Gwen leaned against his chest. “You tried to tell me but I was so blind. All this time I would have done anything for him and he was never the man I thought him to be.”
The memory of her father’s distorted features, vile accusations, and admissions of lies without one hint of remorse would haunt Gwen for the rest of her days. So would the memory of his fingers squeezing her throat until she thought she had taken her last breath.
“He died alone.” She blinked back her tears. “May God forgive him; he died a monster.”
Tristan held her tighter in his comforting embrace as she squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to slow her thoughts. Even her beloved brother couldn’t calm her racing mind.
After all the sins Lachlan MacAlistair committed in his lifetime, his punishment had come at last.
God had shown him no mercy.
Later that evening Gwen sat by the fire in her bedchamber wearing her favorite fluffy robe while sipping a hot cup of tea as she contemplated the weeks ahead.
Though there was no body to bury, Lachlan MacAlistair would have a proper memorial service. Although he had been a cold, calculating man, he was still a human being who perished in a horrific way.
Gwen was opposed holding the service in England. Instead, she insisted that Lachlan be honored on his home soil. It was fitting since the one child the man loved resided there.
She alone shouldered the burden of her father’s complete truths. Although she longed to free her soul from the nightmare confining her, Gwen felt as though she had no choice but to suffer in silence. So distanced from her husband was she that she couldn’t imagine confiding in him. The tangible rift between them seemed to widen even further with the news of her father’s demise. Sebastian still hadn’t said one word to her.
Then there was the fact that Gwen refused to further burden her brother by confiding in him. Tristan’s bitterness toward their father already ran deep and she was fearful that hatred would consume him if he knew the whole horrible truth about the paternities of both Colin and Keir.
No. Lachlan MacAlistair’s secrets threatened to destroy two of his children. Gwen would be damned before she let it destroy her twin as well.
She fought to forgive her father for his horrid actions and failed miserably. In spite of the fact that Gwen thought her father mentally ill, she still couldn’t absolve him.
Gwen prayed that God would do what she was incapable of, forgive her father for his sins and forgive her for the last hateful words she uttered to Lachlan.
A faint knock at the door stirred Gwen from her morbid thoughts. Her heart leapt as she returned her porcelain cup to its saucer.
Sebastian had come to her at last!
Gwen ran to the door and swung it open however, it wasn’t her husband’s handsome face but her brother’s that greeted her. Tristan’s features wore a mask of concern. “Winston said you weren’t coming down for dinner.”
“If I’d known you were joining us, I would have made an effort to go downstairs.” Gwen forced a smile that her heart didn’t feel, the disappointment of not seeing Sebastian at the other side of her door hanging heavy in her heart, weighing it down even further.
She motioned for her brother to enter and closed the door behind him.
Tristan whistled as he surveyed their surroundings. “Would you look at this place? I guess it is true. You must be a duchess. Heaven knows this room is fit for one.”
Although his tone was jovial, Gwen’s soul ached from Tristan’s comment. It caused her to remember her wedding night, the pride in Sebastian’s eyes when he presented the suite he decorated just for her, for his duchess. Since then, her life had collapsed and so had their marriage.
Her brother’s intense stare unnerved her. His words did no better. “Your husband is in a bear of a mood tonight.”
“Is he?” She feigned ignorance, averting his gaze.
“You’re not fooling me.” He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. “Why don’t you tell me what happened between the two of you since your wedding ceremony.”
At last, Gwen met her brother’s gaze and his look of concern made her want to cry. “Things are somewhat strained between us. In truth, I have been trying to avoid him.”
“The attempt appears to be mutual,” Tristan drawled. “Why?”
She walked back toward the chaise she’d recently vacated and placed her palms against it for support. “It’s a long story.”
“It just so happens that I have the time.”
Gwen wished her brother would let the subject drop though she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t close to relenting.
She sighed. “It began with a visit from Lachlan a couple of days after my wedding.”
Tristan’s jaw tensed at the mere mention of the man.
“He revealed my husband’s ruse to me, although he believed it to be true at the time.” She studied him. “I know you were in on it and you should have told me.”
“That’s all you have to say? You’re not going to further reprimand me?” His tone betrayed his disbelief.
She shook her head. “There’s no use being angry at you. You are my best friend and always have been. I know you meant well.”
“I did and, just so you know, I found out about it after the fact.” He steeled his shoulders as if preparing for the hunts. “What else did father tell you?”
“Let us drop this right now,” Gwen urged, leaning back against the overstuffed chair.
Her brother’s dark brows snapped together. “Why?”
“Trust me when I say that it’s much better not to know.”
“Why the sudden urge to protect me, Gwen?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “I am a big boy, you know.”
“I wish I had never heard Lachlan’s sordid truths.” Her eyes were over bright. “He’s gone now so there is no reason to burden you.”
Her brother rubbed his chin with his fingers. “So, you’d rather shoulder the weight by yourself?”
“Yes, that’s an excellent idea.”
As Gwen drew her attention to a speck of lint on her robe, Tristan narrowed the gap between them then sat upon the ottoman in front of her. “There’s no way I would allow that, dearest. What kind of brother would I be then?”
“You would be the fortunate one,” she replied, considering Colin.
“You’re truly worrying me, Gwen.” Tristan leaned toward her. “What the hell happened?”
She remained silent.
“You will never convince me to retreat so start talking now.” Tristan’s sharp tone told her that he was serious.
Gwen stood, considering her options as she walked over to the fireplace then rested her palms against the mantle. Her brother wouldn’t relent until he knew the truth.
“I have never before seen father so vicious.” She faced her brother once more. “He came here for the sole purpose of clearing his conscience.”
“He had been faking his illness, of course.” Her brother’s voice was hard.
“Yes, you always suspected it and you were correct. Little did you know that was the lesser of his sins.” She retraced her steps, taking Tristan’s hand in her own. “He brought Mama’s journals to me.”
Gwen squeezed her brother’s hand then spoke quickly, deciding not to postpone his misery. “Colin wasn’t his son. He was the illegitimate son of a married man of nobility. Mama married our father to give her child a legitimate place in society.”
“Are you certain this is the truth?” Color drained from his cheeks.
She nodded. “It was written in her own handwriting, documented in her journals.”
“My God,” Tristan muttered, his disbelief evident. “Who?”
“The eighth Duke of Davenport,” Gwen revealed, gauging his reaction.
“You can’t be serious!” He stood, dropping her hand with force, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.
“It is true.” Gwen wondered if Tristan now wished he hadn’t pursued the truth. “I am sorry to say
that’s not the worst of it.”
Tristan’s eyes flashed with rage. “How much more is there?”
“Dear God, it repulses me.” Gwen crossed the room and again leaned against the mantle, studying the orange and yellow flames as they danced among the logs. “Father had an illegitimate son, also. It was the reason Mama confessed her truth to him. She wanted to hurt him in kind, although her affair ended before they wed whereas his did not.”
She paused. It was the first time she said the words aloud. To speak of it made it more real, more despicable.
Gwen closed her eyes. “Keir is his son.”
“What?” Tristan’s voice reverberated against the walls. “That is impossible!”
“I wish it were.” She turned to face him. “He was so proud when he made the admission, bragging that Keir was the one child he cared about.”
Tristan stood, placing his hands on his hips, his stance aggressive. “And he was forcing you to marry Keir, all the while knowing … if he weren’t already dead, I swear …”
Gwen remained silent, allowing Tristan his anger while she returned her attention to the fire, her gaze fixated on the flames. Did her father feel the molten flames dissolving his flesh or did he die by choking on the thick smoke that must have engulfed his room? How hot must he have been? How much pain had he endured?
Tristan interrupted her silent reflection, his voice distant. “What is happening between you and your husband, the Duke of Happiness?”
His sister grinned at his sarcasm. “I don’t know anymore.”
“How much does he know? About our parents, I mean?”
“He only knows about Colin. I couldn’t … I didn’t tell him about Keir. It is too repulsive.”
Tristan remained silent.
“You have to hand it to our mother.” Gwen’s sarcasm was thick. “She didn’t settle for your average, garden variety affair. She held out for a duke.”
Her brother gaped at her. “This is unbelievable.”
“More like downright disgusting.” Gwen’s anger turned to sadness. “I wouldn’t blame Colin if he never wanted anything to do with either of us.”
“This explains his sudden desertion,” Tristan said as he plopped down on the ottoman once again.
“I feel sorry for him, having to go through the realization all alone.” Gwen turned toward him, leaning against the mantle. “We always had each other. He had no one.”
Tristan studied her, his eyes cool and unrelenting. “You still haven’t explained why your husband is in such a foul mood.”
“Things have been—”
“Strained, yes, so you said,” her brother’s statement dripped with impatience. “Would you care to elaborate?”
He was as tense as a twig about to snap. Deciding an answer of “not really” wouldn’t suffice, she answered with honesty. “I’ve forgiven him for lying to me but I can’t forget. Nor do I trust him.”
Tristan pursed his full lips in disapproval.
“For heaven’s sake, Tristan, what do you expect?” She waited for her rebuff to sink in. “Every relationship in my life has been built on a lie.”
“Not every relationship.” His brown eyes expressed his indignation.
Gwen slumped into the matching chaise across from her brother. “I know. I didn’t mean to infer it. Sebastian and I haven’t been the same.”
Remembering their last encounter, their lack of intimacy through a most intimate act, her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to fix things.”
“Judging from his disposition,” Tristan drawled, “he’s not taking it very well.”
“We’re not speaking right now, unless Victoria is in the room. Then we must be civil to one another. We’re not fooling her either, I fear.”
Tristan’s tone dripped with disdain. “The journey to Scotland should be entertaining.”
“Victoria offered to join us but I declined. Even though our father is deceased, I don’t want her to have anything to do with the man. Sebastian isn’t coming with us, either.” She shook her head. “No, of that I am certain.”
“Did he at least offer to accompany you?”
“No,” she whispered. The fact that Sebastian hadn’t spoken to her since her father’s death, let alone address traveling with her, hurt Gwen through to her core.
“Some gentleman your husband is.” Tristan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’m beginning to think I never should have encouraged you to marry him.”
His loyalty touched her heart. “Perhaps Sebastian and I weren’t meant to be?”
“I’m staying here tonight,” Tristan announced in a blunt, matter-of-fact manner, as if he hadn’t veered in a different direction than their previous path of conversation.
He was about to stand when Gwen’s grip tightened on his hand.
“There is no need,” she assured him. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Or at the very least I will be.”
His hand clamped over hers, a gesture of support. “There is no way in hell I’m returning to Ainsley tonight, leaving you alone with a husband who is ignoring you.”
Gwen tensed at his harsh tone. “We’re both to blame.”
“Yes, well, forgive me if I don’t jump to his defense.” Tristan stood, his rugged shoulders stiff with tension.
She followed him, offering, “I’ll ring for Winston and have a suite prepared for you.”
Tristan stalked toward the door in long, lion-like strides. “There’s no need for that. I’ll ask your husband to do it.”
“Tristan,” Gwen’s tone was thick with warning, “don’t do anything I will regret.”
Her brother turned towards her as a mock expression of innocence swept over his chiseled features. “Me? Never.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I promise you.” He placed his right hand over his heart. “Regret will play no role in my conversation with your husband.”
Tristan closed the door behind him and Gwen remained frozen, her eyes fixed upon it for several seconds.
He was almost convincing.
Almost but not quite.
Tristan found his brother-in-law sitting behind his massive mahogany desk. He didn’t bother to knock on the door. Instead he strode into the room, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Well, well, imagine finding you here.”
Sebastian’s hands paused in the process of lighting the cheroot pressed between his lips. “It should come as no surprise. This is, after all, my office.”
His uninvited guest walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a tumbler of whiskey from a crystal decanter.
“By all means, help yourself to my liquor.” Sebastian’s eyes bore into the man’s back.
Tristan took a large gulp of the amber liquid before turning to face his brother-in-law. “I just had an enlightening discussion with my sister.”
“And?” Sebastian exhaled two large puffs of smoke as he stretched his legs, heels resting on the edge of his desk.
“You might try conversing with your wife sometime in the near future. It’s astonishing what you might discover.”
Sebastian didn’t respond. Instead, he inspected the cheroot that he twisted between his fingers.
Although he hadn’t admitted it to anyone, especially his wife, guilt consumed him. It planted seeds in his brain, his conscience feeding into it until it had evolved into some uncontrollable force. It was his own duplicity that brought his wife and her deceased father to blows. The fact that he didn’t cause Lachlan MacAlistair’s death made no difference, for Sebastian did cause the estrangement between the man and his daughter.
“Gwen told me you aren’t traveling with us.” Tristan placed his free hand on his hip.
Sebastian nodded but remained silent. His brother-in-law walked over to him, shoving his feet off the desk.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” The young man leaned against the spot where Sebastian’s feet had rested moments before. “This is called conversation. I speak you respo
nd and vice versa. Now, why aren’t you escorting your wife to her father’s memorial service?”
Sebastian made no effort to conceal his anger as he glared at Tristan. “Why should I? She wants me there even less than I want to be there.”
He stood, pushing his leather chair against the wall with force then marched over to the sidebar. “Besides which, it would be hypocritical for me to mourn his loss. I despised him, after all.”
“All of us loathed the man.” Tristan’s tone betrayed no shame. “The fact remains that your wife needs you.”
When Sebastian didn’t respond, Tristan added in a strong timbre, “I’m disappointed in you.”
So am I.
Though the words flashed through his mind, Sebastian remained silent, choosing instead to extinguish his cheroot in a silver and porcelain ashtray. He then poured whiskey into an ornate crystal tumbler. After taking one large gulp, he began to trust that he could keep his tone in check.
“Your sister has made it clear that she doesn’t need me. Hell, she may not even love me anymore. Why in bloody hell would she want me to travel with her?” He swallowed almost half his glass before setting it against the bar and lifting the crystal decanter in an effort to refill it.
“You are such a horse’s arse.” Tristan joined his brother-in-law at the sidebar. He then placed his own tumbler on the marble tabletop, waiting for a refill.
“I beg your pardon.” Sebastian’s hand stilled in the process of pouring. “You’re in my house, drinking my liquor. You may want to be a bit more cordial.”
Tristan clucked his tongue. “That reminds me. I’m staying here tonight.”
“Bloody lovely. It’s not enough that I must endure your insults now, I must endure them into tomorrow?”
“Speaking of insults …” Tristan grabbed the decanter from his brother-in-law then poured more liquor into his own glass. “I never realized you were so daft.”
Sebastian grabbed the decanter from his uninvited guest’s hand. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead he opted to bring both his glass and decanter back to his desk.
Once settled in the comfortable brown leather of his desk chair, he refilled his glass then began tracing the rim with his index finger. “First I’m an arse then I’m daft? You need to decide which it is and stick to it before I throw your own daft arse out of my home, brother-in-law or not.”
Dance with Deception: Scandalous Secrets, Book 1 - Exclusive Edition (Scandalous Secrets - Exclusive Edition) Page 27