Chapter Seventeen

S eated at a small writing desk in the Malvern House drawing room, Peyton darted a glance at Crewe's reflection in the wall mirror as he leaned against the arm of the settee behind her. "You're staring again."

"Can't help it." He nodded toward her and grimaced. "If you saw a ghost wrapped in silks and jewels, you'd stare, too."

"I suppose I would," she sighed.

She turned toward her reflection and swept another look over her hair and the jewels at her throat, at the fine silk of Margaret's dress that had been quickly refitted for her by a very put-out dressmaker just that morning. Appropriate, she supposed. A borrowed dress to finish off a borrowed life. What would she wear tomorrow when she was once again herself?

But she felt dressed for a part in a play rather than an event in her own life. Fitting. Because tonight she played the part of bait.

The Duke of Crewe was currently her guard as she waited, hidden from sight, to make her announcement. Although he and Devlin hadn't admitted as much, that was exactly what they were doing. The two had been inconspicuously trading off the responsibility all night so that she would never be alone, not even with Wilkins, who was faithfully in attendance somewhere in the crush of the ballroom. He'd insisted on being present tonight in order to provide as much support as possible and had come by the drawing room a few minutes ago to grudgingly wish her well…and to unsuccessfully talk her out of appearing at the party.

Her old friend knew she planned on revealing her identity tonight, but he knew nothing of the real reason why. He wasn't at all happy about it, knowing that calling attention to herself would put her at further risk. But Devlin had insisted she keep the rest of their plan secret, and she knew he was right. They needed everyone in the ballroom to be shocked and surprised by tonight's announcement. Including Wilkins.

He would understand in a day or two when the danger was finally over and she could explain everything. He would forgive her for keeping secrets from him, they would find Betty, and together, they would be friends and family again, just as they'd been in France. She had to believe that to maintain her courage, despite the faint accusation of betrayal she'd seen in her old friend's eyes.

She blew out a long sigh. At least the party seemed to be going well.

The duchess had outdone herself tonight. The grand townhouse was stuffed to the eaves with hundreds of guests who at that moment were being plied with glass after glass of strong drink and tables of refreshments that an army of kitchen staff had spent the past two days and nights creating. The duchess had also hired a sextet of musicians, although she'd done so grudgingly to concede to Lady Theodora's wishes to dance as part of her reward for being there. The entire Raines family needed to be present tonight in a show of force for Peyton, and every one of them would be at her side when she made her announcement.

Despite the last-minute arrangements, Devlin's mother had thrown herself into the task and pulled off the most-talked about event of the season—and no one yet knew the true reason for the gathering. She and Lady Margaret had done their jobs well by visiting as many friends and influential acquaintances as possible in the past two days and by sending personal notes to others, and to everyone they dangled the same intriguing, tantalizing bit of on dit —

"You will not want to miss the evening. It will be the topic of conversation across the empire for decades to come!"

Their strategy worked, and their guests scrambled to cancel previous plans and cram into the Duke of Malvern's townhouse, along with several others who hadn't been invited but arrived on the coattails of others. No one was turned away. The more people who heard her announcement, the better. By morning, news of her resurrection would be flowing through London faster than the Thames.

Good. Peyton wanted this over, once and for all. It was time to put the past behind her and move on.

She rose from the desk and turned toward Crewe as he also came to his feet, as any proper gentleman would. Peyton was beginning to think his reputation as a libertine and blackguard was unfounded. "You don't have to stay here to guard me."

"Guarding you?" He laughed at the idea. "I'm not guarding…" When she arched a brow, his lie trailed off, and his shoulders sagged at being caught. "All right, I'm guarding you. And yes, I have to."

Her chest tightened. She shouldn't have been surprised. She was the bait, after all. "Because you're afraid I'll be killed if you don't?"

He fixed her a hard look. "Because I'm afraid Dartmoor will kill me if I don't."

A smile teased at her lips, then faded into grim solemnity. Absently, she rubbed her left glove. She'd tucked into it a small piece of lace that Teddy had given her as a good luck charm. Even as she rubbed her fingers over it, though, she knew she'd need much more than luck to survive tonight.

"I am so very sorry for what my father's actions put you through," she apologized to Crewe, "the lengths you've had to go to in order to make right his crimes."

"It wasn't only your father." He added in a sardonic murmur, "Mine had a little something to do with it, too."

"But my father controlled the money. Without him, none of what they did would have—"

"It wasn't only your father," he repeated, all teasing now gone, and so firmly this time that she knew not to brook any more argument.

The door opened, and Devlin strode inside, carrying a glass of champagne. The sight of him took her breath away. Dressed in Bond Street's finest, he exuded power and privilege. Every inch of him proclaimed him a duke, from the shine of his blond hair to his diamond cravat pin, from the cut of his black kerseymere jacket to his white satin waistcoat.

More—he exuded a sense of trust and solidity that had been missing in her life. How would she be able to live on without that, once their plan was over?

Devlin gestured at Crewe. "Would you give us a few moments alone?"

"Of course. I'll find the duchess and see if she needs my help with anything."

As he turned to leave, Peyton placed her hand on his arm to stop him. "Thank you, Lucien." Her voice hitched with emotion. "For everything."

Impetuously, she rose up on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Surprised by the small show of affection, he gave her a stiff bow and retreated from the room, closing the door after himself.

When Peyton looked back at Devlin, she found him staring at her—and frowning. She knew it wasn't the kiss that bothered him.

"It's almost time for the announcement." He held out the champagne flute to her. "Are you ready?"

More grateful for the drink than she would dare admit, she accepted the glass and nodded as she raised it to her lips to take a long sip.

"You don't have to do this."

The somber tone of his voice turned the taste of the champagne on her tongue to acid. She lowered the flute and stared into the bubbling liquid.

"It's not too late to change your mind. You can wait until you're absolutely certain you should reveal your identity."

"It's the best way we have to bring Horrender to justice," she said, studying her glass. If she looked up at him, the concern in his eyes would undo her.

"We'll find another way."

She shook her head. "What our fathers did… They can't be allowed to harm anyone else."

To seal that promise, she finished the remaining champagne in one long drink.

"But you don't have to endanger yourself to do it."

"If I don't, then your family will continue to be in danger. So will Crewe and you…and me." She admitted, "I no longer want to live in fear of the past."

"Just in fear of the future."

Her heart painfully skipped a beat at his quiet accusation, and her gaze rose to meet his. "If I don't do this, I will never be safe." Then she added in a whisper, "And I can never find absolution for my father."

He paused, as if he didn't believe that would ever be possible, then said instead, "Then your new life will begin."

"Yes." The word emerged as a breathless murmur, barely audible, because Peyton knew it was a lie. I'm not a phoenix who can rise from the ashes to be more glorious than before.

From the ballroom, the musicians struck up the first flourishes of a new song. The music was muted, but the tune was unmistakable.

"A waltz." Her shoulders dropped as an inexplicable yet deep sadness of all she'd lost came over her. "I'm a hypocrite. I told Theodora how to scheme her way into her first dance at a ball when I've never even been to one."

"Never?"

She shook her head. "I had to leave London before I debuted." Had she led a normal life, her debut would have been magical, a special evening shared with her mother and father, who would have been so proud of her. That loss pierced her, even after all these years. "The only true society event I attended was your mother's musicale at Dartmoor House."

"Well then." Devlin took her empty flute, set it aside, and held out his hand. "Dance with me."

Her mouth fell open. "You can't be serious!"

"Perfectly so." He gave her a low bow. "May I have this waltz, Miss Chandler?"

She bit her bottom lip. She should refuse. Tonight wasn't a time for play. Yet she couldn't resist another opportunity to be in his arms, and she slipped her hand into his.

He took her into position in his arms, then swept her into the waltz. He led her through the basic steps rather than leading her into more challenging maneuvers, as if realizing her dance skills were rusty. Rusty? She bit back a laugh. Nonexistent! Yet they moved together more fluidly than she would have thought possible, every step reminding her of how perfectly they'd moved together when they'd made love.

He shifted her closer. The heat of his body and the masculine scent of him filled her senses until she longed for nothing more than to find a way to crawl beneath his skin and be with him always.

Dear God, how much she would miss him! And not just the joining of bodies, although that had been more special than she'd ever imagined making love could be. No…she would miss him . She would miss his strength, his resolve, and most of all his assurances that all would be well, even when she knew it wouldn't.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. "Enjoying your waltz?"

"Very much."

"Yet you don't seem happy." He stopped dancing and reached up to stroke her cheek so tenderly that she had to close her eyes to bear it.

"I could be." She forced a teasing lilt into her voice that she certainly didn't feel. "If you kissed me."

A smile curled his lips. "Who am I to stand in the way of your happiness?"

He lowered his head and brought his mouth to hers. The tenderness of his kiss shivered a low heat through her. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into his embrace, pressing her front against his and craving more…more reassurance, more certainty, more determination. More of him . But the most she could do at the moment was part her lips and let him sweep inside in a kiss that was somehow both impossibly erotic and sweet at the same time. Only Devlin had ever made her feel this way. She knew in her heart no one else ever would.

For one precious moment, they were frozen in time, completely in the present moment, and for once, not a captive of the past or the future. Peyton wanted to stop time forever and remain right here with him, when nothing from the past could rise up and hurt them, when the fear of whatever the future would bring couldn't yet consume them…when the terrible sense of impending loss couldn't overwhelm her.

But time could never stand still. She knew that better than anyone. Regretfully, she broke the kiss and stepped out of his arms.

Thankfully, he didn't attempt to reach for her and kept his expression carefully neutral despite the visible way he worked to control his breathing. Then he asked the one question with the power to cut her like a knife—"Do you still plan on leaving?"

She allowed herself a single hard blink. "I can't stay."

"You can. You'll have a new life here." He smiled at himself and corrected, "You'll have an actual life here."

But what kind of life would it be, alone even while surrounded by strangers in a city which had become as foreign to her as the deserts of Arabia? Who could she trust or depend upon?

"My mother and sisters have already embraced you. They'll be upset if you leave."

"And when they learn what my father did, how he enabled monsters to harm innocent people?" Her voice broke, and it took all her strength to force out her fear, "Will they still embrace me then?"

"You need to give them a chance, Peyton. They understand the plight of innocents."

How much she wanted to believe that! But when his family learned the extent of the crimes that had been committed, when everything they'd believed in was destroyed, what would they think of her then? And Devlin…would the past take him from her, too? "Can you forgive my father's role in harming you?"

"I don't have to forgive your father, Peyton. I only have to accept what he did." Empathy colored his voice. "You're the one who has to find a way to forgive."

How could she forgive when everything about London reminded her of her father and the price her family had paid for what he'd done? How could she carve out a future here when the past still haunted her?

"I don't know how." Each word emerged from her lips with agonizing hesitation. "I need your help."

"I can't help with that." His eyes were more grim than she'd ever known them. "You have to find a way to do that yourself, or you will never find peace."

She reached for him. "Devlin—"

A sharp knock rapped on the door only a second before it opened, and Margaret rushed inside, all reassuring smiles and glowing excitedly.

Peyton turned away before Margaret could see her swipe at her eyes.

"Mama sent me to fetch you." She saw their grim expressions, pulled up short, and frowned. "Are you all right?"

"We're fine," Devlin answered, and Peyton was glad. At that moment, she couldn't have uttered a word.

"Good." Margaret held open the door. "It's time for your announcement."

Oh God. Peyton inhaled a deep breath that did little to steel her for what was to come and nodded.

Devlin held out his hand to her. "Shall we?"

Another nod, just as stiff as the first. Yet Peyton allowed him to take her arm and escort her from the drawing room, with Margaret following dutifully behind.

"You don't have to do this," Devlin told her again. His concern devastated her. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"Yes, it is," she replied in a hoarse whisper. Ten years too late.

Forgive the past…that's what Devlin wanted her to do, and she could think of no better way to do that than bringing all the secrets out into light. She'd made up her mind. She would put an end to it by doing just that…by telling the world everything.

Tonight.