Chapter Twenty-One

D evlin stood at the window of the drawing room at Dartmoor House and looked down into the street.

The cold, foggy night had given way to a beautiful morning. Children would be running through the parks with their nannies. Lords and ladies would be riding along Rotten Row on the back of finely bred horses or in barouches with the tops all down to take in the sunshine. Servants would be scurrying to markets or filling service yards across London with their gossip as they completed their work. Laborers would be going about their jobs at warehouses along the river, at storefronts or factories tucked into less savory parts of town. Not one of them would be aware of the bombshell that struck last night and that was already working to change so many lives.

Starting right here in his own drawing room. He turned away from the window and sent his mother and Margaret a reassuring smile he certainly didn't feel.

The time had come to pay the piper.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you for joining me."

As if sensing his nervousness, Margaret poured him a cup of tea and held it out to him.

His shoulders fell. Sweet Megs. Finding her a good and loving husband would be the next challenge he'd have to face, now uphill all the way after last night's events. But that would be a completely different conversation from the one he was about to have.

He'd made this promise to Peyton, and he planned on keeping his promises. All of them.

"You sounded so dire when you asked us to join you." His mother glanced at the door. "Should we also ask Teddy?"

"Not yet." He accepted the tea cup from his sister, even though he didn't want it. What he wanted was a bottle of whiskey. No, a barrel of it. "I need to speak with you two first. Alone."

"And Peyton—shouldn't she be here?" The duchess eyed him curiously. "I am assuming she's the reason for this conversation."

"She is." He leaned back against the arm of the sofa across the table from them, unable to find the patience to actually sit. "And no, she shouldn't be here." Which was why he had gathered them here while Peyton was still at Brechenhurst where she'd spent the night. He'd taken her there because it was the only place in London where she felt safe without him, while he Chase, and Crewe waited at the Chandler townhouse for the authorities. He would retrieve her later, once everything here had been brought into the light of day. "This concerns the Raines family. I'll leave it up to you two to decide how much to tell Teddy, if anything."

His mother's mouth pursed into a grim line. "You're leading me to believe this will be a very uncomfortable conversation."

"Yes." There was no point attempting to soften that. He'd never wanted to have this conversation. Yet he also knew Peyton was right. They couldn't move into the future until they'd put the past to rest. In every way. "It's about the old Duke of Dartmoor." Even now, he couldn't bring himself to call the bastard his father. Some things would never change. "You need to know the truth about what he did."

The two women visibly steeled themselves, their fingers tightening around their cups and their expressions turning grim.

Devlin set aside his unwanted tea. "Let me start at the beginning."

By the time he'd finished sharing what Dartmoor, Crewe, and Chandler had done all those years ago—although even now, he left out the more grisly details—the tea had grown cold, and the two women's faces had paled as white as the cups in their hands. Silence stretched over the room, interrupted only by the soft ticking of the mantel clock.

Devlin said nothing more and let the information settle over them.

Margaret turned her face away, but not before he saw the glistening in her pained eyes.

The duchess rested her tea cup on the saucer that had balanced on her knee this whole time, but her spine remained ramrod straight, her shoulders held just as imperiously as ever. "And Peyton knows all this?" she asked cautiously, unable to prevent a raw hitch from catching in her voice.

"Yes." Devlin pushed himself away from the sofa and drew himself up to his full height. "She's the one who insisted I tell you, once you were no longer in danger. She wants no more secrets."

"She's right," Margaret said quietly, then set down her cup and pushed herself to her feet to pace behind the sofa. "Secrets like those are never good. Who else knows?"

That was just like Megs, to already begin assessing the damage and potential destruction. Their father had taught her that lesson well: don't ever assume the best when the worst could always come. He answered, "Lucien Grenier."

She nodded, taking it in. "And Malvern and Greysmere, too, I suppose."

"Not Malvern."

"Pardon?" She turned her good ear toward him. The small movement nearly undid him. The Raines family would live with the scars of their father's deeds for the rest of their lives.

"Not Malvern," he repeated, slightly more loudly. "Shay has his own burdens. There was no reason to share ours with him, too."

With another nod, she began to pace again while his mother remained very still and kept her eyes focused on him, but he knew both women's minds were spinning. Even though they knew what evils Dartmoor had been capable of inflicting, to hear of his cruelty to strangers was still a terrible surprise. Devlin had felt the exact same way all those years ago when he'd first learned about them. Their shock had been delayed, but it was no less overwhelming.

"So what do we do about it?"

The small voice from the doorway stole their attentions, and three sets of eyes darted to Theodora as she stood in the half-open door. Christ. How long had she been standing there, listening in?

With her hands folded demurely in front of her skirts, she stepped into the room and moved her gaze between the three of them before settling on Devlin. She waited patiently for an answer.

Devlin raked his fingers through his hair. "How much did you hear?"

"Everything." No guilt showed on her face at that confession. "I'm more mature than you think, you know. I'm able to handle news like this, too, especially if it involves our family. And Peyton."

Double Christ. "Yes, I think you are, too."

Her tight nod confirmed it. Yet like a dog after a rabbit, she didn't let her question go. "So what are we going to do about it?"

The women seemed to collectively hold their breaths as they waited for him to answer. Instead, he deflected, knowing this decision had to be made by all of them. "What do you think we should do, Teddy?"

"We should try to make restitution." A serious line formed between her brows as she considered the options. "For those we know were harmed, and for their families. I think that would be a good start."

"So do I," Devlin agreed quietly. He'd never been more proud of his sister in his life.

"But…" Teddy continued thoughtfully, her gaze falling to the carpet at his feet. "I think we should also keep it private among ourselves. That is, us and Peyton and Crewe. Papa is dead, and there's no reason anyone else needs to know what he did. It was years ago, after all, and what good could come from telling everyone now? Revealing it might even prevent us from helping those who were harmed."

Yes, she was definitely wise beyond her years. "I think that's a good plan."

"And Peyton should be put in charge of it."

His heart skipped. Perhaps that wasn't such a good plan after all. As far as he knew, Peyton still planned on leaving as soon as she could. "She's returning to France, Teddy. She won't be here to help."

"Have you asked her to stay?"

His mother raised a curious brow at Teddy's question, and Margaret waited expectantly for his answer.

"She was clear about her intentions." Even after they'd made love, even after that wonderful joining of bodies and souls—even after admitting to loving each other—she thought her future lay elsewhere. All that had changed was that the way to a new future had been opened for her, one without fear or revenge. One without him.

"Yes," Margaret pressed. Then she repeated Teddy's question, "But have you asked her?"

"She thinks there's nothing here for her."

"We're here for her! You have to tell her that." Before he could argue, Margaret threw up her hands as if begging for help from heaven to cure them of the plague that was her brother. "You can be so daft at times, Devlin, you know that?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hold on. I think I've done—"

"Not nearly enough to persuade her to remain in London," his mother interjected. "I agree with the girls. She needs to stay— we need her to stay." Her face softened on him. " All of us."

His sisters nodded, while his mother continued to watch him curiously. He'd never been more under scrutiny in his life.

"Margaret and Theodora," his mother called out over her shoulder to his sisters, her eyes never leaving him, "why don't you give me a moment with your brother, please? I'd like to speak to Devlin alone."

Normally, such a request would have brought grumblings and whines from both sisters at the thought of being excluded, but this morning's extraordinary revelations had them behaving. Margaret gave his hand a squeeze as she passed him on her way toward the door. Teddy, always wearing her heart on her sleeve, threw her arms around him and hugged him.

"See?" she said. "I told you I'm more mature than you give me credit for."

He placed a kiss to the top of her head. "Absolutely."

Her eyes gleamed. "Does this mean you'll finally let me learn to drive?"

"Absolutely not."

Teddy let out a loud sound of aggravation, clenched her fists at her side, and marched out the door after Margaret. "We haven't finished talking about this!"

"Oh, yes, we have."

She sent him an aggravated glare over her shoulder, then loudly shut the door. He could hear her angry footsteps stomping away down the hall.

"She's right, you know," his mother said quietly as he joined her on the sofa. She leaned forward to pour them both fresh cups of tea. "About Peyton."

"To help with whatever restitution we can provide?" He shook his head. "She most likely wants to put the past behind her and move on."

"I didn't mean that, although having her help would be a wonderful idea." She stirred in a dollop of honey and held out the cup and saucer toward him. "I meant asking her to stay."

"I have asked her." He took a sip of the tea and welcomed the earthy warmth down his throat. "She wants to return to France. She thinks her future lies there."

"Perhaps you didn't ask her the right question." She raised her own cup to her lips and peered at him over the rim. "Did you ask her to marry you?"

He choked on his tea. Sputtering, he scrambled to sit up. He turned toward his mother and gaped at her between coughs. "Pardon?"

"If she doesn't think she has any reason to stay in London, then perhaps we need to show her she does. A grand reason." His mother calmly reached for one of the tiny lemon biscuits resting on a plate on the tea tray and placed it onto his saucer. " You need to show her, Devlin."

He blinked. Had news of what her husband had done addled her brain? "You want me to marry her?"

"Yes." With that blunt answer, she settled back against the sofa as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. "You're a good pairing. There's certainly physical attraction between the two of you. I've seen the way you look at each other."

He set down his tea on the table and promptly came to his feet. "I am not having this conversation with my mother of all—"

"Heavens, Devlin! Where do you think you came from—a stall at the market?"

"Yes." He shot her a hard look over his shoulder as he strode toward the bookcase in the corner. It was time for something far stronger than tea. He pulled down the fake front of a row of books that turned the shelf into a liquor cabinet and retrieved the bottle of Glenturret hidden inside. "As did everyone in my family." No fresh glasses sat inside the hidden shelf, so he turned back toward the tea tray and unceremoniously poured his tea into Margaret's abandoned cup. "And all my friends."

"Even Lucien?"

He paused before splashing the golden liquid into his cup. "No. Lucien was the unintended consequence of Lucifer bedding a hellhound, then being left at the front door of Bladdenham Park like a changeling."

Devlin's caricature of his friend's creation was only half facetious. No one worked harder at crafting a blackguard's reputation than Lucien Grenier, Duke of Crewe. But then, no one had greater reason to.

That was one secret the Raines women would never learn about.

His mother thoughtfully rubbed the tip of her index finger around the rim of her cup. "Peyton Chandler is…well…"

Beautiful, intelligent, feisty yet feminine…the most wonderful woman he'd ever met in his life. None of which his mother needed to hear coming from his lips.

"Troubled," she finished with a small frown.

"Yes." He took a healthy swallow of whiskey. There was no warmth in his throat this time. There was only a long, welcomed burn.

"So are you."

The concern in his mother's eyes stabbed him in the gut. He slowly lowered the glass from his lips. He didn't bother denying it.

"For some of the same reasons."

He couldn't deny that either. So he stared into his cup and slowly swirled the whiskey just to watch it sheet off the china in dark legs.

"If life with your father taught me anything, it was to find allies who understand me. Peyton understands you, Devlin, and the pain you've suffered. She's one of us." She paused. "She deserves to become one of us in every way."

"You mean marriage." He shot her a quelling look. "I thought you wanted me to help her, not punish her."

Not rising to the bait of that failed attempt at humor, his mother leveled a hard look at him. "She loves you."

His heart skipped, and he covered any emotions that might have strayed across his face by shaking his head. "I don't know if what she feels is—"

"She loves you," his mother repeated firmly. There would be no brooking an argument with her over that. Yet she paused. "Do you love her?"

The simple question hung in the air between them like a roll of thunder announcing an oncoming storm. He could barely remember to breathe beneath the weight of it and had no idea how his lungs filled with air, how he managed to stay on his feet, or how he was able to answer, "Yes, I do," without his voice breaking.

"Enough to want to be with her, share a family, and create a real home together?"

"Yes." Then he put voice to his deepest fears. "But is that enough reason for her to change everything about her life?"

"Two people who need each other the way you do, who are equals in intelligence and capabilities, who can work together like true partners to create a happy life for themselves…" she murmured thoughtfully against the rim of her tea cup. "Seems to me to be the perfect reason."

"Amid all the scandal of her return, she's also supposed to withstand the gossip of becoming my wife and the trials that come with being Duchess of Dartmoor?"

A small smile played at her lips. "Duchess of Dartmoor isn't such a bad position, I daresay, for the right woman. One who has the spine and resolve to match her duke in every way."

That was the god's truth, even if he didn't want to admit it. But it was an even deeper worry that concerned him.

"And if she says no? If she would rather return to France and the life she knows there versus the struggle that awaits her here?" If she would rather keep me in her past with the ghosts who used to haunt her than walk into the future together? It was a fear he didn't have the courage to raise with Peyton before, not even when he'd held her trembling and satiated in his arms. "What do I do then?"

His mother gave him a reassuring smile as she stood and approached him. "She won't." With that certainty, she removed a ring from her finger and placed it onto his palm, then closed his hand around it. "Take this when you propose. It was your grandmother's engagement ring. You deserve to have the same happy, loving marriage that your grandparents had." She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "If not more."

When she moved away, she took the bottle of whiskey with her.

He looked down at the ring and shook his head. "Is it really that simple?"

"God no!" She poured the whiskey into her tea, then set the bottle aside and lifted the cup to her lips to take a tentative sip. "Marriage is the most complex situation in the world, at some times happy, at others thoroughly miserable, and always a challenge, even when both people care for each other. But when you have love, support, and acceptance, it's also the most miraculous."

He felt the tiny ring dig into his palm as he tightened his hold around it. "I have your blessing, then?"

"You have a wonderful future ahead of you." Her eyes softened on him. "I cannot think of anyone more perfect for you to spend it with than Peyton Chandler."

Neither could he.