Shortly around the time the marchioness had married, Josephine’s own courtship had unraveled, and she’d retreated from Society’s eyes. As such, she and Lady Tennyson had never moved in the same circles. Now, she regretted that missing connection for altogether different reasons.
Tingles traipsed along her spine.
She was seeing him everywhere. For surely there was no other accounting for how—or why—Duncan Everleigh was here even now.
Josephine closed her eyes. And opened them.
The sight remained. He remained.
Duncan.
Her heart sped up. Even with his more threadbare garments, he was more elegant and commanding than all the fancily clad dandies around them. She drank in the sight of him as he strode down the steps, glancing purposefully about the room as he went.
For one sliver of a moment born of the girlish dreams she’d believed herself incapable of, she thought he had come for her. That he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him and wished for a new beginning.
But as she watched him continue across the room with determined strides, that foolish hope died.
Of course, he was here because of Lord Tennyson.
As such, she should let him to his business this night. He’d been clear in that he didn’t want any interference from her.
Josephine set her jaw. Alas, she’d had never done that which was expected of her.
With that, she abandoned her chair on the sidelines and started across the room.
Chapter 19
When Duncan had been just six, he’d gone fishing with his father and elder brother. He’d been the only one of their trio to snag a catch that day. After he’d reeled it in, his father had freed it from its hook.
As Duncan surveyed the Marquess of Tennyson’s crowded ballroom, he felt a kindred bond with that poor silvery creature as it had flopped and twisted about.
And that sense of awkwardness was not solely a product of his distance from this foreign world.
Arriving, uninvited, in the middle of a ball to force another meeting with the Marquess of Tennyson was, in and of itself, reason enough for him to be disquieted.
Alas, the lords and ladies present had far greater interests than a lone figure who’d arrived post-receiving line.
As he made his way down the steps, he braced for some servant to come racing, grab him by the arms, and toss him bodily from the gathering.
Instead, Duncan moved through the crowd, unnoticed, with surprising ease. But for the occasional faintly bored glance thrown his way, Duncan remained largely invisible. He scanned the room, searching for the Marquess of Tennyson, when a figure stepped into Duncan’s line of vision. A familiar figure.
Duncan stilled.
Matthew.
Seven years had passed since he’d last seen his brother. Time hadn’t changed him. Duncan didn’t know why he’d thought it would. Perhaps it was because every aspect of Duncan’s life had changed. Matthew was the same in every way. Tall, slender. There was a slightly more serious set to a face that had forever been creased with a smile. By the fine cut to Matthew’s elegantly tailored dark wool suit, he lived comfortably. That comfortable… luxuriant life Eugenia had hungered for.
Aside from those small changes, Duncan might as well have stepped back in time to before their relationship had been fractured. Before Matthew had betrayed Duncan and Charlemagne.
While Duncan? Duncan had struggled in every way there was for a man to struggle.
If he were being honest with himself, Duncan had also thirsted for success greater than he’d known.
What you’re worried most over isn’t my status or my family or my connection to your client. You’re more worried about winning your case so that you might, at last, have the respect you’ve been searching for. You’re unable to accept that the world and its opinion can all go hang.
Duncan braced for the rush of familiar resentment, the all-too-familiar sense of inadequacy, at the memory of Josephine’s words. At being confronted now with his brother and all the success he’d come into as a matter of chance.
But, this time, it didn’t come.
He’d been chasing redemption. Wanting to at last prove his worth to the world. He’d told himself it was for Charlemagne.
But it hadn’t been. Not entirely.
It had been about himself.
As if he felt Duncan’s focus, Matthew went motionless. A flute of champagne dangled between his fingers as he did a sweep of the room.
Duncan knew the very moment his brother registered his presence.
All the color bled from Matthew’s cheeks.
He’d spent years hating him. Now, he felt only pity for the empty existence he lived.
He bowed his head in greeting and waited for Matthew to make the next move. If he would. Or was he too much a coward to acknowledge his younger brother, the notorious murderer, here amongst Matthew’s social equals and Duncan’s social betters?
In a shocking display, Matthew cut a path across the ballroom and stopped before him. “My God, Duncan. What are you doing here?” His elder brother’s cheeks flushed. “Forgive me, that isn’t what I meant. I was… I haven’t… I…” It appeared, with time, that ease of words had failed Matthew, too.
“I’m here on a matter of business.”
Understanding dawned in his elder brother’s eyes. “The Holman case.”
Duncan couldn’t mask his surprise. Matthew had been following his role in Lathan Holman’s case?
The faintest hint of amusement ghosted his brother’s face. “You’re surprised that I know.”
“I am,” he confessed. Had it been information he’d discovered in the gossip columns that would be so important to a member of the peerage? Or had it been an interest generated by the fraternal bond they’d once shared? Either way, Matthew gave no indication which the answer might be.
He directed his stare at the contents of his glass for a long while before speaking again. “I tried to stay abreast of you over the years. I wanted to reach out.” A spasm of anguish twisted Matthew’s features. “I didn’t know…” What to say? “Charlemagne… she is…?”
“Well. Very well.” And how much better she’d been since Josephine had stormed into both of their lives and forced Duncan to confront the manner of father he’d been these past years, and the manner of father he should be, to his daughter.
“That is good,” Matthew murmured. “I’ve missed her… and you, Duncan. I made so many mistakes,” his brother whispered. “After… after…” Eugenia’s death? After Matthew had helped see Duncan cleared of wrongdoing? “I didn’t know how to live with myself. I betrayed you and was undeserving of forgiveness.” Matthew’s voice broke. “That is why I never came around.” His brother’s lips pulled, twisting his features into a sad, tired mask that made him appear twenty years older. “Why should you have wanted me to anyway?”
In all the years since they’d been estranged, Duncan had believed it was hate that kept Matthew away.
For so long, he’d resented him. For so much. Nay, he’d hated him.
Now, he looked at his brother and found the other man’s life had been mired in a different misery. He’d loved where he shouldn’t have… and lost. And what was worse, Matthew would forever have to live with the guilt of the decisions he’d made. Once, Duncan would have found a vicious glee in Matthew’s suffering. Now, there was only pity and regret for how life had turned out for the both of them. He didn’t know if he ever could, or would, forgive Matthew. Not fully. But there could be peace. “Perhaps we can meet one day… and talk,” Duncan finally said.
His brother’s eyes slid shut. “Talk,” his brother repeated hoarsely. “I would like that. I’d like that very much.” Matthew’s throat worked wildly. “Thank you.” He lingered another moment, as if he wished to say more, and then beat a hasty exit.
Duncan followed his retreat for the length of the ballroom and to the stairs that led up and out, until Matthew was gone.
“I
was wondering when you would arrive,” a voice drawled, and Duncan spun on his heel.
The Marquess of Tennyson flashed a cold smile.
Duncan had been deliberately granted entrance, then.
Did you expect that the man who so ruthlessly grabbed you by the throat last time and had burly servants escort you to the door wouldn’t be waiting? Either way, it didn’t matter.
“Are you ready to talk about your relationship with Lathan Holman?” he asked, barely moving his lips, cognizant of the attention they’d get simply because they were speaking with each other.
A muscle twitched in the marquess’ jaw. “Not here.” He led Duncan to the same office where they’d met before all too briefly.
Unlike in their last exchange, the marquess motioned to a seat and took up a place at the head of his desk. “Well, you’ve sent multiple letters over the past five days. Out with it. Ask your questions.”
That was it? Just like that? He eyed the other man warily. “Are you employed by the Home Office?”
Tennyson shook his head. “No.”
“Were you employed by the Home Office?”
The marquess pressed his fingertips together and drummed the digits. “Ask a different question.”
“Has Lathan Holman ever been employed by you?”
“Yes.”
It was the first affirmative answer Tennyson had volunteered about Holman. Duncan sat upright. “What manner of work did he do for you?”
“He functioned as an assistant. You might call him a man-of-affairs.”
“But what did you call him?”
Lord Tennyson continued to drum his fingers. “Next question,” he said coolly.
And then it dawned. Tennyson was shaping the narrative and the parameters. The marquess would in no way commit to having worked—past or present—for the Home Office. “In his time serving as a man-of-affairs for you, did you find him to be a loyal servant?”
At last, the marquess stopped that staccato tapping of his fingers. Something that looked very much like sadness flashed in his eyes. “I considered him the most loyal. There was nothing I didn’t entrust him with.” Ice glazed Tennyson’s blue eyes. “Including the care of my family.”
Ah, so that was what accounted for the marquess’ willingness to say nothing and let Holman hang. Holman had committed treason, but to Tennyson, the greater of the grievances was the peril in which Holman had placed his family.
“He was taken advantage of,” the marquess said, fisting his hands on his desk. “There was another who used Holman’s loyalty. Manipulated it.” His lips twisted in a sneer. “A gentleman whose greed and quest for power took precedence over moral right.” His voice grew distant, and his eyes slid past Duncan’s shoulder. “Lathan Holman was just a pup who got dragged into something he couldn’t understand.” Lord Tennyson held Duncan’s eyes. “He shared everything he knew about… certain crimes within and was granted clemency for it. There were… are others, however, who came into power who felt it was essential that a lesson be made from the situation, and they decided to make Holman their example.”
Duncan gave his head a disgusted shake. “He volunteered everything he knew. Pointed to those who were rightly to blame, and for that, he was impressed? And now they’d brand him a traitor and drag him through a public trial?” God, if that wasn’t the way of the world. Fingers would point, and the world needed a target for its fury.
A muscle twitched at the corner of the marquess’ left eye. “Do not go about making Holman out to be completely innocent. He isn’t. My wife nearly died for Lathan Holman’s mistakes. He’s not innocent of all wrongdoing, but neither does he need to be the public enemy those in the Home Office and Society are determined to have him be.”
“He’s paying for crimes while others go free.” And the whole damned world was content to grab the best seats possible for the man’s hanging.
All the muscles of Lord Tennyson’s face contorted, and he looked away, but not before Duncan caught regret and pain parading across his features. When he returned his focus to Duncan, he had his cool mask firmly back in place. “I had no wish to have my family dragged back into… such affairs.”
“So you’d let Holman pay the price with his neck.”
Tennyson surged forward in his seat. “You judge me for not speaking out earlier on his behalf, and yet, do you have a family you love? People you would protect at all costs?”
Charlie’s visage flashed in his mind’s eye… and Josephine’s.
A wry grin lifted the right corner of Tennyson’s mouth. “No need to reply. I already know the answer to that question.” The other man shoved to his feet and swept a hand out, concluding the meeting. “We’re done here.” As they left the offices, they fell into step.
When they reached the end of the corridor that intersected three halls, Duncan stopped the other man. “If I’d not discovered your connection with Mr. Holman, would you have spoken up on the gentleman’s behalf?”
Silence hung heavy for several seconds.
“Does my answer matter? Will knowing either way change anything?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Then let it be enough that you pieced together my connection to the gentleman.” With that, Tennyson took his leave.
Duncan stared after him.
This was the ruthlessness that was the world. Self-preservation—be it protecting oneself or one’s family or interests—came before all, including the lives of wrongly accused men like Lathan Holman.
His nape prickled with the feeling of being watched, and he searched the now empty corridor.
A small figure stepped out from around the corner.
“Hullo, Duncan,” she said softly, and joy spiraled with the pain of having missed her so that all his emotions were jumbled, and speech failed him.
She glided forward, this silken-clad version of the woman he’d fallen hopelessly and helplessly in love with even more regal, even more elegant than she’d been five days earlier in his offices, when everything had gotten turned upside down.
As she moved, he devoured the sight of her, drank her in.
Josephine.
She stopped before him. Only a handbreadth divided them, and it was still too much.
She was draped in a pale gold gown with a bodice trimmed in crystals. The garment shimmered in the candlelight, giving her an otherworldly look.
God, how he’d missed her.
*
Josephine’s heart knocked hard against her chest, and she worked her eyes over him.
How she’d missed him.
She’d missed him so very much. It had been just five days since they’d been apart, and every day the ache in her heart hadn’t faded. It had grown until all that had remained was an emptiness so deep it had been a physical hurt.
Until this moment. Because just his being here was enough. For now. Later, she’d want more of him. She’d want a future with them together. But this stolen interlude was a gift she’d take.
She searched her eyes over him. The row of gilded sconces left Duncan bathed in a soft light that illuminated his beloved face. And, God help her, she couldn’t make out a hint of what he was thinking or feeling.
Mayhap that was for the better. After their parting, he’d been clear, that too many lies had lived between them, and nothing more could grow because of it. She cleared her throat. “Hullo, Duncan.”
“Josephine.”
Just that, and nothing more. Her name.
What did you expect? Unending words of love and devotion? An admission that he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him?
“I—”
“We should speak somewhere else. Somewhere private.”
“Of course.” Hope and joy all blazed to life once more, so vibrantly beautiful in their intensity, as Duncan swept a gaze over the hall and then opened the door closest to them.
As he pushed the panel closed, they were immediately swallowed by darkness, and she blinked in a bid to bring his face b
ack into focus.
This was all she’d hoped for since their last tumultuous parting, a chance to speak with him once again and—
“You were correct,” he said in hushed tones, so faintly she nearly could not make them out. “About…” Duncan stole a glance around the unlit parlor, and when he returned his attention to her, his voice dropped even further. “Your suspicions on the gentleman connected to Mr. Holman.”
“Mr. Holman,” she repeated dumbly.
He didn’t want to speak with her about a future together or their past mistakes or a path onward for them.
“Lathan Holman shared everything he knew about the higher-ups responsible for betraying the Home Office.” He caught her hands. “Had it not been for you, I’d not have gathered the connection was Tennyson, and Tennyson would have been content with that ignorance on my part.”
There would have been a time when all that mattered was that, at last, someone wished to freely discuss a case with her without her pleading for a role in it. And what was more? She’d pieced together details of the case, and that alone should have left only the thrill of victory. It was all she’d ever wanted. Or so she’d believed. How hollow those triumphs were without anyone to share them with. “I… that is wonderful,” she finished dumbly.
As his brows dipped, she made her lips form a smile. “I am glad.” And she was. For Duncan and Lathan Holman. And for justice on the whole.
Yet, selfishly, she wanted Duncan to say more. She wanted him to have missed her with the same intensity as she’d missed him. And she wanted him to want her in his life. As his wife, so that she and he and Charlie could all be a family, together. Josephine dropped her gaze to the floor lest Duncan see all the pain and regret she couldn’t conceal.
He brushed his knuckles along the curve of her cheek, a delicate caress that set free a thousand butterflies in her belly.
“Why did I expect you’d be more excited by this discovery?” he asked.
The Minx Who Met Her Match Page 21