Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“ P ardon, Your Grace, but you have a Mr. Varley at the door,” Morgan’s valet, Claude, announced.

Morgan’s words and train of thought ceased as he heard the name, but he smiled charismatically at the gentlemen seated before him and said smoothly, “I believe my next appointment has arrived. Can I answer any further questions before we conclude?”

“Looks like another solid trade investment to me,” Lord Barryl replied cordially, standing up.

“I shall leave you to it, Lord Grandhill,” Lord Shanks stated. “All seems to be well in order as usual.”

Morgan shook their hands calmly, hiding the growing tension inside him as he thought of the man waiting to see him. After Helena’s last visit he was left feeling disjointed and uneasy. Though he had finally accepted that he was falling in love with her he knew he could not have her.

Still, that did not mean that he could let her marry Luke. Something was off with the man. Something familiar, cold and evil, but he could not put his finger on it, so he had once again called upon Mr. Varley, a private investigator who had assisted him during the investigation into his father’s death.

“Your Grace,” Mr. Varley greeted pleasantly, bowing to Morgan as he was shown into his office.

Morgan gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he poured out two glasses of whiskey.

“Mr. Varley,” Morgan greeted, handing him a glass, “I am surprised to see you again so quickly.”

“My investigation is not concluded,” Mr. Varley warned quickly, pulling a folded letter from the inside of his jacket. “I am afraid that your viscount’s past is still wrapped in mystery, but when I found this I knew I had to come to you immediately.”

Whiskey forgotten, Morgan set down his glass and reached for the offered paper. He quickly read over its contents and his eyes snapped to a particular word on the page. Without bothering to finish reading the rest, Morgan looked up from the letter and pinned Mr. Varley with an intense stare.

“Where did you find this?” he demanded.

“As you know, Your Grace, a man’s office can hold quite many secrets,” Mr. Varley replied with a shrug, then took a drink of his whiskey.

Morgan did not know why he had even bothered to ask as he returned his attention to the word burning a hole in the page. Whittler. The man responsible for their fathers’ deaths. The man they had sent to prison just a few months’ earlier.

“The viscount’s office, however, was quite sparse when it came to personal information,” Varley continued. “It was strange, really, how little of himself could be found in the space. Even this letter contains no trace of him. Yet, for some reason, he has correspondence from this particular man.”

“It makes no sense,” Morgan mused, reading over the instructions in the letter. Like the others Ezra had found months ago, this one provided simple instructions as to when and where the dukes were to meet. “Why would he have this? Ayles is only five-and-twenty, he would have been a mere child when our fathers were killed.”

“I will keep searching for that very reason,” Mr. Varley assured him, “but my suspicion thus far is that he is somehow related or attached to Whittler. His paternal history is unknown. It is possible that Whittler could be his father.”

It was a leap, and a big one, but it was enough to take to Ambrose, Morgan decided. Even if Whittler was not Luke’s father, it was still suspicious that he held a letter written by their fathers’ murderer.

“Do you have any more leads?” Morgan asked.

“I have discovered the name of his mother. Francis Trawley,” Mr. Varley explained. “She was a lady’s maid, but she died about six years ago. I have found traces of her work history, and will figure out where she was working when she became pregnant. Then I will begin tracking down her old coworkers, to see if they remember her ever mentioning someone of interest.”

Morgan pulled out his billfold and handed Mr. Varley a stack of pounds.

“Come to me the moment you find out more,” he commanded. “Day or night.”

“Your Grace,” Mr. Varley agreed, bowing as he took the money, understanding that their conversation was now over.

As soon as he was gone, Morgan tucked the letter into his jacket and called for Claude.

“Your Grace?” his valet asked, entering the office.

“Cancel my last appointment for the evening,” Morgan commanded as he walked past his valet and into the hall. “Tell them some urgent family business has arisen.”

Helena smiled wanly in Luke’s direction. She was not at all sure what joke he had made, but she had noted the smiles on Ambrose’s and Barbara’s faces, the merriment of their polite laughs, and she joined in. In truth, if asked, she could not recall a single thing Luke or anyone had said that evening. Every conversation with him seems to be the same. Polite. Filled with compliments. And utterly dull.

Although he was a perfect gentleman, Helena’s mind could not focus on him. Not in the same way it focused on Morgan. It had been three days since she had gone to see him. Three days since he had bared his soul and held her as if she was his lifeline. And three days since he sent her away, leaving her feeling lonelier than she ever had in her entire life.

“Oh, Ayles, your wit is unmatched,” Ambrose chuckled, shaking his head. “Helena, do you agree that your husband-to-be is quite the storyteller?”

“Oh, quite so,” she agreed quickly, masking her boredom with another smile.

“Tell me, which part of the story did you enjoy the most?” Luke asked her earnestly.

Mentally, Helena flailed as she scrambled to find an answer, not recalling a single word the man had spoken through the entire dinner. She was fumbling with her words and twittering laughter when the doors to the dining room opened, and a servant appeared to announce the arrival of Lord Grandhill.

Relief and surprise combatted one another as Helena’s eyes focused on Morgan’s approaching figure. His eyes filled with the briefest touch of warmth as they met her gaze, but hardened into a predatory glare as he looked at Luke sitting beside her. Alarm scurried through her as she saw the absolute vitriol in Morgan’s eyes.

“Morgan,” Ambrose stated, his tone full of surprise as he rose from his seat, “What a pleasant surprise.”

Morgan glared at Luke another moment before his mouth twisted into a wicked smile, and he turned his gaze towards Ambrose. They had not spoken since his outburst in the park, and Helena was not at all sure what was about to happen.

“What brings you to us?” Helena asked, unable to help herself. She could not deny it. She was happy to see him, even if he looked as deadly as a wolf among lambs.

“I came to offer my apologies,” Morgan’s words came icily, his eyes still fixed on Ambrose. “For my vulgar behavior before a friend and a lady.”

Helena watched with growing interest as Morgan then bowed before Ambrose.

“Well, brother,” Ambrose said slowly, rising from his chair with a raised brow, “that is kind of you. And, of course, you are forgiven.

“We will speak more on the matter later,” Morgan stated with an air of authority as he straightened his posture.

“Indeed,” Ambrose agreed, then waved a hand towards the free seat opposite Helena. Join us. We have only just started.”

Helena’s heart leapt and began to hammer at the devilish twitch in Morgan’s smile as he examined the offered seat.

“Why, my dear friend,” Morgan stated dramatically, pulling forth his jester persona as he reached for the back of the chair with a flourish. “It would be an honor.”

Helena then watched in a transfixed state as Morgan transformed the boring dinner into one of boisterous laughter and interaction. The polite but tight smile Ambrose had worn for Luke grew into an open, wide-mouthed grin filled with laughter as Morgan injected life and warmth into the room.

Although he tried to disguise it, she also noted how Luke had stiffened in response to Morgan’s presence. On multiple occasions he had attempted to steer Morgan’s stories towards one his own, trying to reclaim the center of attention. On each occasion, Morgan would halt Luke’s words with a clever retort that was so polite it would cause everyone else to laugh and ignore the true sting of his subtle insults, save of course, Helena and Luke.

The delivery of his insults was more sophisticated than the manner in which he had hurled them that day in the park, but no matter how wittingly he coated his pointed words with politeness, Helena saw the toll they took each time they slashed at Luke’s pride. By the end of dessert, Luke was quick to excuse himself.

“Leaving so soon, old chap?” Morgan asked, his voice thick with sarcasm as Luke picked up Helena’s hand and kissed it.

“It seems my fiancée is being entertained enough this evening by her, what was it she called you in the park? Brother?”

For the first time since he had taken over the conversation, Morgan’s charming, confident smile faltered.

“Yes, brother, ” Luke repeated, emphasizing the sibling relation with a hard tone as his lips drew into a smile that could have easily been mistaken as a snarl.

“Now would be the best time for this sibling-like reunion in any event,” Luke said, his tone dripping with false remorse as he rose from his chair. “After our wedding, Helena will be joining me in Ashfield and we shall be terribly busy there for quite some time. I am afraid you will not have dinners such as these with her much longer, Morgan.”

Morgan’s green eyes deadened, but he did not lose his smile.

“It is Your Grace to you, Ayles,” Morgan corrected. And we will see about that. No one keeps us from our family.”

Not breaking his challenging gaze from Luke, Morgan tilted his head towards Ambrose.

“Ambrose, is that not right, brother?” he asked.

“I am afraid it is,” Ambrose agreed, giving Luke a regretful shrug oblivious to the growing tension in the room. “When we want to see Helena, we will see Helena. Not even your marriage will keep us apart.”

“It is true,” Barbara agreed, reaching across the table for Helena’s hand. “We will always be there for our sister.

Helena felt a rush of overwhelming love as she accepted Barbara’s hand and looked at the three sets of eyes that stared adoringly back at her. She beamed at Ambrose and Barbara, returning their genuine sibling love, and felt her heart skip a beat when she focused on Morgan. There was no kin-like love in those eyes. Not anymore. It was pure, burning desire. Hot, and possessive.

“Of course,” Luke agreed, his gruff tone pulling Helena’s focus from Morgan.

Helena felt the pain shoot through her fingers as Luke’s grip hardened on her hand. She instinctively tried to pull away from his grasp, but Luke pulled her to her feet and captured her attention with a vaguely threatening glare. Helena felt another, stronger urge to pull away from him.

“I shall see you tomorrow,” he stated. His tone made it clear that it was not a request for an invitation, but a command. “Will you kindly walk me out?”

Helena felt a scurry of alarm pass through her as a note of cruelty resounded in his voice.

“I shall do the honors,” Ambrose stated, rising from his chair at the perfect time.

He walked over to Luke and clapped him on the shoulder. As he did so, Luke finally released Helena’s fingers. “You are not married yet, my friend.”

Helena pulled her aching fingers into the palm of her other hand as she watched a pleasant, polite smile settle over Luke’s face as Ambrose led him out.

“You are right, I am too excited for our wedding day. I got ahead of myself,” he agreed amicably as they left the dining hall.

“Your Grace,” a maid called, coming to Barbara’s side, “I beg your pardon, but the cook said to kindly remind you of tomorrow’s luncheon menu.”

“Oh, yes,” Barbara sighed, standing up from the table. “I almost forgot that we needed to secure that. Very well.”

“Excuse me, you two, I will return shortly,” she said to Helena and Morgan before disappearing after the maid.