Declan smiled. “I have much to tell you, my love, but Torres is right. Now is not the time. Come with me, and for once, Allie, just follow my lead.”
She bit back a retort and allowed him to tow her away.
“How did you find me?” she asked as they descended the stairs. When he tugged her around two unconscious men who lay crumpled in a heap on the landing, she snapped her gaze to his.
He squeezed her fingers. “It’s a long story that I’ll tell you on the ride home.”
“Will your recitation also explain how you managed to get into this house?”
“We set a fire on the vicomte’s ship down at the docks. With his men there fighting the blaze, stealing in here was not as difficult as it could have been.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “Was that your idea?”
A wicked smile was her answer.
Once they reached the first floor, Declan directed her toward the back of the house. “We’ll leave through the kitchens. My men are waiting with our horses.”
Alethea gripped his hand tighter, anxious to finally be gone from this place.
Declan reached to open the door when the sound of a pistol cocking resounded through the air.
“Leaving so soon? It’s quite rude to depart without taking leave of your host.”
Pivoting, Alethea’s gaze landed on Mr. Cartwell, the pistol in his hand pointed at Declan.
“This way, Your Grace. I believe His Lordship will be delighted to meet you,” he said, gesturing with the pistol for Alethea, Declan, and Torres to precede him from the room.
Fear slithered up her spine and she started to shake. Declan pulled her close to his side, curling an arm around her shoulders and placing a kiss on the crown of her head. “Remember,” he whispered, “my men are outside.”
His words bolstered her courage, and Alethea dragged a deep breath into her lungs as they followed the man’s directive.
…
They were lead to a richly furnished parlor filled with paintings, figurines, and other items that testified to the vicomte’s immense wealth.
“I wish I had known to expect a duke as a guest this evening. I would have had my chef prepare a feast worthy of such an illustrious person.”
With a snarl, Declan spun around, stepping in front of Alethea to shield her. An elderly gentleman sat on a red velvet wingback chair, his legs crossed, the top one bobbing up and down. A slender hand lay on top of his knee, every finger showcasing a colorful jewel. He appeared relaxed. Unconcerned.
Yet, his blue eyes regarded Declan with a fierce intensity.
Declan immediately recognized him as the Vicomte de Viguerie.
“I had expected Rockhaven to attempt a rescue. I know he cannot pay his debt,” the gentleman said, his accent heavy. “I was not prepared for you. I’m guessing the fire was your work.”
Declan fired back in rapid French, “I’m willing to pay the earl’s debt if the lady, my associate, and I can walk away from here right now.”
“But you’ve only just arrived,” the vicomte said, flicking his bejeweled hand, a hint of amusement settling over his face. “Surely you have time to talk a spell.”
The harsh sound of Declan grinding his teeth could be heard audibly through the room.
“Will you sit, Your Grace?” Indicating the settee with a jerk of his head, the vicomte relaxed into his chair. “I am not fond of looking up at someone while I speak.”
Alethea sat and patted the spot beside her, flashing him an encouraging smile. Declan sank onto the settee with a grunt, and she knotted their fingers together tightly. She was his anchor and successfully kept him from hauling the vicomte out of his chair and pummeling him for frightening her, elderly man or not.
The vicomte accepted a glass of wine from a servant, taking a long sip and patting his lips with a square of lace. “I assume you want to know what happened to your brother.”
Declan jerked back. “You know what happened to Albert?”
“Of course I do,” the vicomte scoffed. “I met with him the evening he was killed.”
“You were the person he met with at the pub in Spitalfields,” Declan murmured.
“I was.” He took another lazy sip of wine. “I had been wanting to meet with the duke for a while, but the time never seemed right.”
“Why not?” Declan asked, striving for a polite tone.
“Because, much like you, his hatred of me, of my perceived sins, colored his judgment.”
Albert had been cautious to a fault, and once his trust was lost or his opinion of a person settled, he rarely changed his mind.
“How, then, did you convince him to meet with you?”
“I told him I possessed information that would clear your father’s name.”
The room grew eerily quiet, the only sound from the ticking of the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room.
As if reading the question in his eyes, the old man nodded. “Yes. I believe that’s why he summoned you home.” He paused, his glass of wine halfway to his mouth. “But that’s merely speculation. Obviously, the late duke and I were not confidants.”
Declan scrutinized him. “You have the ledgers, don’t you?”
The vicomte jerked his chin to a servant, who handed him a parchment-wrapped package. He unfolded it methodically, each layer of paper carefully folded back. Declan and Alethea leaned forward in accord, straining to see what the older man held. When there were no more layers to contend with, the man revealed a book. A red book.
“This book contains the list of investors, their investment amounts, and an estimate of their returns based on the rate percentage quoted to them by Rockhaven.” He extended it to Declan. “It also lists how the earl diverted the funds. Would you care to look at it?”
Declan shot to his feet, sucking in a patient breath as he grabbed the soft leather book and returned to his place beside Alethea. He flipped open the cover, the pages fanning out under his fingers. Names, dates, numbers. They were all there.
“That’s my father’s handwriting.” Alethea choked on the admission, tears slipping down her cheeks. Anguish settled on her face, leaching it of color. “He was responsible. I knew it, but seeing th-this—”
Afraid to speak, rage and relief warring in his chest, Declan drew her close. She turned her face into his shoulder, her body shaking with her quiet sobs.
“This was the book taken from Albert as he lay dying.” Declan tapped the cover with a fingertip. “You’d given it to him that night.”
“I did. My man stumbled upon the duke when it was too late to help him, but retrieved the book before Rockhaven learned about it.” The Frenchman tsked. “I may have led him to believe it was destroyed long ago.”
“Rockhaven was unaware you met with the duke?” Torres interjected, his gaze sharp.
The Frenchman dipped his chin. “Of course.”
“Why did you offer Albert the ledgers?” Alethea lifted her head. “You must have known my father intended to have him killed, and then he’d be free to make good on his debts. Why would you take away his opportunity to do so?”
“I’d grown tired of Rockhaven. Debt or no debt, I found it more entertaining to watch him slowly crush himself with his ill-conceived plans.”
Wiping a hand down his face, Declan studied the vicomte. “I’m guessing it would be foolish to assume you’ll allow us to leave with this.” He held up the red book. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man to simply surrender damning information such as this without receiving something in return.”
The old man’s grin was predatory. “You are correct.”
Declan narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. He smiled. “In exchange for the ledgers, and to allow my party to leave from here without delay, I will give you a stake in West Indies Interest.”
While Torres let out a stream of curse words in Spanish, the vicomte went still, his gaze speculative. “Interesting.” He drummed his fingers against his glass. “Forty percent.”
> “Twenty percent.”
The man braced his hands on his thighs. “Thirty percent.”
“Twenty-five percent.” Declan propped a booted foot on his opposite knee, wiping a streak of dust from the toe.
Sighing loudly, he nodded. “Very well. Twenty-five percent.”
Rising, Declan tucked the red book into his coat and helped Alethea to her feet. He studied the Frenchman for a moment. “I’ll have my solicitor send you the necessary contract and paperwork. I will only do so, however, if you agree to leave England and never return. Your business and correspondence with the company can be done through post.”
Instead of arguing, as Declan expected the older man to do, the vicomte pressed his lips together and delivered a quick nod. “I’ve been planning on returning to St. Petersburg. I grow weary of dealing with self-important Englishmen.”
“Very well, my lord.” Declan ushered Alethea toward the door, Torres following closely behind. As they stepped out the door, the vicomte’s soft voice stopped him.
“Lady Alethea, please accept my apologies. I hope you and your duke are happy together.”
Alethea glanced over her shoulder at the Frenchman, but then met Declan’s gaze. Her eyes were sparkling. “We will be.”
Her certainty ignited a flame in his chest, and he squeezed her close as they departed.
As they rode back to London, cuddled together on Tamosi’s broad back, Declan couldn’t stop himself from burying his face in her hair. Relief smelled like honeysuckle.
“What is to happen to my father?”
Declan exhaled. “He’s to leave the country and not return.”
Alethea was quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed on the passing countryside. When she finally spoke, her tone was remorseful. “I’m sure you envisioned something more damning. A punishment equal to the dreadful things my father did to your family.”
Declan leaned close to her ear when he said, “Don’t you see? Being with you is my revenge.” He kissed her cheek. “Despite everything he’s done, building a life with you, knowing we can be happy, in spite of our families’ past, is more important than any justice a court could deliver. Our happiness, our prosperity, is the best revenge I can think of.”
She nodded, and he was aware of wetness on her cheek.
“I love you, you know,” he whispered. “From that first time in the meadow, when you wore your hair in matching braids and your dress was an improbable lily white. You wrinkled your freckled nose when I asked your name. Do you remember how I smiled when you scolded me for not waiting to be properly introduced?”
Her laugh was like sunshine.
“I was smiling because I knew, even then, I would marry you.” He bit her lobe, chuckling when she sighed. “Will you finally put my wait to an end and say you’ll do just that?”
“I’ve been waiting since that very day for you to ask.” She arched her head back and kissed his jaw.
Declan swallowed, an unknown emotion clogging his throat. She gripped his hand where it lay across her waist and squeezed it, and he suddenly realized that what he felt, at long last, was happiness.
Chapter Thirty-One
November 1825
I hope and pray happiness for the twins isn’t a mirage on the horizon.
-The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon
Alethea was dirty, tired, and emotionally spent.
But the collapsed expression on her father’s face as he stood at Finlay’s side when she walked into the study at Rockhaven House invigorated her somehow. The earl held out his arms to her, but she stayed by Declan’s side. She watched with grim satisfaction as he slowly dropped them.
“I owe you an apology.” He cleared his throat. “Many of them.”
“Indeed.”
“Life has always worked out the way I wanted it to,” the earl said, folding his arms over his chest. “Either by luck or manipulation, I succeeded. You need one or the other to make things go your way.”
“What was this, then?” Declan held up the red book. “Does it represent how lucky you were to have duped so many investors with your grand scheme? Or manipulation, because you conned them all and when the truth was made known, you framed my father and feigned innocence?”
“W-w-where did you get that?” The earl stumbled backward.
“Alethea and I had an…”—Declan crinkled his nose, seeming to search for the right word—“enlightening conversation with the Vicomte de Viguerie. He was only too happy to share secrets I’m sure you’d rather keep hidden.”
Her father hadn’t taken his eyes off the red book, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what he told you, but that book is not what you think.”
Finlay cocked his head. “What is it?”
Staring at the earl, Declan said, “It’s the financial ledgers for the Darington investment scandal. The real ledgers, and not the ones your father fabricated.”
Finlay’s mouth fell open. “But can you prove they’re tied to him?”
“The information is written in his hand, Fin.” Alethea leaned into Declan for strength.
Finlay grasped the book, flipping through the pages. He stared at it for a long moment and looked up, pinning their father with a glare. “Power and wealth. It’s always been about power and wealth. Don’t try to pretend your actions were motivated by anything else.”
Clenching his jaw, the earl looked away. “Without the funds, which have long since been spent, that ledger is useless. And who’s going to testify that’s my handwriting? Most assuredly not you, Fin. You have as much to lose as I do.”
Alethea stepped forward, steeling her spine. “If anyone doubts the authenticity of the red ledger, I think they would be hard-pressed to discount my testimony.”
Rockhaven scowled. “What testimony?”
“I overheard you in your study that day you met with the Vicomte de Viguerie. When you bemoaned the fact your assassins had failed to kill their target.” Alethea slid her gaze to Declan, who glared at her father.
Her father blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what y—”
“Stop, Father.” Alethea stomped her foot. “Not only did I hear you complain about how your men failed in their mission, you boasted of how Lord Connington was paying you for my hand.”
Rockhaven closed his eyes as he sighed. He opened them to peer at Declan. “What do you intend to do, Darington?”
The whole room seemed to hold its collective breath. Alethea couldn’t look at Declan, terrified, despite knowing what he’d say. She’d come to terms with her father’s crimes on the long ride home, and was resigned to the fate he’d earned for himself. Now that the moment was upon them, she forced herself to not ask for leniency, to support Declan’s decision.
Declan stopped before the earl and dropped his voice. Alethea strained to hear his words. “Before you leave England, you will publicly apologize for questioning my legitimacy. You can do so in a letter to the papers or by leaflets that you drop on London from an aeronautical balloon. I don’t care how you do it, but I want everyone to know you were wrong to question my identity and you recognize that I, Declan Sinclair, am the rightful Duke of Darington.”
The earl flexed his jaw. “Very well.”
Alethea sucked relief greedily into her lungs. “Declan and I are to marry.” She steadied her voice. “He wants me, regardless of your crimes against his family.”
Rockhaven visibly swallowed. “And what of the estate?”
Finlay jabbed his chest. “I’ll handle the estate. Isn’t that what you’ve been training me to do? I intend to ask Allie to assist me. She’s proven with the Rockhaven House books that she’s quite capable of clever budgeting and financial maneuvering. And if you’d given her a chance, you’d know she’s brimful of canny ideas.”
Alethea blinked back tears at the faith her brother showed in her abilities.
“I had hoped my duchess would assist me with the administration of the Darington estates.” Declan directed an expectant look at Finlay and
looped an arm around her waist.
“Actually,” Alethea began, her gaze darting between the pair, “I was hoping I could take over the management of the partnership. Think of all the wonderful ventures we can invest in together.”
While the men grinned in consent, Rockhaven opened his mouth to argue, but Declan cut him off. The temperature in the room plummeted ten degrees when he said, “You have no say in this matter, Rockhaven. The estate and your daughter are no longer your concern.”
“I will set up an account for you to draw from while on your travels, but if you step on English soil ever again,” Finlay growled, “I will personally alert the king to your misdeeds.”
“Declan’s shown you more mercy than you showed his father or brother.” Alethea looked up at Declan, her eyes stinging. “You’re certainly not deserving of it.”
The look of defeat that molded the earl’s mien gratified Alethea as much as the glint of pride she saw lurking in his eyes.
…
“Allie, you’ve forgotten something.”
Finlay held her cascading bouquet in his hand. He gave it to her as if he delivered a small bairn, watching as she accepted it into her hands. “Are you ready?”
“Of course,” she said, smoothing a hand down her pale-green skirts.
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” he said, chuckling. “I think you’ve been envisioning your wedding to Declan since we were ten.”
She raised the bouquet to her nose, inhaling the honeysuckle scent she’d long favored. “I’ve actually never allowed myself to think about my wedding.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. When I thought about being married, I merely hoped I’d be happy with my choice of groom.”
Finlay grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. “And are you? Happy?”
Alethea looked toward the doors leading into the church sanctuary and swallowed. “So much it hurts.”
Wrapping her arm around his, he pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “I’m thrilled to hear it.”
To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal) Page 24