Page 65 of The Duke of Deceit

“Time for bed, Mr. Phillip,” the woman announced as she stepped toward him and held out her hand to help him to his feet.

His face fell. “But the story isn’t over. The pirates have to rescue the princess.”

“But you need your rest,” the woman countered. “You have a big day tomorrow. We’re going to the market to sell your fruits, remember?”

He nodded distractedly and drew out a long, “Yeeesssss…” But he clearly still wanted to hear the rest of the story and wasn’t completely won over by tomorrow’s plans.

“How about I finish the story for you tomorrow?” Jess didn’t dare look at Lucien as she made that offer. She knew she wouldn’t be here in the morning, yet she didn’t want to upset Phillip. “And then you’ll find out what happens to the princess, all right?”

He nodded, appeased, and allowed the older woman to help him to his feet. He reluctantly said his goodnights to Jess and Lucien—whom he turned back to hug tightly with affection—and followed the woman upstairs toward the bedrooms.

Lucien let out a long breath and hung his head, his shoulders sagging, as the energy drained visibly from him. His somber eyes rose to meet hers. “Thank you.”

“I only told a story.”

“You did far more than that.” Heavily, he stood, then reached out a hand to help her to her feet. “But if you ever decide to forgo your art, you could have a successful life ahead of you as a storyteller.” He released her hand and crossed the room to the corner cabinet. “Would you like a drink, Scheherazade?”

She grimaced at his teasing. “Please.”

He opened the cabinet doors and retrieved two glasses. “You were wonderful with Phillip. He’s usually not that trusting of strangers.”

“A Grenier with trust issues,” she mumbled as she collapsed into a nearby chair, too tired after the day’s events to care if she were being rude. “Imagine that.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder as he reached for a decanter and splashed a golden liquid into the two glasses. “We have good reason for it.”

Yes, she very much supposed he did. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t.” He turned around and carried the two glasses back to her. “Not as far as the rest of the world is concerned.” He held out the second glass and gave her a determined look. “And I mean to keep it that way.”

Chapter Twenty

Lucien stared downat her as she took the cognac and mumbled her thanks. She looked perfectly at home there, curled up in the large chair with her legs tucked beneath her and weary from the day. She looked as if they ended every night like this, with Phillip finally calm enough to fall asleep and Lucien bringing her a drink to help her relax. All she needed to do to complete that domestic fantasy was let down her hair.

God help him if she did.

“Phillip suffered a seizure last night,” he told her quietly, not knowing exactly where to begin to give her the explanation she needed to understand the situation she’d stumbled into. “He doesn’t have them often, and thank God they’re not usually severe, but when they happen, they frighten and frustrate him. Hell,” he muttered against the rim of his glass as he took a comforting swallow, “they frighten and frustrate me, so I can only imagine how awful they must be for him.”

Her eyes softened sympathetically, yet she said nothing. He found an inexplicable comfort in her silence.

“We can’t predict when they will happen or what will cause them. Normally Mr. and Mrs. Porter are able to reassure him and care for him, but sometimes they have to send for me. That’s what happened last night. I had to ride out from London right after I’d left you at Vauxhall.”

“And tonight?” she asked quietly. “Did he have another seizure?”

“No. He was upset that I was leaving.”

She swept her gaze over him, as if not noticing before that he wore his riding clothes or that his jacket and greatcoat rested on the nearby settee, ready to be donned before he left.

“He was angry,” Lucien explained, “and he accidentally knocked over the table and broke the vase, which frightened him and sent him into a new fit of crying and yelling. That was when you arrived.”

Thank God she had, too. Lucien had no idea how long it would have taken him to calm Phillip this time if she hadn’t distracted him with her smiles and stories. He didn’t blame him. Apparently, all the Grenier men were besotted with her.

She didn’t ask the question he’d been bracing himself for…What is wrong with your brother?Thank God, she didn’t. Because he had no idea how he would answer.

Yet she continued to gaze softly up at him, waiting.

So he took another gasping swallow of cognac and dove in. “Phillip was born this way, with differences in his physical appearance—his face, hands, feet—difficulties with moving and speaking, a slowness in learning. I’ve hired dozens of doctors from all over Britain and the Continent, and none of them have been able to tell me anything helpful. They’ve seen people like Phillip before, but there’s no name for his condition, no definite cause, and no cure. They’ve seen very few patients who have lived past ten years of age, with most not surviving infancy, so they have few cases for comparison. But Phillip showed the same symptoms as the others when he was a child—difficulty paying attention, a fixation on certain belongings and people, repeating the same activities over and over, outbursts of all kinds…”

“And seizures,” she murmured.