Chapter Seventeen

C HAPTER S EVENTEEN

“What shall I do?” Christina whimpered. “What if the fairies keep me as well?”

Lady Long-Nose turned so that the fairy could not see her lips and whispered, “You must go. Sabinus’s life might well depend on it. Here.” She thrust one of her letters into Christina’s hand. “Give this to the Fairy King should he demand more poetry.”

At this Christina began to wail, “Please, you must come with me!”…

—From Lady Long-Nose

Quinn had spied Lord Mulgrave leaving London in the wee early hours and it was that news that preoccupied Julian in the afternoon. They hadn’t heard anything from Lucretia, either good or bad. Julian was cautiously optimistic that that meant she hadn’t been caught. But then why would Mulgrave quit London? To search for her himself? Hardly a reassuring thought.

As he walked through London, Julian debated with himself whether to set off after Mulgrave himself or even send Quinn. Which was perhaps why he didn’t realize something was wrong until he arrived at Opal’s Coffee House.

Heads turned as he entered. Several leaned close to their neighbors to murmur something.

A man smirked at him.

Julian shook off the feeling of being talked about. It wasn’t the first time that tongues had been set a-wag by his stained reputation. Augustus had seen to that when he’d first brought Julian and Quinn to London and made sure that everyone knew about Ran’s beating and blamed him.

Julian got his tankard and brought it to a table in the corner. Archway was already seated by the hearth nearby, but he rose as Julian sat.

Archway didn’t look over as he fussed with his hat and stick, but Julian heard his murmur. “Not here, not now. Money is money, but I cannot be seen with you. Your peculiarities should’ve stayed behind closed doors.”

Julian didn’t turn as the other man left. Didn’t blink or otherwise show that he’d heard anything, but his senses were suddenly alight. The hissing of the whispers near him, the giggle from across the room, a laugh cut off.

Peculiarities.

This was his worst fear made real.

He could hear a pounding in his head, the racing of his blood, the animal desire to flee when cornered. But fleeing only prompted a predator to chase.

Julian made himself take a sip of coffee, the liquid tasting like boiled slops. He slowly opened a newspaper and feigned reading a column, though he had no idea what it said. He could do this. Wait it out for ten or fifteen minutes. Show them he wasn’t afraid.

But he couldn’t help the trickle of sweat down his spine. Had to constantly tamp down the temptation to look up, to see how many were watching him.

Another sip.

He could do this.

He would do this.

He was a Greycourt, and however sullied that name, he bore it proudly.

So Julian sat and sipped, though his stomach was acid, and when his tankard was done he slowly folded the paper and rose.

Everyone. It was everyone watching him, from an elderly man in a full-bottomed wig to the boy who ran errands for tuppence, sneering in the corner.

Julian didn’t pause or hesitate or make any sign at all that he was aware of the combined stares. He placed his hat on his head and strolled leisurely toward the door.

He was nearly there when a man with yellowed teeth muttered, “Like it on your knees, do you?”

Julian turned and looked down with eight generations of aristocracy behind his cold stare. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said…,” the man began, but trailed off under Julian’s icy gaze. “Nothing,” he muttered, turning back to his table.

Julian stood watching the man a moment longer to make his point plain and then drawled, “Indeed.”

Outside, the wind was whipping around corners and spitting rain that stung his face as he turned toward Windemere House, for there was only one person who had the power to disseminate the rumor so fast.

How had the duke known?

Julian had always been as discreet as possible, to an almost obsessive degree. He hid his identity if he could and held his affairs at Adders instead of London. Made sure the women he purchased were by reference only and were paid well. There were only three servants at Adders: the maid, Mrs. McBride, and Vanderberg.

The only time he’d broken his rules was with Elspeth.

That… that had to be coincidence. Yes, she’d lied about the book and had left him cold in the bed they’d made love in. But to betray him in this way was so low he couldn’t fathom Elspeth doing it. She was too kind, too sweet. But if it wasn’t she, then that left only servants who had been with him for years—Vanderberg and Mrs. McBride for decades.

It must be Vanderberg. The valet was in London, had seen Elspeth at Adders, and certainly, after all these years, had had more than a hint of what Julian did in the country.

The thought brought him pain—more pain. The coffeehouse had been like fighting through a battlefield, and he hadn’t even met his prime enemy yet.

There was no one else the traitor could be. If not Vanderberg, then who? Mrs. McBride or the maid, whatever her name was, both of whom never left Dydle?

Or Elspeth.

If Elspeth had betrayed him in this way, he would never recover.

Julian shook his head. Windemere House was in sight, and he must armor himself. It didn’t matter in the end who had betrayed him.

He couldn’t trust anyone.

With that thought firmly in mind, Julian knocked at the door to Windemere.

Johnson opened the door, and when he caught sight of Julian, his mouth twisted in a nasty sneer. “What do you want?”

Julian didn’t bother answering. He shoved the butler aside and walked in.

“’Ere now!” Johnson shouted behind him, but Julian didn’t stop.

He took the stairs two at a time, striding down the hall to his uncle’s study.

He shoved open the door to find Augustus in consultation with a man in a bobbed wig and half-moon spectacles.

The other man jumped, but Augustus merely smiled, leaning back in his chair like a self-satisfied lizard fat with slugs.

“You mustn’t mind my nephew, Doctor,” the duke said. “He’s of a nervous disposition and prone to unnatural urges.”

The doctor sucked in his breath, peering at Julian over his spectacles. “This is…?”

Augustus nodded with sickening pity. “The one you’ve heard about. Yes.”

The doctor coughed and stood. “Then I’ll bother you no longer, Your Grace, since you have… erm… family matters to attend to. I’ll leave my instructions with Her Grace’s lady’s maid. The duchess most likely merely ate something that didn’t agree with a lady’s delicate stomach. Better in no time, I’m sure. With your permission?”

The duke nodded graciously as the doctor bowed himself out the door.

Julian deliberately took a chair, carefully arranging his hat and cane on his knees before looking at his uncle. “You think you’ve won. You haven’t.”

“No?” Augustus laughed. “It certainly seems like victory from my point of view. Your embarrassing perversions are known by all in London. Soon in all of England. This bit of gossip is delicious! The nephew of a duke who enjoys licking the feet of women? Who can’t even get a stand without being humiliated?” He tutted. “Why, boy, if I’d known you’d liked that sort of thing, I would have beaten you bloody when you lived with me. I think we’d both have enjoyed that.”

The words were nothing more than what Julian had expected. What he’d imagined for years in his own mind. They hardly mattered now. It was almost a sort of relief: his secret was in the air, no getting it back, no stopping it. There was nothing he could do or say or even hope for to ameliorate the disaster.

It was almost freeing.

And with that thought, Julian relaxed and smiled at the old man. “Stories. Simple stories. My reputation is ruined, yes. I won’t ever be able to wade through society’s waters again, but it’s a small loss, I think.” He shrugged. “After all, I can do other things with my time. Read. Travel. Oh, and do business. Because a man’s ability to do business is about money, not personal matters.”

Augustus grinned, steepling his fingers on the desk. “Of course. But it’s almost impossible to do business without money to invest. Something of which you have very little.”

“True.” Julian bowed in mocking admiration. “I quite forgot how wise you are, Uncle. I think, though, you’ve forgotten one other thing a man needs to have to do business.”

“Do tell me your thoughts on business, Nephew. You must have many, considering how little you’ve done over the years.”

“Well, yes,” Julian said lightly, “that has been what I’ve made pains to make you believe.”

Augustus stilled.

“But as to your question…” Julian felt a savage smile widening his lips. “I think you’ll agree that a man’s reputation is vital for business. If a gentleman were, for instance, to poison to death his sister-in-law, and the truth came out…?”

The duke choked, and for a glorious second, Julian thought he might have an attack of apoplexy. Then the old man got out, “What? What have you done?”

He wasn’t even able to pretend disinterest.

Julian spread his hands wide. “I’ve spent the last week talking to your business partners. Showed them notes that my mother left, detailing how you killed her. I’m surprised you haven’t heard that your secret is out as well.”

Augustus stared wildly for a moment before spitting, “Mary. Your bitch of a mother was far too sly.”

Julian rose. “My mother was never the word you called her, but she was a remarkably clever lady. Yes. She realized what you were doing and left me the evidence to find. Really, it’s she who is the author of your downfall.”

He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Augustus shouted.

Julian glanced back to see his uncle half-risen from his seat and leaning heavily on the desk, his face suffused with red rage. “Yes?”

“Whom have you told?” the duke demanded. “Who knows?”

“Everyone,” Julian enunciated. “I’ve explained exactly what you did to all the gentlemen who ever did business with you. Even the ones you no longer do business with. After all, a man’s reputation is the first currency in business. Without it?” Julian shrugged. “You might as well be penniless.”

He closed the door quietly behind him.

Julian made his way to Whispers that evening, glad of the shadows. After this, he’d leave the city, help Lucretia, and find somewhere to lick his wounds. But first he’d confront her.

He ran up the steps to Whispers and pounded on the door. It opened to reveal Hawthorne.

“Where is Elspeth?” Julian asked.

Hawthorne raised his eyebrows. “The library.”

Naturally.

Julian took the stairs two at a time. He wanted this over. Done. And then he’d somehow forget her sunray smile and laughing eyes.

He opened the library door to find Elspeth alone, sitting on the floor, and for a moment, his heart contracted. She looked just as she had at Adders.

Only they’d left Adders behind.

“Did you do it?” he demanded.

Elspeth jerked her head around to stare at him. “Do what?”

He squatted near her so he could properly see her eyes. “Betray me. Again. Told all of London the secret I entrusted to you.”

She blinked rapidly. “I—”

His upper lip curled. “To think I felt guilt for not telling you that Ran did not kill Aurelia.”

“You what?” She looked shocked.

He nodded. “She was dead before he ever got there. I saw her body.”

He could see outrage rising in her eyes. “You told the world that he was a murderer, and you knew better? All along?”

“Yes.”

She slapped him, turning his face with the force of her blow. “Ran is a recluse because of your lies! How could you betray him like that?”

He looked back at her, leaning so close their noses nearly touched. “How. Could. You?”

“I didn’t!” she bellowed. “I never told anyone about Adders. Why would I?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Pure wickedness?”

Her head jerked back. “Is that what you think of me?”

He hesitated, perhaps for only a second.

But she caught it. “You don’t.”

He looked away. “I know you betrayed me. I just can’t make myself believe it.”

“Come here,” she said.

And he couldn’t—he could not—tear himself away from her gaze. He came to her.

They sat together simply breathing for a moment, and he had no idea where to go from here. He was so tired.

She licked her lips. “Tell me what happened the night Aurelia died.”

He laughed, a curt gust of air. “I don’t know, not entirely. I thought perhaps my mother’s notes would tell me. That she knew how Aurelia died and implicated my uncle.” He sighed. “I think, in the back of my mind, I was searching for information that would somehow make me less guilty.”

Why would she ever want to touch him again knowing he’d kept the truth about Ran from the world? He should leave her alone.

But she grasped his hand, and somehow, though her hand was half the size of his, he couldn’t move away from her.

“You need to explain,” she said gently. “What happened?”

“You must already have an idea,” he replied impatiently. Did she think he enjoyed talking about that night?

She shook her head. “I vow I don’t.”

He closed his eyes. “Your brother was beaten nearly to death for the murder of my sister, and I didn’t do anything to help him.”

“Why not?”

He gave her a weary look.

She jerked his hand gently. “Truly, Julian. I’ve heard the de Moray version. That Aurelia lured my brother to your home, where she died, and he was beaten for it. Now I want to hear yours.”

“I think the Greycourt story is already well known,” he said bitterly. “Augustus made sure of that.”

She nodded. “But I’ve never heard your tale. Not from your lips.”

For a moment he only stared at the motes drifting in a sunbeam. This was folly. The whole world knew the skeleton of the story. Why give muscle, blood, and skin to the entire horrible night?

Perhaps this was a penance. A final confession of his sins.

“They were in love,” he said, remembering that summer. Every memory was in sunshine until that night. “My sister and your brother. He was only seventeen, Aurelia barely sixteen. We all knew Ran would propose someday. When we were out of school, he, Kester, and I. They’d get married, sometime in the future, unite our families and estates, be happy.”

Aurelia happy .

He closed his eyes to steady himself and continued, “But Father died suddenly that summer, of a fit, and he’d made Augustus our—my sisters and brother and my mother—guardian. The duke came at once, smiling and acting the part of the kindly uncle, and then he betrothed Aurelia to an ugly old man.”

“But that part has never made sense to me,” Elspeth said, tugging at his hand again, presumably to draw his attention. “Why make another betrothal when she already had an understanding with the heir to a dukedom?”

He shrugged. “Pure hatred? Augustus fattened on our family’s grief and anger. Aurelia was alarmed, of course, but she thought we could talk Augustus out of the match. Make him see reason. As the weeks went by and the date of the wedding was set, she grew increasingly frantic. The duke left for a couple of days, and when he returned, he brought the man he’d contracted Aurelia to.”

Julian grimaced and glanced at Elspeth. “Not only old, but smelly as well. The poor man had ulcers on his legs, and the smell of rot preceded him into the room. We were sitting at supper, simply staring, dumbfounded, at the suitor Augustus wished to make Aurelia’s husband. I should’ve said something then. I should’ve stood and demanded Augustus leave the house and take his selection with him.”

He breathed in, remembering, retracing his actions, and knowing he might’ve saved them all.

“What happened?” Elspeth asked, her voice soft.

“Aurelia confronted him instead. While I was thinking, trying to find the right words to make our insane uncle abandon this horrific travesty, Aurelia stood and yelled at Augustus. Told him exactly what she thought of him and that she’d be dead before she married that elderly man.”

“She sounds very brave,” he heard Elspeth say, “and very young.”

He raised his eyebrows. “She was only five years removed from the age you are now.”

“I think, though, that we were raised very differently,” she said quietly with a sad sort of smile. “And though my childhood was provincial, it was perhaps less sheltered than your sister’s.”

He stared at her. Only a fortnight ago, he might’ve argued that living most of one’s life in a secret compound was the very epitome of being sheltered. But maybe he would have been wrong. Elspeth might have strange views on society, but she was exceedingly practical. “What would you have done in her place, then?”

She shrugged. “Probably hesitated to speak, just like you. I would’ve let myself seem meek and cowed, and later I’d have packed what I could carry and left in the night.”

He couldn’t help thinking that Aurelia might be alive if she’d burned less brilliantly.

Julian shook his head. “Augustus was furious that a girl barely out of the schoolroom should say such things. He berated my mother to her face and swore at our dead father. He seemed on the precipice of violence. I thought he might kill Aurelia then. But instead he had her dragged to her room and locked her in.” Julian swallowed. “That was the last time I saw my sister alive.”

Elspeth had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head, impatient with his own verbal circling. He’d meant to tell her the truth.

Julian focused his gaze on their entwined hands. “I told Ran, almost immediately, and Kester, too. Ran wanted to storm Greycourt, but I persuaded him to wait. Augustus had brought with him a dozen or more men who obviously were not mere servants. I wanted to avoid conflict. I was worried what Augustus meant to do. I passed word to Aurelia that Ran meant to save her so she wouldn’t try to escape on her own.” He stopped to shake his head. “It should have worked. Ran and Aurelia should have been away well before anyone knew.”

“What happened?” Elspeth whispered.

“I don’t know exactly,” he said, “but when I went to Aurelia’s room that night, the door was already open. Augustus stood just inside, and behind him Aurelia lay on the bed bloodied and unmoving. Dead.”

She squeezed his hand but said nothing more.

He closed his eyes. “I should’ve called the footmen— our footmen. I meant to, but Augustus advanced on me, his eyes bloodshot. He told me to think carefully about what I would do next because my mother, remaining sisters, and brother were in the house. With his men.”

“He held them hostage against your behavior,” she breathed.

“Yes. Augustus told me Aurelia had died trying to escape—that she fell from the window somehow.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. I was sobbing over my dead sister, and… I don’t know that I thought out anything after that.”

“How could you?” she murmured.

“Augustus knew about the planned elopement. I followed him outside, into the stable yard behind the house and gardens where Ran and Kester were meant to meet Aurelia and me.” He inhaled, feeling his chest tighten as it had that night. “There was a signal I was supposed to use—a lit lantern draped in a red fabric to tell Ran and Kester that it was safe for them to enter the grounds.” He swallowed. “Augustus ordered me to make sure Ran came, or he’d have his men kill the rest of my family, starting with the youngest—Lucretia. So I did. I made the signal and betrayed my best friends.”

Elspeth watched Julian’s drawn face as he confessed to her what he considered his sins and wondered if he’d ever told this story to anyone else. No, she thought not. He’d held this terrible, soul-destroying secret inside himself and let no one know.

“Stop,” she said, laying her hand on his cheek. “I don’t blame you for any of this. I refuse to.”

His expression didn’t ease, but his face pressed against her palm as if seeking warmth.

Or absolution.

“I could tell no one,” he said, his voice rasping. “Augustus virtually imprisoned us at Greycourt. Aurelia was buried in secret. Mother was overcome with grief for Aurelia. She never rose from her bed again and died the next week. Messalina and Lucretia were sent to an elderly male relative to live. Quinn and I made to watch as our uncle pillaged the house before he dragged us to his carriage and set off for Windemere House. By the time we made London, the news had spread through the entire town: Aurelia had been murdered by Ran, and he’d lost a hand from my family’s vengeance.” His lips twisted. “Some even said I’d cut off his hand myself.”

She winced. “That must’ve been horrible.”

“Yes, it was,” he said unemotionally. “But I deserved it. My inaction led to the injury to his hand and thus the infection that took it.”

Elspeth looked him in the eye. “Nothing you say will make me believe that a seventeen-year-old boy, under the threat of his family being killed, was in any way responsible for the beating your uncle ordered. The duke is the one responsible for everything that happened, and making you believe that you were the one that injured Ran is part and parcel of his evil.”

He sighed, his head dropping to lean against her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Can we be friends again?” she asked. “I want you to look at me as you did at Adders. As if you know me. As if you want me.”

“I do want you,” he said quietly. “I’ve always wanted you, will always want you, but we’re no longer at Adders. Everything has changed.”

She closed her eyes against tears. She wanted to wail like a child. Why must things change? Why must he push her away when all she wanted… all she wanted…

“Won’t you at least kiss me?” she whispered, unmoving.

“Elspeth…” He sighed. “We can’t. Not anymore.”

“Why not?” she asked. “We’re alone here.”

His eyes screwed shut. “I told you I can’t.”

“Should I…” She licked her lips, hesitating because she wasn’t entirely sure. “Should I order you?”

“Dear God, that’s not what I mean.” He laughed, his voice cracking, as he flung himself flat upon the floor. “You don’t understand. I’ve made you the talk of the town, dragged you through the worst sort of scandal, and even beyond that…”

“What?” she asked. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make it right again.”

“Beyond the scandal and London and all of society’s damned rules…” He took her fingers between his, and for the first time, she saw what he looked like defeated. “This. This thing between you and me. It isn’t something that can be forced or even seduced. I’m different from other men. You’ve known that from the beginning. Something inside me was made strange and odd and different. I can’t rise without the command, the stern hand—”

“Then let me be the stern hand,” she pleaded, tears in her eyes. “Let me take charge.”

“ But ,” he said, squeezing her hands gently, “ but I can’t obey a mistress if I can’t trust her.”

She stared, uncomprehending.

He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing each one, almost in apology. “I care so much for you, Elspeth. Your smile alone is enough to live by, and you’ve brought me great joy.” He smiled sadly. “But darling, I don’t trust you.”