“I said I love you because I do. Because I want you to understand you aren’t alone.”
“I am. I always have been.”
“You don’t have to be.” She offered him so much in the statement. A promise she would be there for him. With those five uttered words, she dashed her dreams to run as far from England as she could. She would no more leave him now than she’d been able to say no from the beginning.
“You don’t love me,” Justin said.
“I do.”
“I won’t have your pity!” he roared, surging to his feet, arms thrown wide.
“And I won’t give you any. Oliver is dead. Pity won’t bring him back. Sympathy, understanding, these are the emotions that will help you through it. Help you deal with his death.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You don’t have a choice. Condolences will already be on the—”
“Not that. I don’t want your love.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t need your love. I am giving it all up. Look where it’s carried me so far. I’ve spent all this time chasing something that doesn’t exist. Like you said earlier, it has blinded me to what could have been.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“In the morning I will fight a duel. It will end once and for all.”
Carmalina followed the line of his finger as he pointed to a case lying on a small table in the corner of the room. The frail light of the moon glinted off ivory-handled pistols.
“Do you really think your father will fight you now? He will have a funeral to plan, a brother to mourn.”
“He will no more mourn Oliver than he would if it were me lying in that bed.”
“You’re wrong.” He would mourn his brother. Not even the great Earl of Billington could be that callous.
“Then where is he?” Justin asked, his voice once more rising to a shout. “Where is my sire right now? He would have been notified yet he doesn’t rush to seek the truth of a hastily scrawled note.”
“He may be on his way.”
“He isn’t.” Justin went to the pistols and picked one up. “I’ll tell you a story about these guns. My grandfather had a set made for each of his sons. They are exceptionally crafted, weighted perfectly and their aim is exact. Oliver was shot by the matching set. By my father. He nearly didn’t survive my father’s attempt to be rid of his own blood. I am quite surprised he never tried to do away with me in the same vein.”
“And the rest of the story?” Carmalina asked. A man had to have a damned good reason to shoot his own brother.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does,” she replied. “Even two brothers who love each other will fight.”
“Stop saying that word,” Justin ordered through clenched teeth.
“No.”
“You didn’t know them. They hated each other. Oliver and George have barely spoken in three decades. Their hate was stronger than love could ever be.”
“A pity.”
“And there it is.” Justin began to walk around the room. He stopped every now and then to touch, to look at his uncle’s belongings.
“What?” Carmalina watched him, studied him.
“The pity. It’s what it all comes down to.”
“I only meant that it was a pity they wasted so much time and energy on what could have been undone.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“Neither do you.”
He didn’t respond to her taunt. Carmalina knew the more she got Justin to talk, the better he would feel.
She played with the lion, only this time, his bite would be so much worse than his roar.
Chapter Eighteen
Justin thought about all that had happened over the last few hours. Carmalina had stood up to his father on his behalf. She’d told Justin what she really thought of his quest to be his own person. His beloved uncle had died and now he was all alone in the world.
Carmalina didn’t mean what she said. She gave him the pity and placating words anyone would in her position. Only a few hours ago, she’d told him she was done and now she professed her love?
Did she think he would become suicidal if she didn’t say what she thought he wanted to hear? He didn’t want love that way. He’d wanted her for his wife but she didn’t know him.
No one did.
Not anymore.
“I want you to leave.” His voice sounded hollow, not forceful enough.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I am terminating our agreement. I will pay you for the full year if you leave right now.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I may very well be dead by tomorrow afternoon and there is nothing you can say or do to change that.”
He heard the rustle of her silk skirts, her every breath as she moved closer. When he felt the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, he flinched and pushed her away. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve her love or her warmth or her vitality.
She was right. Alexander was right. He would die miserable and alone. It was obviously the way it was supposed to be and it had taken him all this time to realize it.
For more than twenty-five years he had been angry at his family. If only he’d accepted their coldness from the start, things could have been different. He’d wasted his life and now with a little luck, it would all be over in a few short hours. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about love and all its damned associated nuisances.
He let his gaze settle on his mistress, disbelieving that he’d been set to drag her into his sorry existence by making her his wife. She’d already been burned by fickle emotion; he knew that. The only reason she said she loved him was out of pity and he didn’t want it. He didn’t need it. “Go.”
Her jaw clenched; her lips tightened into a thin white line and she shook her head.
“I told you to go,” he repeated.
“And I told you, I am not going anywhere.”
“Get out!” he roared.
She rose up, her chin in the air, her chest high, but then planted her feet on the carpet and shook her head again.
Dammit. Why wouldn’t she listen? “I don’t want you to be here. I will only tell you once more.”
“Say it as much as you please. I am staying.” The second her hands came to rest on her hips, Justin saw red. Here was another person who didn’t care a fuck for his wishes, for him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts and grief and there she stood, regarding him with pity and understanding in her dark eyes.
Justin gripped her arm, hard. “You don’t understand,” he snarled. “You can’t.”
He dragged her to the door, opened it, shoved her through the portal and then slammed it shut and turned the key in the lock. He needed to make her understand.
He didn’t want love. He no longer needed it from anyone. His “immature ambitions,” as she’d so callously put it, were dead.
As he soon would be.
He went back to stare out the window, waited for the sun to rise and tried to block out the pounding on the door, Carmalina’s reasoning words a mumbling blur through the heavy timber. She had no idea.
One recurring thought in the forefront of his mind was what Oliver had meant when he’d said his mother had lied to him. Why, in his dying minutes, had he thought of the countess?
And then the comment about a father’s worry…
A strange inkling started at the back of Justin’s neck. It was about time he pulled the truth from his mother and sire. He had nothing left to lose and nowhere else to go.
With one last glimpse of the man who’d treated him better than any other alive, Justin picked up the case with the pistols and climbed out of the second-storey window.
Before any of that, he had to settle his affairs.
* * *
Lionel Schutz of Luster, Schutz and Carmichael was not in the least surprised to find Justin Trentham banging his door down at four o�
��clock in the morning. He had been advised of Oliver Trentham’s condition and waited for the day when Justin came for answers. Lionel had been the man of affairs for the whole family for more years than he could remember and he knew more secrets than any solicitor should be privy to. Those same secrets called to him like evil ghouls from the depths of his file drawers.
Now was the time to let one of those secrets surface but then he would have to find a hole to hide in for the coming storm of fury and scandal. If the youngest of the Trentham clan thought he had shocked the ton to its limits, wait until he was armed with the full sordid details of his parents’ shame.
The family name was about to be more than muddied. It would drown in the filth.
“Good morning, sir,” Lionel said as he opened his door. He never stopped berating himself for living atop the offices where he worked but couldn’t find the incentive to move.
“Schutz.” Justin inclined his head.
“What can I do for you?”
“I would like to make out a will.”
That was unexpected. “Are you ill?”
“Not that I know of. My father and I will engage in a duel later this morning and I would like to have my affairs in order in the event that he kills me.”
“Dueling is illegal, sir.” Lionel was outraged. He didn’t know what else to say. You can’t kill your father, what the devil are you thinking? Among other things.
“So are a lot of activities, yet we do what we have to.”
Lionel scratched his head. “Very well, step inside and we can continue.”
After Lionel sat, he composed himself somewhat and got ready to draw up the document required. “Before we get started, may I enquire as to your family’s health?’
“Uncle Oliver died a few hours ago,” Justin said calmly. “As far as I know, the rest are in perfect health.”
“Died, sir?”
“Seizures apparently.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Oliver Trentham had been one of his favored clients. He was generous and kind even to those outside his social circle.
The briefest flash of grief crossed Justin’s eyes but then was gone. Lionel knew in that moment he hurt more than he wished to let on.
“This does change everything, sir.”
“Why should it? I still need to make out a will regardless of my uncle’s demise.”
“Yes, but now you have more than your own impressive wealth to bequeath.”
Finally, for the first time since opening his door, Justin met his gaze. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are the sole heir to your uncle’s properties and fortune.”
“Are you sure?” Justin asked.
Lionel smiled. He didn’t want to patronize the boy but some things need to be said. “Your uncle wanted you to be happy and as you well know, he and his brother were estranged for a long time.”
“Yes,” Justin mumbled.
“Before I read you his will—”
“Can you do that? I mean before my father has been notified?”
“You are the sole heir. You are the only one who needs to hear your uncle’s wishes for his estate.”
At his nod, Lionel rose and went to his filing system. He took out a large envelope that contained details of the Billingtons’ best-kept secret. He’d tried to advise Oliver against revealing what he would in this letter but the old man had been determined. Oliver had wanted to tell Justin the truth since his first birthday.
Lionel picked up his letter opener, broke the seal and took out the bound document along with a smaller handwritten letter. The letter he handed to Justin. The bound document he opened and began to read.
* * *
Justin could not believe his uncle would leave all of his earthly possessions to him. He had never really thought about it but he would have assumed the fortune and properties would revert to the family coffers.
He wondered just how wealthy he was now. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be around to spend any of it.
While Schutz rattled on about the servants’ entailments, he stared at the letter on the desk before him. Oliver had known he was dying. Was the letter a goodbye?
Could he stand a goodbye? He’d denied his uncle had loved him but deep inside he knew the truth. Oliver had been the only one to ever treat him like a fellow human. Like a man worthy of walking on his own two feet. Over his entire life, Justin could remember every excursion they’d had together.
Oliver had taught him to drive a carriage at just ten years old. By the time he was fourteen he could drive a curricle and pair from London to their country home. Always he would hand the reins back before his father would see what went on.
Most of the things they’d done together certainly weren’t secrets but Justin had always been terrified the earl would take the joy away and that was a risk Justin would never have taken. He treasured the times they’d had, always fancying that that was how a father really should behave.
Tears once again brimmed Justin’s eyes. He dashed them away and reached for the letter.
“Would you like me to give you a moment, sir?” Lionel had stopped reading and was giving him the look. The same one he’d given his uncle when he’d seen him on his deathbed.
“How bad is it?” Justin asked. If anyone knew it would be Schutz.
“It’s not good.”
Justin nodded and waited for the man to leave the room.
Ten minutes passed and still he didn’t open the envelope, terrified of what he would find in the folds. In his uncle’s precise handwriting. Anything left in an after-I’m-dead letter could never be good.
Carmalina’s face appeared in his mind, her smile brilliant, her dark hair and eyes sparkling in the sunshine. He wished she was there with him.
The thought made him pause. He didn’t need her to hold his hand and he certainly didn’t need her comfort. The reason he’d come here in the first place was to ensure she received what he owed her in the event of his death. In fact, he’d been ready to leave it all to her. His last defiant act to show his family he was determinedly serious to the last.
Knowing how ridiculous and cowardly he acted, he broke the seal and pulled out three white pages covered back-to-back with Oliver’s neat cursive.
The first lines made the hair on his arms stand on end and his prickle of unease multiplied painfully.
Dear Justin,
I’m truly sorry for the way you are finding this out. I’d always hoped to be able to tell you the truth but the courage failed me, that and the threat George held over me. Now that I have left this world to stand before my Maker, you need to know. The truth can no longer hurt me but it will set you free from the path of destruction you’re set on.
Please read all of what I have written before you go to confront our family. You need to be fully armed before you enter that particular battlefield.
It all began well before your birth. I first saw your mother when I was just one-and-twenty. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, in her first season and as fresh-faced as any debutante. I was instantly smitten and watched from afar until I could gather the nerve to speak to her. We never spoke of anything important, never discussed more than day-to-day fripperies and I could see that my feelings toward her were not returned. It didn’t stop my dedication. If anything, I was more determined to make her see me. Unfortunately, George also saw her.
We were already less than loving brothers and when he saw how I looked at her, he set out to woo. At first he wasn’t even serious but then she began to open up, like a rose to the spring rain. Before my eyes she transformed from a shy miss to a confident young woman, ready to take on the world and every handsome man in it. When we got serious about our pursuits, she reveled in the attention. The first time she pulled me into the shadows of the ballroom and kissed me I was elated beyond words. I had finally found my bride.
Or so I thought.
Anyway. I’ll leave that story for your mother to tell. Mine is just as shameful b
ut I have never regretted it. Not for a moment.
Ask George about the day he was washed away in the floodwaters near the estate. He was helping a farmer get his cattle to higher ground and was swept away. Your mother and I feared we would never see him again. Men were sent, I helped look for hours in the dark, cold rain and still we found no sign of him. Your mother was devastated.
In our grief, we consumed a little too much warming brandy and one thing quite led to another.
I don’t mean to make light of what we did. It was unforgivable and two days later when your father was found safe and well, he took one look at the two of us and he knew. I didn’t do it out of spite because he’d won the woman I wanted for my wife. By that stage I’d learned she wouldn’t have made the kind of bride I wanted anyway.
They say grief does strange things to people. Don’t let it change you. Don’t make any drastic decisions until you’ve had time to process all of this.
But I digress. Three months after those terrifying days, your mother came to me and told me she was with child. I knew you couldn’t be mine. We had been together only once. After she’d explained a few truths about her marriage, there was no denying it. George already knew and instead of taking it out on me, calling me out or fighting, he gave me nothing but silence.
When you were born, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t allowed to be. It was his way of punishing me. I wasn’t to be involved in anything that would make me feel like a proud father.
To this day and well into my death, know that I have always been proud of you.
Now to the question I know you burn to have answered. I couldn’t tell you. If I’d told anyone the truth, George would have ruined me and sent you away to a place where I would never see you again. I had to settle for the odd day trip to the country or fishing in the stream. When you got older, my brother found other ways to hold his humiliation over my head.
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