Chapter 9

9

WILLIAM

" Y ou are not going to shoot me, then?" Silas asked.

William hardly recognized his younger brother under all the hair and dirt. He took a few steps forward for a closer look as Silas turned to face him.

It truly was him.

William let out a breath of disbelief, then pulled his brother into his arms. Silas returned the embrace heartily, and William's throat grew thick.

The last time William had seen Silas, they had argued heatedly. They had never seen eye to eye on matters, and William was convinced Silas's endeavors in the merchant world were not only unsound but bringing shame to the Yorke name. He had said and believed things he had lived to regret.

Just two nights later, Silas had disappeared, fleeing to France to avoid the murder charge brought against him.

Nearly a year ago, William had discovered his brother's innocence. Silas had been framed by the very man charging him: Lord Drayton .

"You smell awful," William said, unable to stop from grinning like a relieved fool.

"And you smell like a dandy." Silas pulled back to look at him, one hand on either shoulder.

It was still too dark for proper surveyal, but even in the dark, William could see evidence of the last two years. A full beard could not hide the thinness of Silas's face or the dark circles beneath his eyes.

It was not the face of a man who had been enjoying himself at parties and routs in Paris; it was the face of a man who had been scraping by. And now he was here, in England. In William's house.

"What are you doing here?" William's surprise and elation gave way to concern as he let go of his brother's shoulders and set the pistol down on the nearest shelf.

Silas's gaze flitted to something behind William, and William turned.

Clara watched them in silent astonishment.

William had forgotten she was there, but he went over to her. "Clara, I need you to listen to me carefully. First, you must fetch a candle as quickly as possible."

She nodded swiftly.

"Then, I ask you to stand guard outside this door until I tell you otherwise. No one must be allowed to enter. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Do your best not to be seen."

With another nod, she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

William turned to Silas. "You should not be here, Silas. It is dangerous. What possessed you to come?"

"Is it not obvious?" Silas lifted his shoulders. "You are the Duke of Rockwood now, brother. Your power and influence is nearly unmatched."

William scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face and shook his head. "I wish that were the case, but it simply isn't."

Silas let out an incredulous breath. "What do you mean? You hold the highest non-royal title in England. Higher than Drayton, even."

"I do. But it is not enough. Surely you can see that? Drayton's title has been in his family for generations."

"As has yours."

"Not through our line. People look at me as they look at nabobs, Silas. They see the dukedom as ill-gotten. To them, I am but an opportunist—and an unqualified one, at that. I may have a title, but I have no influence at all in the House of Lords. Not yet, at least."

Silas's gaze searched William's, his expression becoming more crestfallen with every word.

"Believe me," William said, "if I had the power or the influence, I would have used it on your behalf already. I intend to acquire both, but that requires time. You cannot remain here."

Silas's jaw clenched. "I cannot go back. I refuse to return to the hell I was living in."

"Is France not better than the gallows? If Drayton discovers you have returned, he will come after you, Silas. There is no question about that."

"Because he fears the truth of his crimes will come out."

"Precisely. And he has a great deal to lose if that happens. It is what makes him so dangerous. He cannot know you have stepped foot on English soil again."

"He need not know it."

William scoffed. "And how will you keep it from him?"

"I will stay here."

William shook his head. "It is impossible. I can tell you from recent and personal experience that news travels quickly, Silas. Servant gossip does not remain amongst only servants. I have dozens here, and none of them would I trust to keep your presence a secret."

Silas strode over to him and gripped him by the shoulders, an almost mad light in his eyes. "Did you hear me? I cannot go back."

"Why not? It is only temporary."

Silas shook his head. "You think Drayton has no connections in Paris? I lived in fear of being discovered and very nearly was more than once. I was obliged to pay for secrecy from those who housed me, two of whom took my money and divulged my whereabouts despite it. I will live in a cave and forage for food rather than return to France. Do you understand?"

William searched his brother's gaunt face. Until a year ago, it had only been their brother Anthony with whom Silas had been corresponding. William had since read those letters, however, and they had all insisted things were well in France. Silas must have been protecting Anthony's conscience by claiming such a thing, for in his brother's eyes, William saw the specter of what Silas had experienced but was not verbalizing.

There was an almost indistinguishable knock on the door.

A burst of panic shot through William's chest, and he put a finger to his lips until Silas nodded.

William went to the door, trying to decide what he would do if it was Edmund or the butler, Mr. Thurston. He opened it a crack, and Clara's face, illuminated by the single candle she held, stared back at him, her large blue eyes alert.

He sighed in relief. He had never seen such a welcome sight. "Were you seen?" He took the candle from her .

She shook her head. "The house is quiet, but I will stand guard."

"Thank you," he said fervently. "If anyone comes…"

"You needn't fear, Your Grace. I will manage." She offered a reassuring smile.

He nodded, confident she would manage, and she shut the door softly.

"Will she tell?" Silas asked.

"No," William said, setting the candle on the nearby cabinet, above which hung three different hunting rifles. "We can trust her."

"So, you do have a servant you can trust."

William's gaze flicked to his brother, and their eyes held.

Silas was right. William had one servant he trusted. But she was one amongst dozens.

"Is there not a place in this enormous house that I can hide? A priest hole?"

"The house was built in 1790, not 15—" He stopped, his mind going to the hunting lodge. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the main house, and William had been there but once on his initial tour of Rushlake's grounds.

"There is, then," Silas said, watching him closely.

William shook his head. "You would be as good as a prisoner, Silas. You could not come out, unless perhaps in the middle of the night. How would you eat? Or drink?"

"With the help of your trusted maid," Silas said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

William ran a hand through his hair. "You cannot be in earnest."

"I assure you, I have never been more so."

"To what end, though? You intend to live the rest of your life hidden away? "

"Of course not. I need time to build a case against Drayton—and for you to increase your influence."

"And how do you mean to make such a case when you are confined, day in and day out?"

"Through correspondence, for one," he said. "And, at need, through nighttime ventures."

William shook his head, pacing the floor. "It is too dangerous." Silas's life was the most important thing in the balance, but it was not the only thing. If he was caught, William could bid farewell to any chance of making headway with his reputation amongst his peers. Such a scandal would set him back years. And Frederick's hopes of gaining a seat in the House of Commons—the thing he had been working toward for so many years—would be put in grave peril.

Silas stepped in front of William, forcing him to stop his pacing.

" Please , brother."

William stared back at him. Silas had always been the most intrepid of the Yorke brothers. It was what had so frustrated William about him. He waved away anything that stood in his way, whether it be tradition or his family's reputation. He had fierce passions and dreams—and a temper when crossed. But here he was, begging.

Could William and Clara truly do what Silas was asking, though? Could they keep his brother hidden at Rushlake with dozens of servants carrying out duties all around the grounds?

It would require a great deal of both Clara and himself. But how could he say no? He had hurt Silas deeply by believing him guilty of a murder he hadn't committed. It was a difficult wrong to right.

What was his alternative? He would be in danger anywhere in England. Rushlake was likely the safest place.

"Very well," William said resolutely .

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he was pulled into an embrace.

"Thank you," Silas said into William's shoulder.

"Do not thank me yet," William said. "It will only be possible if Clara agrees."

"Shall I ask her?"

"No. You stay here."

Silas nodded, and William strode to the door and opened it.

Clara's head whipped around from her place beside the door, her back against the wall. A flash of metal in her palm was quickly snuffed as she closed her fingers around it and stepped out to face him. "Is everything well, Your Grace?"

"Yes." William closed the door behind him and turned to look at her. Silas's life was in this maid's hands. "Thank you, Clara. For all your help."

"Of course," she said quickly, dropping her gaze. "Forgive me, but do you happen to know the time?"

William took the pocket watch from the inner pocket of his tailcoat. "A few minutes before ten."

Her eyes widened, and she stooped to pick up a small cloth sack on the floor. "I must go."

His gaze fixed on the sack she grasped between her hands, then flicked to her face as comprehension dawned. She was not retiring to bed. She was leaving.