He paused, his breath becoming erratic as he took in her horrified expression. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.” When she continued to stare at him with large eyes, he frowned. “What did you expect me to do with the information?”
Sadly, his response was what she’d expected, but disappointment still lanced her. “I thought you could use it as leverage so we can marry.”
“After everything that villain has done, you and I don’t have to ask him for anything,” Declan growled. “And if I did release the information, it would be after we married. With your new title, you’ll ride out the storm easily enough.”
She pressed her fingers to her forehead, hoping to dispel the megrim building behind her eyes. “And what of Finlay?”
Declan remained mute.
“He will be ruined. He’ll lose his position as the heir to Rockhaven. He’ll be labeled a bastard.”
“I know.”
Alethea clamped her eyes shut. “I’m his twin, therefore I’m a bastard, as well.”
When she opened her eyes, it was to him studying her with a remorseful look on his face.
She had to leave.
She jumped off the bed, diving for her night rail that lay draped over the footboard. She pulled it over her head, before she quickly slid into her shoes. Scrambling to find her cloak, she saw it peeping out from under the bed. Dropping to her hands and knees, she retrieved it and quickly threw it about her shoulders.
“Come back to bed,” Declan said from the nest they’d made in the silk sheets. “Now is not the time to go marching off into the night.”
“I can’t stay if there’s a chance you’ll ruin my brother.”
“I don’t want to ruin Finlay.” He released a beleaguered sigh. “Please stay. Help me find another way.”
Alethea wrapped her arms around her waist and shook her head. “I can’t discuss it anymore right now.” She stepped out into the hall, slamming the door shut behind her.
She raced down the stairs lest he catch her. Retracing her earlier steps, she soon found herself in the rear of the house, listening with annoyance as the sound of thundering footsteps could be heard in pursuit behind her. With a grunt, she took off running, her cloak and nightdress whipping around her legs, her hair streaming like a red banner behind her. When she finally reached Rockhaven House, she managed to slip inside and up to her room undetected. She made her way directly to the window, peeking through the curtains. A dark figure stood across the street, hatless, his shirt untucked and his coat unbuttoned. His shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths as he stared up at her window.
Declan. Despite all her desperate beliefs to the contrary, he’d proven himself akin to the other men in her life—intent on his own wishes and desires, damn the cost.
Sinking to the floor, she finally allowed the tears to fall.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
March 1814
I wish I could have done more. Been more.
Wishing is a futile and painful exercise.
-The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon
The tap on the door made Declan bolt upright in bed. He scrubbed a hand across his face. Hadn’t he only fallen asleep minutes before? Considering how he had tossed and turned following Alethea’s hasty departure, he probably had.
A knock sounded again. Louder.
“Come in, Edwards,” Declan grumbled before flopping face-first on the mattress. His spirits sank when he realized the sheets smelled faintly of honeysuckle.
The door opened and his valet approached. “Your Grace, you have a visitor.”
Declan groaned. “What time is it?” He couldn’t bring himself to lift his head to peer at the clock.
“It’s seven o’clock, Your Grace.”
“Who in God’s name is calling at this unholy hour?”
“I am. Get your arse out of that bed and tell me what you to did to my sister.” Finlay Swinton stood silhouetted in the doorway, looking every inch the berserker Declan had long ago compared him to.
Edwards slipped quietly into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
Declan rubbed his eyes with his fists as he recalled Alethea’s tortured expression as she threw on her clothes and fled the previous night. She’d declared her love, and then given him her virtue in the most amazing sexual experience of his life. Dreams of a lifetime spent indulging in such moments had played happily through his mind until she’d given him that damn book.
And then their beautiful interlude had dissolved into anger.
“Why do you think I’ve done something to your sister?”
“Because I know she snuck out of the house last night, and I heard her crying in her room when she returned.”
White-hot emotions flared in his chest at the thought he caused her tears and it took him a moment to speak. “I’m sorry to hear that. But what makes you think I’m the cause?”
Finlay slowly arched a blond brow, his green eyes turning stormy. “Because that is on your night table.”
Declan followed the man’s gaze to where the diary sat.
The viscount advanced a step to the bed and raised his hand, pointing a finger at Declan. “And before you scramble to invent some excuse for why that book is in your possession, know her perfume still lingers in the air. So don’t lie to me.”
The fight left Declan’s body on a long, weary exhale. “She was here, but she stormed out last night when we argued.”
A muscle ticked in Finlay’s jaw, his face flushing scarlet. Declan tamped down a trace of sympathy. It was unwise to show weakness at this moment.
“What I don’t understand is why you let her leave. How could you let her depart at that time of night?”
“I didn’t let her do anything,” Declan roared, jumping to his feet and wrapping a sheet around his waist. “I chased after her, but you know how devilishly quick she can be. I raced to Rockhaven House and saw a light on in her bedroom window, so I knew she’d made it home safely. How did you let her leave the house in the first place?”
“I didn’t.” Finlay slashed a hand through the air. “I went to check on her and found her bed empty.” He pivoted to a chair by the fireplace and sank into it. “She’s been so…so fragile since she found that bloody diary. Learning everything you thought you knew about yourself is a lie delivers a blow even the hardiest of souls would be hard-pressed to withstand.” He yanked his cravat, leaving it askew. “I’ve made it a point to spend as much time with her as I could, but of course the one night I depart for dinner with friends is when she went skipping off to you.”
“I’m honored she came to me. I hope she’ll always come to me.”
Finlay glared at him. “But you made her run away. What did you argue about?”
Declan disappeared into his dressing room. He certainly couldn’t defend himself from Alethea’s brother in nothing but a rumpled bedsheet.
“Ahh,” Finlay’s voice sounded from the adjoining room. “She must not have approved of your plans for revenge.”
Declan grunted as he buttoned his waistcoat. What had she expected him to do with such information? When he returned from his dash to Rockhaven House, he’d spent half the night considering everything she told him about the conversation she’d overheard, as well as the details from the late countess’s diary. He studied every possible avenue for revenge, and all of them left Alethea and Finlay ruined. Had he received this scandalous information when he’d first arrived in London, concern for the twins would have been a nonfactor. But now, the thought of hurting her, of causing her pain, robbed him of any pleasure he might acquire on his path to vengeance.
He emerged from the dressing room a few minutes later, catching a fleeting glance of Finlay tucking the diary into his coat pocket. He opened his mouth to demand its return, but until he determined how best to proceed with divulging Lord Rockhaven’s treachery, he’d let them keep their mother’s diary. Despite the disastrous secret it contained, neither twin would destroy the book.
Declan raked a hand through his hair. “Apologize. Although I suspect she won’t see me.”
Finlay let out a bark of laughter. “I think not.” He glanced out the window, his gaze unfocused. “We’re to attend the opera tonight. Perhaps you can approach her then. She’d dare not cut you in front of a crowd.”
“Are you sure of that?” Humor made his lips curve despite himself. “Allie always could deliver a good set down.”
“True.” Finlay grinned before his expression turned considering. “I’ll ask her to accompany me to get refreshments at the first intermission, and you can steal her away for a private word.”
Declan extended a hand to the other man. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You still have to win her forgiveness and then her hand.” Finlay took a step back. “She very well may prefer marriage to Connington over you.”
Puffing his cheeks on a deep exhale, Declan nodded. “Let’s hope not.”
…
She feared her smile was slipping.
After a quarter of an hour of mindless, insipid chatter, Alethea’s social smile had turned bitter. She didn’t care about Lady Caroline’s new ball gown or that Lord Neeham crashed his curricle on London Road. She didn’t even care that her father kept glancing at her with his brow furrowed.
Her desire—and ability—to act like the perfect society lady had fled her when she’d run from Declan’s home the night before.
Stifling a sigh, she flipped open her Brisé silk fan and idly waved it about. Just thinking about the night before, of finally surrendering to the desire that pulsed and sparked between Declan and her, made her blood run hot and her nipples harden in her stays.
Nonetheless, when she remembered the expression on his face when he talked about destroying her father in the name of revenge and writing Finlay off as an unfortunate consequence, anger clouded her vision.
“Accompany me for champagne.”
Alethea slid her gaze toward Finlay, who’d plopped into the chair next to her. “Are you asking me or commanding me?”
He snorted. “I learned long ago how useless it is to command you to do anything.”
“Why do you want my company anyway?” She indicated the lively crowd around them with her head. “Surely any one of these individuals would make better company than me.”
“I suspect you’re right,” he agreed, dodging her attempt to smack his arm, “but then I find I’d rather suffer your ire than the meaningless conversations I’d face from this lot.”
“Oh, very well. If you procure me a glass of champagne, I’ll even attempt a smile.”
“Deal.”
As they squeezed around a group of laughing men, Finlay dipped his head close to hers. “Has something happened you wish to talk about?”
“No. Thank you for asking, but I don’t wish to discuss it right now.”
“Very well.” He escorted her to a quiet corner. “Wait here and I’ll return shortly with a glass for you.”
“I should have known you’d abandon me in the first corner you came across,” Alethea said, shaking her head.
“I’m afraid all the champagne will turn flat under the force of your sour stare.” He lifted a shoulder as he started to back away. “In this way, the only champagne losing its delightful fizz is yours.”
Alethea’s mouth twitched. “You hope.”
“I do. Try to control yourself.” He tossed her a smile and entered into the crowd.
Resisting the urge to tuck herself farther into the darkened corner, Alethea watched the teeming crowd without really seeing it. She wished she’d been allowed to stay home.
“Allie.”
She clenched her eyes shut at the sound of her name uttered in Declan’s smooth, deep alto. Dragging in a raspy breath, she spun on her heel. “Now I know why Finlay was so insistent I come tonight. Traitor.”
“Did you not want to come?” Although she didn’t look at him, she could feel his gaze moving over her face. “I thought you loved the opera.”
“I find I wasn’t in the mood for a love story.”
“Allie, I’m sorry. I didn’t handle last night’s revelation well. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She nodded, still averting her gaze. “Now that you’ve had a night to consider, what are your plans? Are you still eager to ruin Finlay’s and my good name?”
“Of course not.”
Forcing herself to look at him, she found his beautiful dark eyes appeared dull, their usual sparkle absent. The skin around his mouth was taut, his lips a grim slash. Meeting her gaze, he engulfed her hand in his own.
“I don’t know what I am going to do. I’m hopeful my man will find additional information or evidence that’s separate from”—he cleared his throat—“separate from what we discovered. Regardless, let’s decide how to move forward together.”
“Together?” A lightness came over her and the ghost of a smile curved her mouth. “I’d like—”
She glanced over Declan’s shoulder and her words, and renewed spirits, dissipated into the air.
…
“Allie. Darington. I didn’t expect to find you two together.”
Steeling his spine, he pivoted to face her father. “Rockhaven.”
He thought he’d done an adequate job disguising his loathing, but realized he’d voiced the earl’s name harshly. With condemnation. Observing how the earl bristled, the man had noted the tone as well.
“I did not realize you would be in attendance, Darington.” The earl dipped his head. “I would have invited you to view the performance from our box.” Declan made to reply, but Rockhaven interrupted. “Actually, I don’t believe there would have been room in the box this evening because our last guest has just arrived.”
Alethea’s breath hitched as Lord Connington made his way toward them. He came to a stop next to the earl and greeted him and Alethea with amiable nods. He looked at Declan critically before greeting him properly.
“Connington, so glad you could join us this evening. Lady Alethea has been asking after you.” A grin brightened Rockhaven’s face.
A stone settled in Declan’s gut even as Alethea turned wide eyes to him, her head shaking to and fro.
“Allie dear, don’t play coy now.” The earl chuckled. “I’m sure Darington is aware that you and Lord Connington will marry.”
Alethea groaned under her breath. Even knowing Rockhaven was baiting him did little to stop the waves of rage beginning to roll off him.
“Father—” Alethea began.
“Lord Connington, will you please escort Lady Alethea back to the box?” Rockhaven asked. He raised his brows as he looked at her. “I need a word with Darington. I’ll return shortly.”
“No.” Her voice broke on the word but she visibly squared her shoulders. “I want to stay here with Declan.” Setting her jaw, she glanced at her father, who stood in stony surprise. She slid her gaze to the elderly gentleman and winced. “I hope you understand, my lord, but I can’t marry you.”
To Declan’s relief, the older man took a step back, a wistful look on his face. “I do.” Looking at Declan, he extended a hand. “Best of luck.” He turned to leave, but paused, glancing over his shoulder at the earl. “I’ll send my solicitor around to your home to collect the settlement paperwork. They will, of course, be destroyed.”
Lord Connington walked away. Without removing his eyes from the departing man’s back, the earl muttered, “I knew your return would be problematic.”
Declan took a step toward him, his hands curling like talons, uncaring of the milling crowd. “When Albert died, did you think you were free of us Sinclairs? Did you think you would finally have control over the partnership and its assets? I imagine it smarted when you realized there was still one Sinclair left to deal with.”
The earl faced him, his hands linked behind
his back. “At first, I admit I was annoyed. After dealing with your idiot brother for all those years, having to petition him for approval, like he wasn’t half my age and possessed a quarter of my intelligence, I was relieved to finally have what should have been mine when your father died. And then you strolled into Drury Lane like an arrogant prodigal son finally come home.” He paused, his gaze narrowing on Declan’s face. “But now I doubt you’re a prodigal son at all.”
Alethea advanced on her father, her face twisted in anger, but Declan stayed her with a hand. “The prodigal son of the Bible wanted to leave. I was sent away to shield me from the havoc you wrought.”
“I was just as much a victim of your supposed father’s deceit as the other investors were,” the earl said, his voice amplifying around the foyer.
“Supposed father?” Declan scowled. “Whatever are you talking about, Rockhaven?”
The earl curled his lip. “I don’t believe you’re who you say you are.”
Declan glanced around at the crowd to find scores of people staring in their direction, some beginning to wander closer. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.
Spinning to face the audience that had gathered in the periphery, Rockhaven gestured to him with a sweep of his arm. “How can we be sure you’re really Lord Declan Sinclair, the second son of the late Duke of Darington? He’s been gone for more than a dozen years. You very well could be an imposter.”
As gasps and whispers erupted around them, Declan’s stomach roiled. The fact that Rockhaven would make sure a despicable assertion, and in front of a crowd of peers, made him want to break something. He slid his gaze to Alethea, who regarded her father with a paled face.
“What rot.” His voice was more resolute than he felt. “There are plenty of people who remember me from before I left to join my mother’s family.” He grabbed Alethea’s hand. “Your daughter, for example.”
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