Page 12 of A Relentless Rake

Alec could applaud his mother’s devotion to her family and marriage vows. He could empathize with the constant fear of ruination that had hung over her head since Rupert Sinclair died and the family discovered all he’d done—almostall he’d done. Alec could even understand why his mother wanted to pry into his personal life, although it bothered the hell out of him.

But for the life of him, he simply couldn’t fathom how she could have been so blind to what was happening in her own home.

He bit out, “Rupert Sinclair hurt people.”He hurt his own son.But he couldn’t utter those words. Even now, he had too much pride to admit how weak he’d once been, even when little more than a boy. “He destroyed lives. And you want me to find the goodness in that?”

“I want you to accept that the same man who did all those horrible things also gave me the greatest gifts of my life—you and your sister.”

He muttered into his glass, “Perhaps he shouldn’t have.”

She flinched.

Immediately guilt flooded through him at his thoughtless words.Damnation. He apologetically shook his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

She stared at him silently for so long that he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Finally, she said, “It must be wonderful to be you, living in a world in which people are so easily categorized, so clearly divided into sinners and saints.” Her voice was quiet and thoughtful, but underneath lurked something worse—disappointment. “But in truth, there are all kinds of people living between your two extremes. I wish you could see that because you will never be happy until you do.”

His jaw tightened. He needed neither her interference in his life nor her concern. And he certainly didn’t want her solution. This conversation was finished.

He set his empty glass onto the tea table. “Will that be all then?”

“Not quite.” She rose elegantly to her feet, which brought him to his. She reached into her reticule, withdrew a large white card, and laid it onto the tea table. “An invitation to my ball. You haven’t yet confirmed that you’ll be attending, so your sister and aunt asked me to raise the subject with you. They both very much want you to be there.”

That was a knife to his heart. He would do anything for Elizabeth and Aunt Agnes, and that included attending his mother’s balls. She knew it, too.

“Ialso would like you to be there.” She didn’t look at him, as if afraid of the expression she might see on his face. “Like in the old days before you joined the army.”

Before I fled from the earl as far and as fast as I could go.Andthatsimply twisted the knife deeper. Because while fleeing meant not killing the bastard, it had also meant leaving behind the Sinclair women whom Alec loved.

“Besides, your absence will be conspicuous.” She swept her gaze through the room to indicate the grand house around them before settling it on him. “Since the party is going to be held in your ballroom.”

Alec certainly didn’t need a reminder of that. His household had been turned upside down during the past fortnight, carrying out preparations for the annual St James ball, just as he’d made plans to disappear into the country until it was all over. But that was before Clayton Elliott ambushed him with the Home Office’s mission, before Scepter attempted to assassinate Lord Liverpool.

Damnation.He was going to be stuck here for the blasted thing after all.

As his mother left, she called over her shoulder, “You might just enjoy yourself, you know.”

And hell might just freeze over.

Biting back a curse, he moved to the window overlooking the wide street and watched his mother minutes later as she glided from the town house to her waiting carriage. When he was a boy, he’d adored her, and they’d hardly ever fought. Then everything changed. He’d been subjected to constant punishments from his father for not being the perfect son, and nothing had been the same between them since.

Punishments?Good God. That made what Rupert Sinclair had done to him sound normal.

Memories flooded back…fists, belts, sticks…red-hot fireplace pokers laid across the bare backs of his legs…shouts and curses—

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding at the base of his skull.

Damn him. Damn him to hell!

A soft knock came at the door.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he opened his eyes and turned away from the window in time to see Bivvens slink into the room to clear the tea things. Alec forced his breathing to remain steady and calm, his back ramrod straight. No signs of weakness were allowed in the son of the Earl of St James. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

The butler set the used cups and saucers back onto the tray. Then he picked up the invitation. “What should I do with this, my lord?”

“Burn it.” Then Alec rolled his eyes at the thought of Elizabeth and Aunt Agnes and at the fresh wave of guilt toward his mother. She’d had no idea what Rupert Sinclair had done to him. He and Bivvens had hidden it well. “No. Put it in my study. I’ll tend to it later.”

“Yes, sir.” Bivvens discretely slipped it into his jacket and carried out the tray with a parting nod.

A clatter of hooves broke the morning’s stillness. Alec pulled back the curtain to watch as a horse trotted up the gravel drive to his front door. Clayton Elliott dismounted and tossed the reins to the groom who ran up to meet him.