Page 35 of The Duke and the Darkness

“What did they fight about?” Devlin knew. But did she?

She shook her head. “The footman heard the fighting but couldn’t make out the words.” She tapped a finger on a blank block of paper pinned to the townhouse drawing. “But when my father returned to the drawing room, he was shaken and upset. He told Mama we had to leave and hurried us outside into the carriage. Your mother gave us her goodbyes because your father and Crewe remained in the study, and you were still upstairs with the opera singer.”

He was too preoccupied by her map of events to let that barb register. He plucked at a piece of string that ran from his name to a black edged sheet of paper in the center of the door that represented the attack on the carriage. “What’s this twine?”

“Your path that night. You ended up at the attack.”

“I did,” he mumbled. “I came back downstairs a few minutes after your carriage left and headed to the study. Dartmoor kept his best cognac there, and I wanted a drink before returning to the party.” Dark memories swirled back to him. He’d never forget what happened that night, ever as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. “Dartmoor and Crewe were still there, still furious at your father, who had decided to end his business relationship with them.” Charles Chandler had threatened far more than that, but Devlin wouldn’t share that information with her unless he had to. What good was there in hurting her even more? “But your father knew too much about their affairs, so they’d sent men after him to deliver a warning to keep his silence.” He paused before admitting quietly, “That warning got out of hand.”

She stared at him, blinking rapidly as the reason for the attack sank through her. “They went to such lengths,” she whispered, barely louder than a breath, “just to protect their business interests?”

“Yes.” But Horrender had wanted far more than that. He had wanted the attack to be a warning to anyone who thought about crossing him and his criminal ring, and he’d sent that message by killing not just Chandler but also his wife and daughter.

His eyes swept over the doors, yet he saw no mention of Horrender. Did she not know about him? Or worse—did she think that evil bastard was on her side?

“I chased after you, but I arrived too late.” He didn’t dare glance at her, keeping his gaze fixed on the door. “When I came upon the carriage, your parents had already been murdered, and you had been dragged out onto the cobblestones. You were trying to crawl away, but one of the attackers had gone after you.”

She said nothing for a long while, and when her voice finally came, the desolation and unbearable anguish he heard in it cut him to the quick. “The last thing I remember is someone throwing me to the ground. I tried to get away, fought against him—” The pain in her eyes strangled the breath in his throat. “I punched and kicked—I clawed his neck.” She looked down at her hands, as if still able to see the blood beneath her nails. “I drew blood, going deep enough to scar his flesh. I heard him yell, felt him hit me and crawl on top of me… Then I saw your face. I knew it was you—Dear God, Iknewit was you!”

Without warning, she shoved him against the wall. She yanked his coat and jacket out of her way, then halfway ripped off his cravat as she pulled it aside and tore at his shirt to bare his neck to her eyes.

Her gaze burned into his flesh as she searched for any trace of scars, any mark she’d put there ten years ago. But there wasnone, and her fingers trembled as she ran her hands over his unblemished skin.

Then the truth struck her, so fiercely she flinched. A terrible sound rose from her lips, a howling mix of pain, grief, and relief so intense, it left her shuddering.Good God.He’d never before seen a woman simply…shatter. The sight of it nearly broke him.

Her arms dropped to her sides as she stepped away from him. “It wasn’t you,” she whispered, so softly the words were barely audible. “For so long, I thought…” She swallowed hard. “What…what do I believe now?”

Her words stabbed into his heart like daggers.

Defeated, her slender shoulders slumping, she stared at the doors. Her eyes glistened brightly with thick tears, and an expression of complete incomprehension marred her beautiful face.

“Everything I thought I knew…” Desolate tears of anguish slipped down her cheeks. She no longer had the strength—or the will—to hold them back.

Devlin pulled her into his arms. She didn’t fight him.

“I have nothing left,” she breathed out, grasping at his waistcoat with her hands and burying her face in his shoulder. “Nothing…”

He tightened his arms around her as ten years of pent-up grief and agony poured from her. “You have everything.” He nuzzled his cheek against her hair and promised, “You still have the chance for a future, for the happy life your parents wanted for you. They took your parents from you. Don’t let them take your future, too.”

She sagged against him, her body boneless in his arms, as the last of her strength left her. She didn’t reply, and her silence felt almost as damning as her earlier accusations.

But she tilted her face toward him, parted her lips…

With a groan, Devlin lowered his mouth to hers. He felt the soft hitch of her breath beneath his lips, yet she remained pliable in his arms as she welcomed the kiss he desperately needed to give her, one he desperately needed to claim in return. This wasn’t a kiss of lust, not even one of shared grief or healing. What she sought in him was forgiveness.

He cupped her face between his palms to temper the growing need he felt in her as he continued to give her gentle, impossibly tender kisses. Yet she pressed harder against him, her breath growing quick and shallow, until an unbidden whimper of need escaped her.

The soft sound undid him, and he tore his mouth away from hers, then rested his forehead against hers, keeping her face between his hands. If she continued to kiss him like that, to beg with her body for him to quell the aching inside her—

God help him.

“You’re never going to find the answers you’re looking for,” he rasped out, his eyes squeezed shut against the soul-steeling temptation of her and the bitter truth of what he was telling her. Even now, he wanted to protect her and his family from Horrender—and from himself. “No matter how many connections you attempt to make, how long you search, you will never be able to punish the men who hurt you and your family. Let it go, Peyton.” He tilted his head to place one last kiss to her lips. “Let go of the dead and find a way to live.”

She tensed, then slowly straightened away from him. Her face slipped out of his grasp, and his hands fell to his sides.

When he opened his eyes to look down at her, the emotion in her eyes ripped through him. He had never seen a woman look so vulnerable in his life, so…lost. Yet a fire burned deep inside those watery blue depths and gave him hope that she might eventually be all right.

“Go back to France,” he urged her quietly. “Live out a very long life as Elizabeth Wentworth. Find a French lover, perhaps a husband to give you a proper home and family of your own.” He paused to drive home his point. “Stop looking for answers that you willneverfind.”