by Darcy Burke
Aquilla laid her head back against the squab and clung to her anger. It was that or dissolve into tears.
By that afternoon, Ned was nearly at his wit’s end. He stood near the tree where he’d found George two weeks ago. He’d searched all over the area over the past several hours, but he kept ending up back here. He tried to think of where his brother might’ve gone, but he’d exhausted every hiding place—both inside and out—that he was aware of. He was afraid there was one, or more, that he knew nothing about. Like the secret passageway.
They’d followed the passage to a closet in the scullery. From there, it was an easy walk out the door to freedom. They’d talked to all of the staff, and one young maid said she’d seen a woman leaving the scullery through the back door.
Though the maid hadn’t been able to describe the woman other than that she’d worn a veil, Ned was certain it was George. The timing matched up, and who else could it have been? How George had obtained women’s clothing was a mystery. Had he been planning an escape like this? Ned didn’t think so—he’d thought George’s anger and reaction had been due to learning of Ned’s marriage. But maybe it went deeper than that. He began to think he should’ve listened to Aunt Susannah. Perhaps George did require more care than he could give.
Whatever George’s motivation, Ned felt as though he’d failed his brother.
Just as he’d failed his wife. He’d left her without a word, and now he was stuck here.
Unless he returned to London. He shook his head. He couldn’t abandon the search. George could be anywhere, and it was becoming increasingly likely that he wasn’t even at Sutton Park anymore.
Suddenly, the bell they’d used for their previous search pealed. Ned took off at a run, his boots pounding over the damp earth and spraying mud.
Catching sight of his butler standing on the terrace, Ned raced to him. The butler held out a letter. “My lord, this just arrived.”
Ned tore open the parchment and scanned the contents.
Sutton,
I finally understand why you spend so much time at Sutton Park. I don’t wish to compete with your many women, so I’ve decided we should live apart. You did agree to let me leave if I wasn’t happy.
It was signed simply, Aquilla.
Ned was still trying to catch his breath, and now he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. With a hammer.
He had to leave.
Dr. Paget ran onto the terrace heaving, his face red. “What is it?” His eyes were hopeful.
Ned shook his head. “I need to return to London.”
Paget’s eyes widened with shock. “Now? You can’t.”
The hell he couldn’t. “I can and I must. You’ll continue the search and keep me abreast of what’s happening. I’ll return as soon as possible.”
“My lord, what if we don’t find him?”
“If we can’t find him today, we’ll have to recruit more people to search tomorrow.” Ned didn’t know what else to do. The weight of responsibility had never felt so heavy.
The doctor stared at him but eventually nodded. “We’ll find him, my lord.”
Ned had begun to doubt that, but his primary wish was that George was safe. Oh, how he prayed that he was safe. If he wasn’t, Ned wasn’t sure how he would forgive himself.
A short time later, Ned was on the road to London. He’d opted to go on horseback so that he could travel more quickly. The rain had picked up again, but he didn’t care. He’d ride through hell itself to get to Aquilla. He didn’t know what the devil had happened to cause her to believe he had other women, but he’d disabuse her of that lie.
And he’d tell her the truth about everything else. Including how much he loved her. How much he needed her in his life.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
When the coach pulled up to Satterfield House, Aquilla reached across the coach and gently touched her companion’s knee. “We’ve arrived,” she said.
The woman jerked to attention, straightening in the seat. Her hat and veil pitched to the side, and she pulled it back in place. “Goodness, I slept the entire trip, didn’t I?”
“Yes. We’re in Mayfair, but I’d be happy to take you to your destination.”
The footman opened the door and offered his hand to Aquilla, but she gestured to the other woman. “After you.”
“Why, thank you!” the woman said brightly. She picked up her bag and clambered from the coach rather ungracefully. Perhaps she was still trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. Whereas Aquilla felt as though she were stretched taut, with all her nerve endings frayed with distress.
Aquilla climbed down next and turned to invite the woman inside. However, the woman was already walking away down the street at a rather fast pace. Aquilla called after her, “Wait!” She didn’t even know the woman’s name.
The woman didn’t stop, however.
“Shall I go after her?” the footman asked.
“That isn’t necessary,” Aquilla said, frowning. “What an odd woman.”
She climbed the stairs, and Harley admitted her into the house. “Good afternoon, my lady. Is her ladyship expecting you?”
“No, is she here?”
“Yes, she’s in the sitting room. May I take your hat and gloves?”
She nodded and handed him the items before trudging into the sitting room. The ire she’d clung to for a good portion of the carriage ride had all but dissipated, leaving a hollow ache where her heart was supposed to be.
Lady Satterfield looked up from the newspaper she was reading and stared at Aquilla. “My goodness, you look distraught. And you’re back far too soon. What happened with Sutton? Come and sit.”
The countess patted the space on the settee next to her. Aquilla needed no further urging. She dropped to the cushion and exhaled, hoping to dispel some of the tension in her frame. It didn’t work.
“I never reached Sutton Park. It was raining, and we came across a woman who was on her way to London. She was from the village and told me…things about Sutton.”
“I can tell from your tone that these were not good things.” Lady Satterfield’s lips pursed and then turned to a frown. “Who was this woman?”
“I don’t know,” Aquilla said, feeling foolish that she hadn’t learned the woman’s identity. “She said that Sutton is a philanderer, that he’s fathered a number of children.” Aquilla’s voice broke. “That he’s a brute.”
Lady Satterfield gasped. “I can’t believe it.”
“I couldn’t either.”
“How do you know that what she says is true?”
Again, Aquilla felt a bit foolish, but she’d spent a good portion of the journey trying to think of why this woman would lie and had come up with nothing. “She has no reason to deceive me. Why fabricate such stories with a stranger you’ve just met?”
“Perhaps she was playing on your emotions in order to gain passage to London. Where is this woman now?”
“Gone,” Aquilla said. “I suppose she could’ve made the story up when she learned who I was.”
She looked at Aquilla with sympathy. “What will you do?”
“I stopped at an inn on the way back to Town and dispatched a letter informing Sutton that I will not be returning to his town house. May I stay here?”
The countess reached over and patted her hand. “Of course, dear. Stay as long as you like.”
Aquilla had never been more relieved to have the countess’s support. “Thank you.”
“I think you need some tea,” Lady Satterfield said.
The tea did help, but Aquilla still felt adrift. She’d never felt as though she belonged with her family, but that had all changed with Lady Satterfield and then with Ned. Now, having had that sense of family and connection, she suffered the loss of it quite keenly.
The countess had asked for her old room to be prepared, and Aquilla wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and try to sleep. Maybe she’d feel better after a respite.
She excused
herself and rose from the settee, thinking she probably wouldn’t feel better for some time. As she stepped into the hall, the butler opened the front door.
Aquilla turned her head and froze. Standing at the threshold, thoroughly drenched, was her husband.
He charged inside without even looking at Harley and swept his hat from his head, sending droplets of water sprinkling over the entryway. “Aquilla, thank goodness I’ve found you.”
Her heart twisted at the sight of him. “I’ve heard some disturbing rumors that we need to discuss.”
His eyes widened. “We need to discuss many things. I need to tell you the truth.”
She heard the stark plea in his voice and couldn’t help but feel moved. Still, by his own words it seemed he had lied. “Calling you the Duke of Deception was a bit of fun I had with my friends. I had no idea it was accurate, especially not after I came to know you.”
His gaze was intense and steady, causing her to shiver. “I am the Duke of Deception.”
Nothing he said could’ve surprised her more. He hated that name. She remembered the first time she’d called him that—she’d been the one standing there dripping wet. He’d been offended, but curious at the same time. She’d been drawn in by him even then. How she wished he was the man she thought him to be.
She raised her chin and gave him a look that conveyed a disconnection and carelessness she didn’t feel. “I believe there’s nothing more to say.”
He moved toward her. “There’s everything to say. Beginning with I love you.”
She was wrong—that was far more shocking to hear.
“My lord,” Harley said, “I believe her ladyship has said she doesn’t wish to speak with you.”
“Please, Aquilla, just listen to what I have to say, and if you want me to leave when I’m finished, I will. Forever, if that’s what you want.”
Her heart, already trampled and bruised, was cracking in two. She might regret it, but she couldn’t bring herself to ignore his pleas. “All right.”
Lady Satterfield, likely hearing them, had come to the hall and now exchanged a look with Aquilla that seemed to ask if she needed assistance. Aquilla gave a tiny shake of her head as she turned and walked into the dining room, where she and Ned would be alone.
Ned followed her and closed the door behind him. Tossing his hat on the table, he came forward, but she moved to the opposite end. He stopped, perhaps understanding that she wanted distance between them.
He stripped his gloves off and set them on the table beside his hat. “First, I want to apologize for leaving last night. That was rude and inconsiderate of me. I was angry—stupidly so.”
Aquilla nodded. “Yes, you were stupid.”
The corner of his mouth briefly lifted while his eyes remained dark and anxious.
She eyed the water dripping from him to the floor. “Take off your great coat and give it to Harley before you create a puddle.”
Ned shrugged out of it, sending more water to the carpet, then opened the door and gave it to the butler.
When he’d closed the door and turned back to her, his brow was deeply furrowed. “You want to hear of my deception.”
She didn’t really. She wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. She wanted the man she’d married. But he didn’t exist. “Yes, tell me about the women.”
He stared at her in utter confusion. “Your note mentioned women, but I didn’t understand what you mean. I still don’t.”
“The ones you conduct liaisons with and sire bastards on.”
His jaw dropped briefly, and then he took a few steps forward. In response, she moved around the table until they were on opposite sides. “There are no women. Only you. Who told you this nonsense?”
“You claim this is nonsense after admitting you deceived me?”
He gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “It is nonsense. Where did you hear this?”
Apprehension crawled up her spine. “I met a woman. On the road. In the rain.” Aquilla was having a hard time stringing words together, which she would’ve found absurdly amusing if she wasn’t tied in knots.
“What woman? Where?”
“Outside Sutton. I’d gone to see you. To Sutton Park. I was tired of being left in London.”
He looked pained. “I do have a reason—”
“Yes, your women.”
His knuckles whitened. “There are no women!” He groaned and then took a deep breath as he pulled his hands from the chair. “There are no women. Truly. You met a woman on the road, and she told you this absurdity?”
“Yes.”
“She was lying.” His brows formed a V over his perturbed eyes. “Who was she?”
Aquilla had to admit that his outrage was rather convincing. “I don’t know. She was from the village. She said your reputation was well-known there.”
“It is not, because there is no such reputation. What did she look like?”
The foolishness she’d felt intermittently earlier came back twice as strong. “I can’t say. She wore a veil.”
He froze, except for his gaze, which slid to the side and stared into nothing.
“Ned,” she said softly, suddenly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and muttered something before affixing his gaze on her once more. “That wasn’t a woman. That was my brother.”
Aquilla suddenly felt the need to sit. “Your what? I thought your brother was dead. Although you’ve never even mentioned that to me.” She glowered at him, feeling quite cross. Did this mean there were no women? That his brother had lied to her? While dressed as a woman? Oh yes, she needed to sit down.
She pulled a chair from the table and dropped onto the cushion. “You’ll need to start at the beginning, I think.”
“Yes.” He started around the table, and she eyed him warily. “May I sit with you?”
She turned in the chair as he pulled out the one beside her. He angled it so that he would face her.
He sat down and looked at her hands, as if he wanted to touch her. She clasped them tightly. She wasn’t ready for that. Her mind was awhirl with confusion and frustration.
He lifted his gaze to hers. “I didn’t tell you about my brother because most everyone believes he is dead. When he was sixteen, he went mad and set Sutton Park on fire. My father, against my mother’s wishes, decided it would be best if my brother—Peregrine Bishop—died in that fire. And so “George,” some distant cousin we’d agreed to care for, was taken to Bethlehem Hospital, where he stayed for eight years until my father died.”
Aquilla knew her eyes were wide, and she felt unshed tears burning the back of her throat. But she was utterly speechless. It was no wonder he cared so deeply for the insane.
He looked toward the windows cloaked in their dark gold curtains, but she didn’t think he was really seeing anything. His eyes were glazed. Tormented. “I hated that he was there, but my father wouldn’t allow him to come home, no matter how much my mother or I begged. My mother’s heart was broken—first by Peregrine’s illness and then by my father’s refusal to keep him in our family.”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely audible to her ears above the pounding of her pulse.
Ned continued, “They tortured him relentlessly at Bethlehem. My father wouldn’t allow me to visit until I was seventeen, and even then, he didn’t want me to. In those three years since I’d seen my brother, he’d changed so much—I didn’t even recognize him. I vowed to move him out of there, but my father refused. It wasn’t until he died that I was able to take George home to Sutton Park. By then the damage was quite pervasive. He remembered next to nothing about his former life. Those first couple of years were extremely difficult, but he gradually came to recognize me.” He smiled sadly. “He still doesn’t remember much else. He’s been George, my cousin, ever since. Peregrine really did die in that fire. I can show you his headstone at the church in Sutton.”
A tear slid from Aquilla’s eye. “I can’t imagine what y
ou’ve been through.”
“There’s one other thing.” He turned his head and regarded her with a dark intensity. “Peregrine was my older brother. The heir. He was supposed to be the earl.”
Now she understood why he’d said what he’d said—that he was the Duke of Deception. His entire life was a lie. “You mustn’t feel guilty. This was your father’s doing. And even if Peregrine hadn’t died, he would’ve been found mentally unfit, wouldn’t he? You would still be the earl.”
The anguish in his gaze didn’t dim. “Probably. But what if he’d never gone to Bethlehem? The path of his life was irrevocably altered by what they did to him there. I’ll never know what could have been, because that was stolen from him.”
She couldn’t stand it any longer. She scooted forward in her chair and took his hands—they were so cold—in hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shook his head, his eyes clouded. “I don’t know. I wanted to trust you, but I was afraid. I’ve kept George a secret since I was fourteen. The only other people who know he’s my brother are my aunt and the butler at Sutton Park. I needed to find a wife I could trust, but when it came time to do just that, to trust…I didn’t know how.”
She brought one of his hands to her lips and softly kissed his cool flesh. “I understand what that feels like. It’s difficult to relinquish the thoughts and ideas we’ve nurtured for so long. And it’s perhaps even harder to open ourselves up to someone else.” Oh, how she understood that. “I shouldn’t have believed the things the woman—George—told me in the coach. But I’ve seen the worst of men with my father and my brother. Like you, I was afraid to trust someone. And afraid that I hadn’t chosen a husband that was better than my father and brother.” Her throat tightened. “But I know that I have. To think of all you’ve done to protect your brother… It’s incredibly considerate.”
