Her lower lip quivered and her beautiful blue orbs glistened to match his own.
“Thank you, Wynchester,” she said.
…
Impossible. Thea slid off her knees and toward her husband. Her thigh came to rest on the floor and her torso, his chest. They huddled together like common urchins and he rested his cheek on the pin-piled mess of her hair.
For the first time in years, she felt truly comforted, and by the man she had blamed for her loss. Impossible.
He cupped the back of her neck with tender fingers and lightly kissed her hair. A funny sort of warmth slid down through her spine and pooled in her belly. She knew this man better than any man alive, and yet he was a stranger. He cradled her in his arms in a way he’d never held her before.
Just be still. Something she’d never been able to do. Be still.
She thought of Wynterhill’s forbidding sand-brown stone, standing half in ruin and half in modern magnificence. She thought of the quiet in what remained of former cloisters and let that quiet settle into her heart. Wynchester had loved Wynterhill so much. So had she. That love was one of the few things they’d shared.
Could she return to the room with the empty cradle? She could, if Wynchester was by her side.
“Have you been,” she turned to look into his eyes, “to Wynterhill?”
“I have gone.” He said solemnly, rawness in his gaze. “But I always find I cannot stay.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “Not without you and not without my brother.”
The mention of Eustace trickled into her feeble consciousness like cold rain.
How could she have forgotten about Eustace? About the very reason she was here?
She reached up and touched Wynchester’s cheek. Emma had asked if he’d been told. Now, Thea knew the terrible answer. Wyn did not know Eustace was alive.
But of course. Would he be here, cradling her to comfort the loss of an unborn child if he had known his brother was alive? No. He would be seeking the living. And, if Eustace had been another kind of man, she would deem his actions correct—no matter how sacred the moment they just shared.
Merciful heavens, what should she do?
This moment felt like Eden, new terrain never explored. She thought of Eustace and frowned—Eden indeed, but after the fruit had been eaten with the serpent very much alive and still on the hunt.
How much time did they have until the Privy Council released Eustace? A few hours? A day? A protective fervor swept through her body. She untangled out of his arms. Soon, very soon, he would learn she had seen and even spoken to Eustace last night. When he found out, he would feel hurt and betrayed by her silence.
She would not lose the shining, golden chance she’d just been handed.
“What is it?” He searched her face for some answer. “Should I not have spoken—?”
“No,” she took hold of his hands. “No—it’s only something has—” Goodness. Why did she have to be the one to tell him? “Has Mr. Harrison been to see you today?”
“He came.” Wynchester cleared his throat. “Bates turned him away. I was in no condition for company.”
She braced herself with the bench. Sensing her intention, he stood and helped her to her feet. He looked down with tenderness and concern shining in his eyes. She had never—ever—seen such an expression in his eyes. Oh God. It was wrong, wrong to have this moment snatched from her grasp.
“I,” she faltered, “I cannot tell you what your offer means.”
He grimaced. “I should have made the offer long ago.”
Ah, but that left her aching. “Thank you,” she repeated.
His brows drew together in an expression of discomfort. “Let us leave off thanks. Perhaps then we can also leave off recriminations.”
Another dull ache. Wyn was trying, poor dear, trying as he’d never tried before. Damn Eustace. This was not fair.
“A moment please, Wynchester,” she said. “There is something important you should know.”
“Go on,” he said, discomfit subtly progressing to worry.
“Last night,” she started, “I sent your carriage home.”
“Yes,” he said. “And you told the coachman to remove all spirits from the house. Not that I blame you,” he added.
“No—no, that’s not it at all,” she said in a rush. “The spectacle does not concern me. Harrison’s visit does. He came to tell you what happened after you and the other guests departed.”
He frowned. “Duchess, you are pale. Whatever it is, it will be well. Come, sit.”
She shook her head no. If she did not tell him quickly, she would lose courage altogether. “The most extraordinary thing happened,” she struggled to recall the first time Harrison had seen Eustace, “when Lavinia was suspected of murder.”
“The Furies,” he said with some bitterness.
She ignored his tone. “While investigating, Harrison and Harrison’s man Sullivan thought they recognized someone they’d known in India. Last night,” She swallowed, “I, too, confirmed his identity.”
“India?” His frown deepened. “Who do you know in India?”
“Last night,” she repeated, paying his question no heed, “the man Harrison recognized shot Sophia’s half-sister.”
“Good God!” Wynchester tightened his hold. “Were you near?”
“Not when the shot was fired.” She paused to gather breath and strength.
“The Furies are trouble.” An angry light entered his eyes. “After something like this surely you must see—”
“Wynchester,” she interrupted, “you asked who I would know in India.”
His brow furrowed and his cheeks grew taut. She said a quick prayer. Whatever happens, help me keep him safe.
“Your brother,” she said, studying his reaction, “is alive.”
…
Her words clanged in his head—out-of-tune and grating.
“Lord Eustace?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, urgently.
“My brother?”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“Is alive?”
“Oh, Wyn,” she said breathlessly.
His knees bent, his thighs hit the bench and his elbow, the keys. A sudden, outward cacophony to match the one inside.
“Wynchester!” she exclaimed, followed quickly by a cry of, “Bates! Bates! Come quickly!”
His brother was alive? And Thea Marie had seen him last night? “Why did you not tell me at once?”
Worriedly, she searched his gaze. “I—I thought you had been told.”
“How?” he frowned.
“By Harrison, of course.”
“Of course.” There was nothing of course about this situation. One moment he’d been holding her in his arms, finally able to confront their loss, and then…
He blinked at his wife, studying the ripple between her brows. Something was off. Perhaps talk of the past had altered her in some way. Perhaps she was not quite right. Perhaps she believed the dead were living and the impossible was “of course.”
“Are you well, Duchess?” he asked carefully.
“Yes, I am well,” she said. “Bates!”
Footsteps sounded in the gallery.
“Bates,” he called, “the duchess has suffered a shock.”
She blinked. “I’ve suffered a shock?”
“What’s happened, Duchess?” said a man who was not Bates.
He turned in unison with Thea. Harrison stood just inside the door. Bates shadowed him, wringing his hands.
“Please forgive me, Your Grace,” Bates said. “Mr. Harrison would not be stopped.”
“That is fine,” he said, at the same time Thea said, “Very well.”
Wyn glanced askance at his wife. Her expression matched his surprise and concern. She spoke to Harrison.
“I’ve just told him Eustace is alive.”
“I see.” Harrison clasped his hands behind his back. “I should have returned sooner.”
“But then,” Wynch
ester rose and stepped toward Harrison, “she has not gone mad?”
“Wynchester!” she exclaimed.
“Well,” Wynchester glanced back, “you must acknowledge good reason for concern.”
“Your wife is not touched,” Harrison said. “Lord Eustace is alive.”
Alive. His brother, whom he believed was dead and buried far away in unhallowed ground, was alive. He swiveled back to his duchess and grabbed her arms.
“Thea Marie!”
“Please do not be angry…”
Her tone…that was what was off. She sounded afraid.
“Angry?” he asked in astonishment. “Eustace is alive! And—and you are home!”
With one arm, he crushed her to his chest and with his other hand, he tilted up her face. He murmured her name in happy reverie and then he claimed her lips in a kiss filled with the sense of promise flooding his veins.
She remained still beneath his kiss. Still, but with an involuntary tremor. He broke away. Her pale cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide.
“Harrison,” she panted, “Wynchester may be the one in shock.”
“In shock?!” Wynchester laughed. “I am thrilled! Thrilled, I say. What greater gift than this? Where is he, Harrison? Is he well? Let us get him. We shall all go home to Wynterhill.”
Thea Marie appeared distinctly not thrilled.
“What is the matter with you?” Wynchester asked. He turned to Harrison, who had not said another word. “And you?”
“Did you not understand?” Thea asked. “Last night, Eustace shot Sophia’s sister dead.”
Ah, yes. She had said something about those damnable Furies and a shot, hadn’t she?
“There must be,” he said, “some explanation.”
He hadn’t even known Lady Randolph had a sister, was it not reasonable he remain unmoved? Thea Marie, on the other hand, looked as if she might swoon. He tried to think of something to say—but the joy of his brother’s return buzzed louder than rational thought.
“I am sorry for your friend,” he said.
“There was blood,” she replied, looking at him with an odd expression.
Blood. Of course. Such a sight would have brought back painful memories. He reached out, cupped her chin, and ran a soothing thumb along her cheek. He had given her sensibilities no more consideration than he’d had in the past. Well, he intended to be different, now. More solicitous.
After all, fate had been in his dice last night, and today Providence had granted him a miracle.
“Bates,” he said, “Her Grace requires assistance.”
“I need assistance?” she asked.
His wife. He cradled her jaw. His brother. All three of them together. Yesterday had begun in despair. Today could hold no greater joy. Two of his wishes had been answered. And the third… His expression softened. A family.
“You must take care, Thea Marie,” he said. “Why don’t you rest,” he broke into a wide grin, “while I collect my brother?”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear.”
“Do not fret.” He kissed her brow. “It will be well. I will make it well.” He turned back to Bates. “Will you help the duchess to her rooms?”
“My rooms,” Thea gave a frantic, little chuckle.
“Where is he, Harrison?” Wynchester asked.
“The Privy Council,” Harrison replied, “is prepared to release him into your care.”
“There now,” Wynchester swung back to his wife. “Would the Council release a murderer?”
Her gaze settled on Harrison. Harrison pursed his lips and shook his head no. A distinct look of weariness settled over her features. Something had passed between the two. There was more here than he understood—but no matter. He would take charge and all would be well. Taking charge was a duke’s office.
“You will take me to him,” he said to Harrison—more command than question.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Harrison said, dropping his usual familiarity.
“To my rooms, Bates?” Thea Marie asked.
Wynchester caught her arm as she passed. In her eyes he saw none of her usual haughty reserve.
“You understand I must go,” he said, suddenly uncertain.
She smiled faintly. “You always frame questions as statements.”
Why did he feel like a rook sliding on a bishop’s angle? “I suppose I do.”
“I understand.” As she passed Harrison she touched his arm and requested Lavinia write her a letter.
“Duchess,” Wynchester called.
Pausing with one hand on the doorframe, she glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
A sinking sensation weighted his stomach. “You will be well?”
“I will, Duke.” She turned away and he barely heard her amended finish. “My duke.”
Chapter Four
Over the next fortnight, Eustace resumed his place in the household, obsequious and grateful to the duke but distantly polite while in Thea’s presence. Club-and-coffee-house efforts to squelch rumor and innuendo concerning Eustace’s absence and mysterious return consumed Wynchester. In the little time Wynchester allotted for home, he assumed the marriage mask Thea remembered well—formal with his version of due respect and deference. His only request had been that she plan a soiree to celebrate Eustace’s return.
Since she refused to stoop so low as to knock on his bedchamber door, the soiree was her only hope to recapture his regard.
On the afternoon preceding the party, the Furies gathered in the seclusion of Thea’s bedchamber.
She smoothed out the skirts of her new dress, scrutinizing her robe à la polonaise in the floor-to-ceiling looking glass.
Her bodice and skirt, both dyed the deep purple once reserved for royalty, transformed her light blue eyes to an ethereal violet. And the open overskirt, trimmed with black satin and seeded with pearls, shimmered where the fabric draped, accenting her still-slender waist.
But the crowning piece of her personal design was the black petticoat beneath the open skirt. In an arguably vulgar display, she’d ordered the Wynchester crest and motto fidelitas et officium—fidelity and duty—embroidered in silver-gray thread.
“How very,” Lavinia raised her brows, “unexpected.”
“I had,” Thea said dryly, “no precedent to follow.”
“Really?” Sophia chuckled. “I cannot believe there has never been a soiree held in celebration of a presumed-dead heir’s return.”
“Not one presided over by a disreputable duchess,” Thea made a mock curtsey, “recently restored to her unimpeachable duke.”
“I hear,” Lavinia said, with a mock-conspiratorial air, “it is a must-attend event.”
“Every invitation was accepted.” Thea grimaced. “Were this a normal year, most of the ton would have retired to their estates by now. Curse the recent elections and our new Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House, Mr. Pitt. July is no time for Parliament to be in session.”
“Harrison believes,” Lavinia said, “Pitt will keep Parliament in session until he is assured his East India Regulation bill will pass.”
Thea sighed. So much for seeing Wynterhill anytime soon.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Sophia asked.
“Not only must I attend,” Thea lifted her chin, “tonight, I must change Wynchester’s course. Until we have proof of Eustace’s crimes and intentions, I am Wynchester’s protection against whatever Eustace has planned.” She could not and would not let the viper triumph.
Sophia tilted her head. “Ah, I understand, now.” She entwined her fingers with Thea’s. “The crest is meant to challenge anyone who would question your position.”
“Eustace in particular,” Thea replied. “Besides, if I must dance with the devil, I insist on being extravagantly dressed.”
Lavinia broke into a grin. “Inspired, dear Decadence. And these ringlets,” she lifted one of the black curls cascading out of a crowned center down Thea’s back, “add the perfect touch…innoce
nt as a bride and proof a duchess need not follow fashion.”
Sophia folded her arms. “I profess myself proud.”
Thea ran her fingers over the embroidery. “I suspect I have hit with a sledge when a switch might have done.”
“Well,” Lavinia chuckled, “you will certainly command attention.”
Ah, but would she command Wynchester’s attention? His was the only attention that mattered. And it mattered more than she wanted to admit.
“At the very least,” she sighed, “the boning in the bodice will keep me straight as an oak—no matter what whispers follow me tonight.”
Lavinia squeezed Thea’s hand. “You will not be cut. No one is high enough in the instep to displease Wynchester.”
“Besides,” Sophia flicked the gems hanging from Thea’s right ear, “whispers are easier to bear when heard through ears glittering with diamonds.”
“Well,” Thea cast Sophia a sideways smile, “if I cannot win the ton’s hearts with my triumphant return, I plan to leave them awed.”
“Are the hearts of the matrons,” Lavinia asked, “the only hearts you wish to win?”
Thea brushed non-existent dust from her sleeve. “Eustace is a threat to Wynchester’s life. That is the only reason I returned.”
She had not told the Furies about the connection she and Wynchester had shared. They would not forgive Wynchester for his hasty retreat after such a soul-bearing moment, because they did not know him in the same way.
“Lavinia,” Sophia asked, “do you recall the day a growing mob trapped the three of us inside Vaile house?”
Lavinia shuddered. “How could I forget?”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” Sophia continued, “but did not a musket-brandishing Duke of Wynchester help disperse the crowd?”
“He did,” Lavinia replied, “…by the side of my Mr. Harrison, of course.”
“Ah,” Sophia sighed. “I thought I was remembering correctly. Was that the same afternoon we heard Thea call the grand Duke Wyn?”
“I believe,” Lavinia said, eyes over-wide, “that was right before Wyn pulled her into the hall.”
Sophia’s lifted her brows in a saucy manner. “I wonder what they discussed…”
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