Chapter Ten

D evlin leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and listened to his mother and sisters deliver a barrage of ideas of what Peyton should do in London during the season. They were finishing the dessert course, although he'd noticed that Peyton had done little more than push food around her plate all evening and was now doing the same with her strawberry cake.

He didn't blame her for not having an appetite. Dinner tonight was proving to be an ordeal by fire for her, if only because it was nothing more than a typical Raines family evening. Embarrassing stories about their childhoods and assorted public faux pas as adults served as the main course, followed by extra helpings of merciless teasing and bickering. At every moment she must have been afraid of being discovered before she was ready to reveal herself—if she would ever be ready. The pallor that had gripped her face since his mother walked into the drawing room to meet her was testimony to that.

Fortunately, both he and Peyton managed to avoid specifics about how they knew each other, although Devlin was prepared to claim she was the sister of a school chum he met during holiday, if necessary.

Yet tonight wasn't about giving Peyton a pleasant evening, nor was it the test Peyton accused him of earlier—to prove she was capable of holding her own in society. Hell, he knew she was more than capable of doing just that, having seen her in action at Barton's and the opera.

No, he wanted to see how she would react when faced with the past. If she could maneuver her way through tonight's reminders of that, then perhaps she could find a way to move into the future.

"And you should attend the picture gallery at Somerset House," Meg insisted. "It's always good for a gawk."

Peyton smiled, seeming to enjoy Meg's company, and drawled almost beneath her breath, "Sometimes even at the paintings."

But Peyton was sitting to Meg's left side, and his sister couldn't hear her comment, even though his mother and Teddy both laughed at the quip. Meg blinked. "Pardon?"

Peyton repeated louder, "Sometimes to even gawk at the paintings."

Meg laughed with them then, the happy sound filling the room.

Devlin glanced up from the table as Jennings stepped into the room and stood at the wall near the door, his well-trained butler's presence as unobtrusive as ever. Yet his appearance signaled that the coffee service was ready in the drawing room.

A lull formed in the conversation as his two sisters searched the corners of their minds to add to the growing list of places and things Peyton simply must do during her visit. Before they could inundate her afresh with questions about whether she planned on traveling to Brighton or Weymouth once the London season was over, his mother placed her napkin on her plate. "Shall we go through, then? Jennings's coffee is not to be missed."

The normally staid butler flushed faintly at the compliment.

"And Cook's chocolate," Teddy interjected as she slipped off her chair and stood. "She makes the best in Mayfair."

"Chocolate is for children," Meg baited her as she rose elegantly from her chair.

As Devlin rose to his feet, familiar guilt pricked him. Meg should have been married by now, but their father's ghost still haunted her. She didn't trust a man enough to marry him.

"Good," Teddy called out over her shoulder as her sister followed her from the room. "Then I'll take your share and enjoy twice as much!"

His mother gave a long-suffering sigh as she followed after, leaving Devlin to escort their guest.

Devlin saw relief drain through Peyton as her slender shoulders sank at finally having a moment's peace—and a moment when she didn't have to be on constant guard that his mother would recognize her.

"You're doing well," he assured her quietly as he slowly circled the large table to her.

"Is this how they used to torture prisoners in the Tower?" she muttered and drew in a deep breath to gather herself.

His lips curled. "Just a typical evening at Dartmoor House. But look on the bright side." He took her arm to escort her from the room. "At least now you have an exhaustive list of places to visit while you're in London."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"And the knowledge that you won't easily be recognized," he murmured into her ear, "if at all."

"There is that," she grudgingly agreed and walked with him into the stair hall.

Instead of following his family, Devlin tugged her aside into the alcove beneath the cantilevered stairs curling above their heads. His mother had placed a Chinese urn on a small table to give some sort of use to the otherwise wasted space, but shadowed and tucked out of the way, it also gave them a moment's privacy.

"How are you holding up?" he asked. "Truthfully."

"Truthfully?" She gave a long sigh. "If I wasn't already dead, this evening would kill me."

A chuckle rose from the back of his throat. He knew then that she would be fine. Eventually.

"How much longer will this evening last?" she asked, glancing past his shoulder at the empty hall.

"Another hour, and then you can feign a headache and beg off. Deal?"

"Deal." Yet his compromise didn't seem to please her. She hesitated before asking, "How long has Margaret been deaf in her left ear?"

Devlin's chest squeezed, although he shouldn't have been surprised that Peyton noticed, not with how keen she was on noting everything around her. "Since she was ten."

"An accident or illness?"

"Neither. It was our father."

Peyton's lips parted in surprise.

"He was angry about something—God only knows what—and boxed her ears, rupturing her eardrum. So no, not an accident nor an illness. The bastard fully intended to hurt her."

"Oh, Devlin…I'm so sorry." Then she guessed, "He hit her other times, too, didn't he?"

"Yes. And my mother."

Her eyes locked with his. "And you?"

"Only until I learned to hit back." The pity in her eyes nearly undid him. He shook his head. "It's all in the past now."

The pursing of her lips told him she didn't agree, yet she wisely let the subject drop. He took her arm to lead her into the drawing room.

But she placed her hand on his bicep and stopped him, looking at him with trepidation. "Devlin?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for ending your engagement with Lady Catherine."

His gut tightened at her remorse. "It wasn't official. We were still hammering out the details of the marriage contract." He blew out a hard breath and admitted, "It was probably for the best anyway."

She searched his face. "You didn't love her?"

"No." In fact, he was damnably surprised he felt so little regret over the incident. What bothered him more was the way Peyton had orchestrated it so effectively to maximize the public humiliation for him. He was certain all kinds of fresh allegations that he was an unscrupulous rake were now flowing through London as fast as the Thames, but what bothered him about that wasn't what people thought of him but what damage it might do to his family. "I courted her because her family was respectable and she was pleasant."

"Pleasant?" Peyton repeated as if she couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. "The notorious Devlin Raines prized a woman because she was pleasant ?"

He grimaced. "I haven't been notorious in a very long time."

"Then the duchess was right," she murmured. "London has changed a great deal since I've been gone."

More than you realize.

"Well, then," she corrected herself, "I'm sorry for ending your potentially pleasant match." When he began to give that the reply it deserved, she added, "But I'm not sorry for besting you at cards."

" I am," he murmured, "given our wager. I was very much looking forward to winning."

He heard her catch her breath at the reminder of what he had expected to claim from her. "Then you must be extremely relieved now that you know the identity of the woman you were playing with." Her voice emerged as a throaty purr, and he wondered if she realized it…or the heated effect it had on him. "You'll never want to kiss me again."

"I wouldn't say that," he murmured with a glance over his shoulder to make certain the hall was still empty. When he looked back at her, his gaze fell to her ripe lips, which parted beneath his stare. He couldn't resist the temptation of her softness and slowly swept his hand along the side of her body, over the curves of her hip and waist to her ribs, then over the outside swell of her breast.

She trembled.

"Devlin! Miss Wentworth!" Theodora called out from the drawing room. "We've convinced Meg to sing for us. Hurry before she changes her mind!"

He dropped his hand and stepped back.

For a moment, Peyton didn't move; she simply stared at him, eyes bright with confusion. Devlin couldn't help but wonder—who was she seeing…the man standing with her or the one she remembered from ten years ago?

"We should join them," she whispered huskily.

Without another word, he led her into the drawing room.

They took their seats, with Peyton joining his mother on the settee, Devlin slumping into a chair, and Teddy perched on the chair arm beside him, mostly so she could annoy him by loudly slurping her chocolate until he poked her in the ribs with his elbow. Then she slunk off to her own chair.

At the pianoforte, Meg shuffled through her sheet music before finally settling on a piece she loved—a recent composition by Beethoven that Devlin had purchased for her a few months ago for her birthday. Her fingers danced over the keys, and the soft music floated through the room on the candlelight.

When she finished, they applauded.

"Sing, Meg!" Teddy called out. "You promised."

Margaret's cheeks flushed slightly, but she did as requested and accompanied herself in an old song about unrequited love.

"Lovely," Devlin said as she finished.

She hunted through her music portfolio. "Come join me."

Teddy set down her chocolate and jumped to her feet to run forward to the pianoforte. She gestured excitedly back at the others, and Devlin reluctantly came forward with his mother, leaving Peyton on the settee. Devlin shot her an apologetic glance. She didn't deserve to be caught up in this. Hell, neither did he. But he loved his sisters and would do anything to make them happy, including embarrassing himself by singing.

Embarrass himself he did, although Meg had always claimed he had a good voice. They sang together, with his mother harmonizing with Meg and with Teddy and Devlin left to carry the main melody. But soon, the teasing and baiting from dinner overcame them, as it always did, and the sing-a-long became a free-for-all, with Meg finally throwing up her hands in surrender.

Across the room, Peyton stood stiffly. A white pallor gripped her face, and even from so far away, he could see the glistening in her eyes and the trembling in her limbs.

"I…I can't…" she mumbled. "It's all too much…I thought—but I can't!"

She turned and hurried from the room, leaving his family staring silently with confusion and concern. Devlin chased after her.

He stepped into the entry hall just as she snatched her cape from the footman's hands at the door and raced out of the house, down the front steps, and toward her waiting carriage. He chased after and caught her on the footpath, his hand on her elbow stopping her.

She wheeled toward him, and for a split second, he worried she'd hidden a knife in her skirt. But it wasn't a weapon in her hand that ripped the breath from his lungs. It was the startling look of anguish on her face.

Dear God… He laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Peyton, are you all right?"

"I couldn't bear—I couldn't stay." She glanced over her shoulder at the house as if expecting a monster to emerge and devour her. "I need to leave."

"What's happened?"

"You—your family—all this!" Her eyes turned dark in the shadows of the dimly lit street, and the clouds of her breath against the cold air made her seem even more vulnerable. "The way you are with them, the way you all interact with each other—the way you love each other…" A tear glistened in the light of the door lamp as it slid down her cheek. "Why would your father risk his family and all their love and happiness?" Her shoulders slumped in confusion. "Why would you ?"

Her eyes searched his face, and he knew the time had come to tell her the truth. All the truth, no matter how much it hurt both of them. She would never be able to heal until the entire wound had been revealed. And cauterized.

He gently took her arm and led her toward the carriage, calling back over his shoulder to Jennings as the butler stood on the steps in the cold evening drizzle. "Jennings, inform the duchess that Miss Wentworth has taken ill. I'm escorting her home." He was breaking all kinds of propriety and not giving a damn that he was. "Then I'm going on to the clubs. She isn't to worry. I'll see her in the morning."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Devlin helped her into the carriage and climbed in after her. The door closed, and he knocked against the roof to signal to the coachman to drive.

The carriage swayed on its springs as the wheels splashed through the puddles left on the pavement by earlier rains. Outside, the night was cold and wet, and the light of the scattered lamps on the main avenues reflected in the shimmering black water. There would be heavy fog by midnight, but now the gathering whiteness served only to cocoon them together and muffle the sounds of the nighttime city around them.

Devlin studied Peyton through the moving shadows. He was certain her face was still as pale as it had been in the drawing room. But there was no help for that, not now. Not when what he was about to say would only make her pallor worse.

"When my father and the Duke of Crewe became business partners," Devlin began quietly, his low voice matching the depth of the shadows around them, "they kept what they were doing secret from everyone. They'd been partners for years, ever since I was a boy at Eton, and no one had any idea how far their ventures ran or what comprised them."

"Not even you?" she asked quietly.

"Not even." He'd certainly punished himself over the years for not investigating sooner. "I had suspected my father was skirting the edge of legality, but what peer doesn't influence peddle in Parliament or use Whitehall connections for his own financial gains? But I had willfully turned a blind eye to my father, avoiding him whenever possible and tolerating him only for my mother's and sisters' sakes. Truthfully, I didn't want to know what he was doing and did my damnedest to treat him as if didn't exist."

"But that night…" Her voice faded into the darkness.

"That night I stumbled into a viper's nest. I was too late to stop the attack, but I made certain they wouldn't be able to harm anyone else ever again. Lucien Grenier happened to be on leave in London. I told him what happened and what I'd learned about our fathers, and together we decided to put an end to their criminal enterprise."

"You let them get away with all they'd done," she accused in a rough whisper.

"Because we had no other choice. Publicly bringing them to justice would have destroyed both our families, both dukedoms, and all the lives of countless innocent people who depended upon those dukedoms to survive. Servants, tenants, farmers, villagers… If their fellow lords in Parliament would have found them guilty in the first place. We had no certainty of that."

He still lived with the guilt of that decision, even knowing he'd made the right one. So did Crewe, although he had even more to lose than Devlin if their fathers' secrets were uncovered.

"So we ended their ability to harm anyone else. Horrender was a different matter, but he fled England before we could make him swing for what he'd done." The familiar taste of acid formed in his mouth. "From that point on, Lucien and I dedicated ourselves to cleaning up after our fathers, to destroying the enterprise they'd built, and to hiding what we couldn't destroy. We chopped up the businesses, destroyed records, and forged others to counter the ones we couldn't destroy until we'd erased all traces of their illegal operations. Our fathers were both dead shortly after, and the last of the bad business was buried with them."

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and fixed his gaze on her through the shadows.

"You asked me why I would risk my family and all their love and happiness," he reminded her. "Because it wasn't enough to simply end their criminal enterprise. They'd ruined countless lives—including women and children—and restitution had to be made. All the restitution I could."

He and Crewe had taken their own money to fund new lives for the innocents their fathers had hurt. Prostitutes were given new lives away from London. Low-level smugglers and thieves were given legitimate jobs. As for the children, those tore at Devlin's heart the most, but he did what he could for them. Those who had family were reunited with their relatives, while orphans and foundlings were placed into domestic service or the navy if they were old enough and into kind homes for the youngest.

Most of all, Devlin had worked in secret to create Brechenhurst, a place of refuge for street children who had no safe place to spend their nights. He didn't want them to fall prey to men like his father, so he used a large part of the money he'd inherited to found the place and keep it running. He'd named it after a mutilated mishmash of the German he'd learned while fighting with the Prussians. Brechen herz …broken heart.

Like his father's crimes, it, too, had to remain secret.

"Why did my father risk everything?" Repeating her question, he settled back against the squabs, his gaze not leaving hers. "Because he was a cruel, selfish, heartless son of a bitch who wanted money and power at all costs, no matter whom he hurt to get it."

For a long while she did nothing more than return his stare, her lips parted as she tried to fathom all he shared with her.

"And no one else knows?" she finally asked, her voice so soft it was nearly lost beneath the rumble of carriage wheels. "Not even your family?"

"No one but Crewe." Not even Shay or Chase, both men who were as close as brothers to him. Not even Anthony Titus, the man in whom he'd confessed all his other secrets, who had left England for Spain during the final years of the wars and taken those secrets with him. "And now you."

But she didn't know all the gruesome details and never would.

"Then you need to tell them," she urged, her voice suddenly bright with intensity. "You said that Horrender might have returned. If their lives are in danger, then they need to be warned."

"No." He and Crewe would take this secret to their graves. He hoped Peyton would do the same. "Their lives would be destroyed, not ended."

"Is that why you told me, then? Because my life is at an even greater risk than theirs?"

"No. I told you because you're the same as Crewe and me. Part of the next generation who needs to atone for their fathers' evils."

She stiffened. "My father had nothing to do with this. Not like that."

"He did." He kept his attention on her hands, folded in her lap, to make certain she didn't decide to reach for the gun in the cushion. "He was their third partner."

She shook her head. "My father was a banker and accountant who—"

"Who knew exactly how to hide all their profits and make certain no money trails could ever be traced back to them. They couldn't have built their business without his skills. That's why Charles Chandler spent so much time with two dukes whom he would otherwise never have associated with." He paused to make certain no pity was audible in his voice. "You know how society works. Bankers are middle-class. They work for a living, and high-ranking peers never sully themselves by associating with workers, even ones as successful as your father, and they would certainly never issue invitations to soirees at their homes to a banker's family."

She said nothing, simply continued to stare at him across the dark compartment as the shadows cast by the lamps swirled around them.

"You weren't ignored by everyone the night of the musicale because you hadn't yet been introduced to society," he said as gently as possible, knowing how much the truth would hurt. "You were ignored because you were the daughter of a banker."

Her eyes glistened in the darkness.

"The Dukes of Crewe and Dartmoor used your father the same way that lots of bankers were used during the early years of the wars, to help with smuggling and fencing goods. Lots of men did the same. High-powered and important men, and not just for illegal cognac either but for basic food stuffs, many of which were sold to the working classes. That's how the three of them started. But when they brought in Horrender to oversee the day-to-day operations, their business became more than just smuggling. Horrender made their enterprise far-reaching across England and into France, which was why you were able to access the money your father hid there." He faintly shook his head. "All those businesses and bank accounts, all that property purchased under false names and identities—how did you think it all got there if not through criminal means, in a country embroiled in war for the past two decades?"

"My father was not a criminal." But her voice lacked conviction.

He wisely knew not to argue with her. Not yet. Instead, he kept his face calm and his voice steady, and continued, "The night you were attacked, the carriage was purposefully ambushed by men lying in wait. Your father had threatened to speak out against Dartmoor and Crewe—they had finally done more than he could stomach—if they didn't curtail their enterprise. The two dukes wanted to silence your father, but Horrender decided to use the attack as a message, to show everyone who dealt with him the lengths he would go to if anyone dared cross him. That's how you and your mother were caught up in it."

"My father wouldn't have had anything to do with men like Horrender. He wouldn't have entered any kind of business arrangement like that."

Devlin had lost the argument before it had even begun. She'd believed him a villain for so long that she would never believe him about this.

So he would have to show her.

He pounded his fist against the ceiling to signal to the driver to stop. When the carriage slowed, he opened the door and stood up in the doorway to give new directions to the coachman, then dropped back into the seat across from her. He closed the door as the carriage started forward again, but instead of rolling on toward her townhouse, it turned toward the city.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To Seven Dials." He glanced out the window at the dark city and mumbled, "Back to where it all started."