward for several seconds as though he did not know what to do with them. They dropped to his sides.
That was how Harrison found them a moment later, standing in his parlor staring at one another. Utterly lost.
“Tori? What the devil is going on here?”
She and Lucien swung around to watch her oldest brother stride into the room. He swept off his hat and handed it to Digby, who followed him like a shadow then retreated without a word.
Seeing him again, so tall and solid, his handsome features so familiar, caused Victoria to rush toward him instinctively. His eyes widened before he frowned and enfolded her in a tight embrace. Tears coursed silently down her cheeks, and she whispered his name.
Harrison’s arms hardened and his entire body stiffened. When he spoke, his voice was quietly ominous. “Atherbourne, I warned you what would happen if she was harmed.”
Alarmed by his threatening tone, Victoria shook her head and wiped her face. She pulled away enough to gaze up at Harrison. His jaw was tight, his face stony as he glared over her head at Lucien.
“I am all right, Harrison. Simply happy to see you.” Her weak, wobbly smile did nothing to erase the furrow of concern from his brow.
“You are a fine one to speak of harming a woman, Blackmore,” Lucien remarked coldly.
She could almost feel Harrison bristling at the implication. He set her gently to one side and approached Lucien. “Your accusations are as baseless as your brother’s. If you continue, you may reach the same end. Right now, making my sister a widow is rather tempting.”
“Spare me your denials. And your threats, your grace,” Lucien spat. “Both have grown tiresome.”
Harrison’s head tilted in a predatory way Victoria had seen before, albeit rarely, in her dignified sibling. He could be intimidating, but this particular look signified a rather alarming seriousness of purpose. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word, she interrupted by blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Harrison, did you mistreat Lucien’s sister?”
Both men swiveled to stare at her. Harrison was the first to recove
r. “I never met the chit.”
“You lie,” Lucien growled.
Harrison ignored him, addressing his answer to Victoria. “The previous Lord Atherbourne accused me of grave misdeeds against her, but I have no idea how he reached such an appalling conclusion. I told him as much, but … well, it is obvious he did not believe me.” He glanced to where Lucien stood, visibly fuming. “It appears your husband is suffering under the same misapprehension. Unfortunate, that.”
“A mistake, was it?” Lucien said, his voice a lash. “I suppose it was mere coincidence that Marissa was seen entering and leaving this very house on multiple occasions. Or that her letters were delivered here over the course of several months.”
In an unusual show of agitation, Harrison’s nostrils flared and his jaw flexed. “To my knowledge, your sister was not even out yet.”
Victoria blinked. “She wasn’t? Then, how could you have met her?”
Her brother’s blue-gray eyes flashed with a spark of irritation. “As I said, I knew nothing of her until the day Gregory Wyatt stormed in here demanding satisfaction. Even if I had, I would not have touched her. She was little more than a child.”
“A child you seduced and then discarded as you would a common doxy,” Lucien snarled.
Turning toward her husband, Victoria said softly, “What if he didn’t?”
Lucien’s glower grew fierce, his lips flattened. “He did.”
“What if you are wrong, Lucien? What if Gregory was wrong?”
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. You want to play this game? If I am wrong, explain her presence at this house. Not once, mind you, but again and again. Explain why she would have her letters delivered here if she were not corresponding with someone in this household.”
“Perhaps she was visiting someone else. Writing to someone else,” she suggested.
His mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “She left a letter for me and Gregory, did you know? Before she … died. It was on her bureau beside a vase of flowers.”
She was afraid to ask, but she had to know. Being kept in the dark had led to this … this disaster. Although she would probably not like the answers, it was well past time that Lucien told her the truth, ugly though it might be. “What did it say?”
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