The Rogue's Proposal (27 page)

“Why didn’t he go to her himself?”

“Ah. You sound like the duchess. ‘Why isn’t he here, then?’ she squawked at me. ‘Tell
him I won’t go, not unless he comes to me first,’ she harped. But he was unable to
come—which was why he’d given over the task to me. I ultimately convinced her to go
with me.”

“You took her to Wales?”

“Yes, to Cardiff.” His dark eyes met hers. “So close to my Emma. I checked up on you,
you know.”

Fury rose hot in her cheeks. If he’d checked up on her, he’d undoubtedly seen how
she’d struggled. He’d done nothing to help, nothing to ease what he had done to them.
“You had no right,” she bit out.

“That is a matter of debate,” he said calmly.

“You cannot imagine to claim any sort of responsibility or ownership over me when
you were—and are—legally deceased.”

He merely shrugged. It seemed the argument was pointless to him. Clearly he had decided
that though he believed them to still be technically married, they certainly wouldn’t
be once he’d killed her.

She changed the subject. This topic would certainly gain her nothing. But for Luke’s
sake, she needed to find out what had happened to his mother.

“So you took her to Cardiff. What happened then?”

“We waited for the gypsy to show up. And he took his time about it, let me tell you.
I think he intended to torture me with that woman’s whims for as long as possible.
He only rescued me when I was on the verge of throttling her.”

“What is this man’s name?”

He gazed at her for a moment, then shrugged, seeming to deem telling her to be inconsequential.
“His English name is Steven Lowell. I don’t know what they call him in that heathen
language of theirs.”

She committed the name to memory. “And he came, eventually, to fetch the duchess.
How did she react to him?”

“I do not know,” he said dryly. “I was not present for their reunion. Lowell came
to me and said he had no further need of me. I left Cardiff immediately. I’d had enough
of the place.”

“Do you know where he intended to take her?”

“Of course not. I imagine he intends to take her all over the place, though. Isn’t
that what gypsies do? Live nomadic lives by illegally squatting upon properties that
rightfully belong to others?”

“You said that he had the demeanor of a gentleman. I thought that meant he might have
a home somewhere.”

Morton snorted. “I doubt that.” He waved his free hand. “It is of no consequence.
I have washed my hands of that virago the duchess, and I have washed my hands of Lowell
as well. It is merely one less debt to repay.”

What of the debt he owed Emma? And her father? The caustic words were on the tip of
her tongue, but she didn’t set them free. There was no point. Morton had admitted
to everything except his most villainous crime, and he didn’t seem likely to confess
that.

In truth, out of all his crimes, it was the theft that was the most likely to get
Roger Morton hanged. Maybe that was why he didn’t intend to confess it, even to a
woman he intended to murder.

She nodded, shifting in her seat to feel the comforting weight of her pistol. When
should she use it? Surely it would be unwise to draw it now, when he still had his
own pistol resting on his leg and aimed at her.

She gritted her teeth, her fear and anxiety making her fidget. Thoughts of Luke kept
creeping into her head. If he returned home drunk in the early morning hours, would
he look for her? She’d left the door to her room open, so if he came upstairs, he’d
notice right away that she was gone. What would he think when he saw her empty but
tousled bed?

If he was still angry with her, would he go upstairs to check on her at all tonight?
And even if he noted her absence, what could he do? She didn’t know where Morton was
going, and Luke wouldn’t know either.

She closed her eyes. She felt her separation from Luke as a deep pain in her chest
that grew as the distance stretched farther between them. She couldn’t count on him
coming after her.

A part of her knew without a doubt that if he saw that she was missing, he
would
come. Despite everything that Luke had done, despite all the challenges they had
faced, he cared for her. She was sure of it.

He might be angry with her, but he would come if he could. He would save her if he
could. Those simple thoughts calmed her, soothed her, even as she knew he probably
wouldn’t come at all.

L
uke had not found Morton in London. He had gone to the man’s offices, broken in through
the blackened window, and rifled through every bit of evidence he could find. He found
more addresses and more names—one of particular note. It contained more details on
the property Morton had purchased—including its location in the parish of Chiswick,
a few miles outside of London.

When he left the warehouse, Luke rode straight to Morton’s sister’s house in Soho.
Though by this time it was growing late in the evening, she received him in a shabby
parlor and served him what was probably the last bitter dregs of her tea supply.

“I’m so sorry to bother you at this late hour,” he told Mrs. O’Bailey, “but I must
ask you some urgent questions pertaining to your brother.”

“Of course, my lord. What would you like to know?”

He gazed at her, mildly disconcerted. Her acquiescence had been too easy, but he also
knew why she was so accommodating—because he was the Duke of Trent’s brother.

He didn’t have the energy to be annoyed by that tonight.

He asked her if she knew anything about Morton’s dealings in Bristol. “No, sir,” she
told him. “I never knew he’d gone to Bristol.”

“Have you ever heard of Henry Curtis? He was an associate of your brother’s there.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you believe your brother’s investments have been successful ones?”

She seemed to ponder this one for a moment. “Well,” she finally said, “I believe so,
but it isn’t something we’ve spoken of often.”

“Does your brother keep his only residence in London?”

“Yes, my lord. Except when he travels outside of London for business.”

“What, exactly, is the business that compels him to leave Town?” he asked her.

“I’m not certain, but I believe it’s to do with prospecting.”

The woman was such a simple, honest sort, he couldn’t bear to tell her the truth.
He didn’t want to be the person to destroy her assumption that her brother was a decent,
hardworking man. He didn’t want to tell her that the bastard was a criminal whom he
intended to have hanged.

He thanked her and left. He glanced in the direction of Cavendish Square—and Emma—but
he didn’t go home. Not yet. He wouldn’t go home until he had something to bring home
to her, something solid they could use against Morton.

They.

She had betrayed him. She hadn’t trusted him, and she’d revealed his deepest secret.
He should be furious with her.

But she had apologized, and her apology had been heartfelt—he knew Emma well enough
to understand this. And despite himself, despite all the bitterness and anger he’d
always held inside, he had already forgiven her. It seemed she’d somehow leached that
bitterness and anger out of him.

He loved her. How long could he stay angry with the woman he loved?

She had betrayed him, yes, and as much as he continued to feel the burn of that inside
him, another part of him was convinced that she had done what she’d done only out
of worry and care.

Instead of going home to Cavendish Square and to Emma, he turned toward his brother
Sam’s house. He had no desire to face Trent right now, but he and Sam needed to talk.

He secured his horse and knocked on Sam’s door. It was answered by his brother’s manservant,
who led him into Sam’s back study. As always, Sam was working—scribbling away, probably
a report on the mission he’d just completed for the Crown. He looked up, brows raised,
as Luke entered, but he didn’t rise.

Luke didn’t bother with platitudes or decorum, either. He went straight to the chair
across the desk from Sam’s and sank into it with a tired sigh.

There was no reason to beat about the bush. “She told you.”

Sam knew exactly what he was talking about, of course.

“She did.” His voice was mild.

“And you told Trent.”

Sam nodded. He placed his pen in its tray and steepled his fingers at his chin.

“Why?” Luke asked him.

“I thought he should know.”

“I disagree.”

A corner of Sam’s lips quirked upward. “That much was obvious, considering you haven’t
deigned to tell him—or any of us—for the last twenty years.”

Luke’s fingers tightened over his knees. “It was my problem to manage on my own.”

Sam scoffed. “You were a child.”

“So were you,” he shot back.

“But older,” Sam said. “I could have protected you.”

Luke rolled his eyes heavenward.

Sam’s lips tightened. “It is a family’s responsibility as a whole to keep a child
safe. We failed you in that regard.”

Luke fidgeted, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He gazed down at his lap
as his throat tightened with some emotion he couldn’t name. He sucked in a breath.
“I c-came…” His voice cracked loudly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I came
here to let you know that I won’t tolerate anyone speaking of it. It happened in the
past. It is over.”

“Not to you, evidently. Mrs. Curtis said you have nightmares.”

Luke closed his eyes against yet another unwelcome jolt of betrayal. “Let it go, Sam.”

“Very well,” Sam said, too easily. When Luke opened his eyes, he saw a glint in Sam’s.
“Word of advice, Luke: You need to stop interpreting all that Trent does for you in
the worst possible light.”

“What do you mean?” Luke demanded.

“Everything he does for you comes from a place of deep caring. You don’t seem to see
that, though. Even when he arranges to have you exonerated from a hanging offense,
you have no doubt found a way to blame him. The truth is, however, that there’s only
one reason he left parliament early today and nearly killed himself to ensure you
were cleared of the charges brought against you. And that reason is that you are his
brother. He loves you.”

The word
love
plowed into Luke like a deadly arrow finding its mark. It was not a word that had
ever been bandied about freely in the Hawkins household.

He stared at his brother, who was gazing at him, his expression inscrutable.

“Forgive Trent,” Sam said quietly. “He doesn’t always express his love in the most
forgivable of ways, and he has a tendency to push you to extremes. Hell—you have a
tendency to push him to extremes, too. But he means well. The news of your abuse at
his father’s hands has devastated him.”

“I…don’t want it to devastate him…” Luke pushed out.

“What do you want, then?”

“I didn’t want him to know at all.”

“It’s too late for that,” Sam said, a rare gentle tone in his voice. “He does know.
So does Esme, and no doubt Theo and Mark will know soon as well. You’ll need to live
with that.”

Luke thrust a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Why does it vex you that we know, Luke? Is it because you feel it makes you look
weak? Because we will see you as less of a man?”

It felt like a giant fist tightened around Luke’s chest. He stared at his brother
for a long moment. “Maybe.”

“That’s stupid,” Sam said flatly. “You were just a boy.”

“Exactly. It all happened long ago. So I should not be dwelling upon it now, and neither
should the lot of you.”

“You were brutalized at your father’s hands.”

“Not my father,” Luke said quickly.

“The man you thought was your father, then. Those kinds of scars do not fade quickly.”
Emotion bled into Sam’s flat brown gaze. He knew what it was like to be beaten. Perhaps
not in the exact same way, but he’d fought in wars and had been injured in battle.
He’d endured the deaths of two wives and an infant son.

“How do you live with it, Sam?” Luke murmured.

“I live a day at a time,” Sam replied, equally quiet. “I can’t think too far ahead.
If I think only of today, then I can endure it.”

It was odd, but for the first time, Luke felt he had gained a deeper understanding
of his stoical brother. Sam had endured worse than Luke had. Sam had suffered, but
those close to him had suffered even worse. Luke couldn’t even begin to think of how
he would feel if Emma died. All he knew was that he’d succumb to madness once and
for all.

“Sometimes,” Luke said in a low voice, “it feels like I’m going mad. Like
he’s
driving me straight to insanity.”

“I know,” Sam said. “And I’m sure he is attempting to do it, in your mind. Attempting
to drive you straight into the welcoming arms of Bedlam. But you’ve battled against
him for this long, and I’ve no doubt that you’ll continue to fight. Harder, even,
now that you have Mrs. Curtis.”

Luke jolted at her name. “What about Mrs. Curtis?”

Sam’s expression subtly softened. “Come, now, brother—”

“What about her?” Luke demanded.

“She is a tigress.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“She was prepared to bare her claws and tear into the flesh of anyone who would slander
you, much less throw you into prison on false charges. She fought hard for you, and
with great passion.” Sam sounded impressed.

“She did?”

“Yes. And I thought she would kill me when I told her I needed to take the problem
to Trent. She begged me not to go to him, but in the interests of expediency, there
was no other choice. I had to entreat the duchess and Esme to calm her. Still, she
paced my corridor like a prowling cat all afternoon. And when Esme and I drove her
back to your house in Cavendish Square, she snarled if anyone so much as mentioned
your name.”

Luke was surprised to feel a smile curling the edges of his lips. “Did she, now?”
he asked softly. Love for Emma bloomed in him, swirling sweetly. He wanted to go home
to her. Tell her how much he loved her. Ask her for forgiveness for speaking to her
in anger earlier.

Nevertheless, the problem of her marriage vows and her unwillingness to consciously
break them hung like a dark cloud over his head. As much as he wanted to take her
straight to bed and make love to her until dawn, the fact remained that she wouldn’t
allow him to touch her.

And there was still the matter of Roger Morton. Whoever the hell the man was, Luke
needed to find him and resolve this once and for all.

“Trent said if Morton married her under a false name, then the marriage would be annulled.
Is that true?” he asked Sam.

“Yes. But given everything that has happened, don’t you think Morton will be hanged
once he is caught?” Sam asked. “Either way, the man is irrelevant. She’ll ultimately
be free.”

Not so irrelevant, Luke thought. If Morton was hanged as her husband, she would have
to endure the stigma of being the widow of a criminal, not to mention the additional
stigma of having been Luke’s lover while she was still married. Furthermore, if he
knew Emma, she’d feel she would have to endure yet another year of mourning before
she could truly be free to be his.

If the marriage was annulled, however, she would be free and clear. She wouldn’t feel
like an adulteress. She’d be able to start anew.

Luke studied his brother. “You too?” he mused. “You think I ought to marry her?”

“Of course. You’d be a damned fool not to. And while I know you’ve made many, many
stupid decisions in your life, brother, I don’t think you’re stupid enough to allow
this one to slip through your fingers. This is a brave woman. One who will stand by
your side and fight for you. Best of all, she loves you.”

That word again.

Hell.

Luke was beginning to feel rather overwhelmed. He needed to leave. He had much to
accomplish this night, and the hour had grown late. He rose.

“I hope you’re heading home to propose marriage,” Sam said, the barest hint of a smile
curling his lips.

“Not yet,” Luke replied. “I’m heading out to Chiswick to follow up with a lead about
Morton’s whereabouts. I need to confront the man.”

“I suppose you’ll insist you require no assistance from Trent and me.”

Luke’s hands tightened over the back of the chair. For a long moment, his throat was
too crowded with emotion for him to speak. Then he said, “Let me do this on my own,
Sam. Let me…try.”

“I hope you will absorb into your thick skull that we come to your assistance not
because we believe you are incapable, but because we care and want to lend our help
in whatever way possible. I know it is an alien concept to you, but it is natural
for people to wish to help those they hold in high regard. Promise me you’ll remember
that.”

Luke couldn’t move, much less make a promise like that.

Sam sighed. “We’ll stay away from Chiswick tonight. But if you’re not back by noon
tomorrow, there’s no army that could stop Trent and me from finding our brother and
ensuring his safety. Do you understand?”

“I’ll find Morton, I promise you,” Luke choked out. “Then I’ll find our mother.”

Sam sighed. “I hope you’re right, Luke. I really, really hope you’re right.”

It took almost an hour before Luke reached the location in Chiswick that had been
written on the bill of sale. He rode down a long, overgrown driveway, glad for clear
skies and a good amount of moonlight to guide him, and stopped his horse in front
of a large house that might have once been grand but was now in disrepair, with peeling
paint and an overgrown lawn. The place was quiet and dark, but it was after midnight
now, and if anyone lived here, it was possible they were all abed.

He dismounted, secured his horse in a small clearing surrounded by trees, and walked
around the place, keeping his steps quiet and his body hidden in shadows so he wouldn’t
make himself known if there was anyone about. From what he could gather by rubbing
at the dirt-encrusted windows and peering into the darkened interior, the house was
abandoned.

He tried the doors—which were locked—then the windows one by one. He finally found
one he could push open a few inches. He reached inside and forcibly pushed it the
remaining way up by grasping its frame from the inside. Then he swung his leg over
the ledge and vaulted inside.