Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

  But I also understood that he needed to be in the fight. He needed to be the one who made it safe for me. And I needed his brothers to keep him safe.

  I lifted my face from Will’s chest and found his eyes. The unfailing strength I discovered there powered my own. “Ben,” I said. “I’ll stay with Ben.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as he pushed that stubborn lock of hair behind my ear again. He understood every thought I’d just had. His expression became stern. “You must do exactly as he says. If you do that for me, then we’ll all be safe. Say you will.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Will went into our room and came out quickly in jeans. He held two leather holsters over his arm: one with his daggers and one with a gun.

  I wondered how they would conceal their weapons and how the whole thing would play out with law enforcement. Were officers of Scotland Yard on the way? What would be written in tomorrow’s newspapers? What would be reported on the broadcast news?

  Will jolted me out of my head with a hard kiss. “Remember what I said. I meant it. . . . I love you.”

  I touched his face and nodded. “Tell me again when you come back. Show me when you come back to me, Will.”

  “Okay,” he breathed, allowing his hands to drop from my waist. He gripped Ben’s shoulder for a second before joining Ethan and Thomas near the exit.

  I steadied myself on Ben’s arm. My trembling body fell into a cold sweat as I stared through a fog muddled with horror and awe.

  Three fierce brothers stood before me, shoulder to shoulder—powerful men committed to saving my life. . . . Three young boys trained to kill by their own father.

  My heart beat too fast, and vomit rose to the back of my throat.

  Will looked back over his shoulder once more.

  I corrected my posture and met his eyes with forced confidence.

  “Let’s do this,” Ethan said, his smooth voice filled with determination.

  Then the Hastings brothers hit the streets of London.

  30

  That was the night Will’s world spun out of his control for the first time. The night he allowed rage to seep into his soul. The same night he set in motion the aggressive strategy he’d been pulling together since his first visit to Stonington ten years before.

  A couple hours after Will left the hotel with his brothers, he instructed Ben to move me from London back to the estate in Hastings. We waited at Eastridge for word from London while journalists on television delivered breaking news of a domestic terrorist strike. The reports indicated that the terror group remained unidentified and at large. Somehow my heart knew it would stay that way for the public—an unresolved act of violence. The truth hidden, another dark lie.

  My phone and Ben’s rang at the same time. His weary eyes met my nervous stare as he answered his and I answered mine. He mouthed Thomas’s name.

  “Elle.”

  “Will.” I exhaled a sigh of relief.

  He hesitated. His breath was heavy, irregular. “I lost him. Ethan is gone.”

  “He’s—”

  “He’s dead, Elle. Oh, Christ. My brother is dead.”

  I choked on his words, choked on the sound of his pain.

  Mary’s perceptive eyes targeted me as she waited to interpret the words I would deliver into the phone, but my breath refused to push anything out.

  “Wait for me there. Stay inside the house.”

  “Yes, of course,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, Will. . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Talk to mother for me. I can’t do it.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” I said, watching her watery eyes fill with pain.

  “I know you will,” he said softly. “See you in a few hours.”

  I didn’t know how to comfort Mary. Not really. She wept in a reserved manner as I held her. When she left my embrace, it was only to pull me with her to the south-facing windows in the drawing room, where gentle rain tapped a melancholy tune against the panes of glass.

  “This is how it unravels, Ellie. It’s become Will’s war.” She was disconnecting from the world around us as she peered out into the dark landscape.

  “Yes. This is . . . it . . . Will’s. I’m . . . so sorry,” I said, stumbling through the words.

  John paced in silence through the drawing room and around the hall while he waited for Will and Thomas to return from London.

  I stopped him mid-stride and cradled that pained, youthful face in my palms. He looked so much like Will. “I’ll be upstairs. If you need me for anything at all, come get me.”

  He nodded, his teary eyes diving to the floor.

  I walked Mary to her room and then settled in Lissie’s room to pass the time, hoping it would be a distraction from the anxiety that ripped through me in constant waves, yearning for Lissie’s energetic spirit to strengthen me. I couldn’t allow darkness to pull me under. Will needed me strong while he grieved the loss of his brother, and nothing could keep me from being there for him.

  “He’s back,” Ben said, startling me.

  I leaped up from the floor, stumbling over toys. “How long has he been here? Are either of them hurt? How is he?”

  Ben kissed the top of Chelsea’s head and angled his toward the open door. We stepped out of Lissie’s room. “He’s asking for you, but Ellie, he’s not himself. They’re not injured. Came in about an hour ago, and he hasn’t stopped drinking since. Hasn’t said a word other than to send for you. Thomas has gone to be with Mary in her room.”

  “Damn it, Ben. Why did you wait so long to get me?” I shouldn’t have snapped at him. “Can you stay here until the nanny comes back? Tell her we need her to stay through the night, and not a word to Lissie.”

  I didn’t wait for his response. I sprinted along the corridor and raced down the stairs.

  Will was in the drawing room. He sat on the chesterfield and drank as he stared across the room with unfocused eyes. The whisky bottle beside him was almost empty.

  I pried the glass from his hand and gave it to Mrs. Bates. “Take it out of here. Bring water and coffee, please. We’ll need sandwiches or whatever your staff has available. He and Thomas haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  She dropped her somber eyes. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll see to it.”

  Will never spoke, but when he finally lifted his face, his grief-stricken eyes revealed the depth of his broken heart.

  My own heart splintered at the sight of his pain.

  I choked back a sob and bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to take away his pain, take his suffering and bear it myself.

  He reached for my hand.

  God, he was too quiet. I wanted to cry out for him.

  Will pulled me into his lap, hugging my waist tightly as he pressed his face to my chest. Something unintelligible rumbled from his lips. He squeezed me harder, turning his face only enough to breathe.

  I wrapped him in my arms with courage and strength and held him while he swam through his emotions. He worked hard to hold it all inside, to keep everything he was feeling from breaching the surface.

  My heart was tough enough to protect us both in that moment. The realization took me by surprise, though his vulnerable actions made me believe he’d expected it.

  It was a dreadful moment and it was a wonderful moment. His heart was broken, and mine was full. . . .

  Because I’d finally learned to love someone.

  John came in and sat on the sofa with us, his nervousness finally submissive after the hours of pacing. Heartbreak and fear haunted his eyes. He needed his brother. Will was the closest thing to a father he’d had since Richard Hastings had died nine years earlier.

  I reached out to John and offered him my hand. He took it and slid closer, and after meeting my eyes for reassurance, he rested his cheek on his brother’s shoulder.

  The acceleration of Will’s breath against my skin was telling. He was affected by John’s suffering. He shifted his position, pulling his brother beneath his arm an
d me deeper into his lap so that we were face-to-face.

  “Elle, I—”

  “Shhh . . . I know. We can talk later.” I placed a tender kiss on his lips.

  The muscles in his face and shoulders relaxed, and he brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers.

  Mrs. Bates came back with a tray of sandwiches. She placed it on the old mahogany serpentine sideboard and filled a plate with thick beef sandwiches for Will. Her large, warm hand touched my arm after she set the dish on the table beside us.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bates. Mary and Thomas have something upstairs?”

  She nodded before bustling back to the kitchen.

  Ben came in and immediately caught my silent plea for help with John. He nodded. “Come on, mate. You’ll have a sandwich with me,” he said to John.

  John was beside himself and without guidance, so he did whatever he was told. The two of them ate in silence near one of the fireplaces while they waited for Will to come around. It was easy to see he was everything to them, just as he was to me.

  “You must eat too, Will,” I said against his cheek after kissing it. “You have nothing more than Scotch in your stomach.”

  He nodded and planted a lingering kiss on my neck.

  I handed him the plate. “I’ll just run upstairs quickly and check on the girls.”

  “You will stay with me,” he commanded sharply, setting his plate on the chesterfield and shifting so my bottom dropped into the small space between his and the sofa arm. He snaked an arm behind me and grabbed a sandwich in the other hand. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Ben handed me a plate and a glass of water. “I talked to Nanny Sue. She’ll stay with our girls indefinitely until dismissed.”

  I finished a sandwich while Will scarfed down four. Every time I looked at John, my heart sank deeper. He was so attached to Will. He loved Ethan without question, but most of the pain he expressed seemed to be for Will. I wanted to hold the boy tightly and make him feel safe and loved, but I didn’t. Will’s emotion simmered just beneath the surface. Anything could set him off.

  The best way for me to help Will’s brothers was to remain focused on combining my strength with his. I would give him whatever he needed so that he could find his way back to the family that needed him.

  Will settled deeper into the leather cushions. His fatigue was obvious. He hadn’t slept more than six hours over the past four nights.

  “You should rest,” I said, suggesting we go upstairs.

  He threaded his fingers through my hair and pressed my face to his too-quiet chest. “Yeah. We’ll go up to my room.”

  * * *

  We checked on Lissie before stopping by my room so I could change and grab some things. When I stepped out from the closet, Will still leaned against the frame in the open doorway. I slipped my hand into his, and we headed down the corridor to his room.

  Even though he was quiet, I sensed the storm that threatened to burst from his soul.

  “It’s just us now, Will. Say what you need to say. Do what you need to do.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do,” he said hoarsely.

  He wasn’t ready to talk about Ethan or what had happened out on those streets, and I wouldn’t push. Maybe he’d never tell me how it went down, and if that’s what he needed to get through his pain, I was all right with it.

  “That’s okay. Whatever it is you need, whatever you need to do, it’ll come to you when you’re ready.” I wound my arms around his neck and lowered my head to the center of his chest. I tried to rein in a swell of emotion, but the effort failed me. I lifted my wet eyes to his and pleaded. “For now, tell me you’ll always come home. If anything were to happen to you—I love you, Will. Swear you’ll always come home to me.”

  His beautiful blue eyes came alive, the dull haze clearing. “I swear it.” Both hands knotted in my hair and applied pressure to the back of my head as he forced my mouth against his. I whimpered against his lips. He gentled but remained driven by strong emotion.

  “Christ, how I love you.” He pushed the silk fabric from my shoulders and replaced it with his velvet kisses. “I swear to you, I’ll come home. I’ll never leave you, Elle.”

  His greedy mouth came back to mine, reasserting his claim. Everything he was, all that he had, went into making love to me. We went to the place where no one and nothing else existed. We burned away everything—burned away his silent grief—and became one again.

  Will roared through his climax and buried his face in my neck until his shuddering body calmed. He was still inside me when he lifted our bodies and sat back on his heels, unwilling to separate the physical intimacy from the emotional. His forehead rested against mine.

  “I can’t do this without you, baby.”

  My arms were locked around his neck and my legs around his hips. I pressed myself harder against his chest. “You don’t have to, Will. I’m here.”

  He fell into a deep sleep and rested that way in the following hours, his body motionless, except for the slow, cadenced rise and fall of his chest.

  Just as I began to drift to sleep myself, knuckles thwacked against the wooden door. “Let me in.” John’s words were slurred. When I opened the door, he fell into my arms, whisky heavy on his breath. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Quiet . . . don’t wake him. What’s wrong—are you okay?”

  John’s eyes widened, and then he covered his mouth and gagged.

  “Here, lean on my shoulder.” I helped him stumble into the bathroom, where he crouched in front of the toilet and vomited. I kneeled beside him, and he clung to my arm with the hand he didn’t use to embrace the bowl. Whenever he came up for air, I cleansed his face with a cool wet cloth.

  “S-sorry,” he stuttered several times.

  I hugged him. “You don’t have to apologize to me, but you’ll have to answer to your brother when he finds out.”

  Will then appeared in the bathroom doorway, looming above us. I arched my neck back and examined his expression. There was no anger, only empathy.

  John clambered to the wall and thumped against it with wild, unfocused eyes. Within seconds, the drunken boy slid to the floor and passed out with a cheek pressed to the black-and-white marble tile.

  “Come on, Elle. You’ve done enough,” Will said, extending his hand to help me up from the floor. “I’ll get him to bed.”

  He carried John to the sofa and covered him with a quilt from the bed, tucking him in the way a father might swaddle a small child. But it was the protective, loving kiss he placed on his young brother’s forehead that hit me in the heart. It was an unexpected, beautiful moment.

  My eyes filled and my throat constricted.

  Will turned and caught my watery smile, the back of his fingers caressing my cheek. Lost in reverence, I moved my hands up his arms and whispered his name. His lips parted as if he were going to say something, but instead he lowered his head and drew my bottom lip between his with profound tenderness.

  “Go see your mother and Thomas. They need you, Will.”

  A weighted exhale crept from his lungs. He nodded. “I won’t be long.”

  I never opened my eyes when he climbed back into bed sometime later. I cuddled into his side and lay my face on his chest. Our limbs instinctively tangled.

  31

  Sunlight and Will woke me. The sun warmed the skin on my arm, and he kissed it.

  John groaned like a hungover sailor.

  “Goddammit,” Will snapped.

  “He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Show him,” I gently prodded as I traced Will’s jawline with my fingertips and dragged my nails through the thick stubble.

  “He’s softer than we were at that age.”

  “Does it matter?” I asked.

  “Yes, it matters. He’s a Hastings.”

  “Do you plan to give him the same life you were given?”

  The moment Ethan had died, Will had become the Hastings patriarch by default. Theirs was a venerable
English family, anchored by aristocratic tradition. His decisions would determine how they lived, and no one would oppose him.

  He shut down inside his thoughts for a minute. “That’s not what I want for him. He’ll have more choices. He’ll choose to wear the shield, if that’s what he wants. Either way, he must be a man of strength.” A strand of hair fell onto my cheek, and he swept it away. “See? Can’t do it without you.” His expression softened more. “Everything about you is so lovely. It forces me to find something better in myself.”

  “That’s beautiful, Will.”

  “That’s you, baby.”

  Losing him still weighed on my mind. Without him, I would have nothing. “Do you believe there’s an afterlife—that our souls are eternal, that they go on, still knowing, still feeling? Do you think Ethan will find Isobel?”

  “Hmm?”

  “He loved her.” Ethan had told me as much, but we’d never know their story—only that he loved her.

  “I know. I’m sure that’s why he never made other commitments.”

  “When we’re gone, can we find each other? Is there going to be more time for us, Will?”

  “I don’t know, Elle, but understand I don’t subscribe to the belief of heaven and hell. Christ, if I believed that, I’d have yet another worry, because you and I certainly wouldn’t go to the same place.” He lifted my chin with his finger. “Neither of us is going anywhere. No one can take you from me, and I’ll always come back to you. Rather than wading into philosophical reflection, I need you to trust that, trust me.”

  “I do trust you.” I had from the moment he’d lifted me from my hands and knees and pulled me out of that foyer in Stonington. But it was hard not to worry, hard not to become insecure. He was forced to fight the assassins of my personal death squad, forced to kill or be killed. And that wasn’t your run-of-the-mill relationship hurdle. We would never have those. It would never be that easy.