Page 80 of How to Tempt a Duke

The butler bowed. “A moment, if you please, Your Grace. I must notify the Earl.”

The Earl? Eleanor’s mouth fell open in outrage as he showed them inside, where they were left momentarily blinded by the absence of sunlight behind the block of thick castle walls.

The butler disappeared before she could offer protest.

“Charles, someone is masquerading as Evander!” she hissed.

“I’ll see to this. Don’t concern yourself.”

The butler appeared once more. “If you’ll follow me, the Earl of Westix will see you now.”

Eleanor had to force her steps to the pace of a well-bred lady, for all she wanted to do was run to the room at the end of the hall, push her way through the doors and demand to know what scoundrel would dare impersonate her lost brother for his own personal gain.

She would let Charles kill him in a duel and not lose a wink of sleep. No, she would kill him herself. With her very own hands. Her body blazed with the fire of her rage and her jaw ached from clenching it so ferociously.

The butler opened the door and saw them in. Eleanor looked at the tall figure standing beside the fireplace and only just managed to smother her cry behind the press of her fingertips.

For there, looking as handsomely young and strong as he had when he’d left for his expedition, was her long-missing brother: Evander Murray, the rightful Earl of Westix.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Eleanor couldn’t take her eyes off her brother, standing so casually before her. As if he hadn’t been missing for years. As if they hadn’t all assumed him to be dead. And then he smiled. Smiled!

Eleanor’s hand was pressed to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. “Evander...” She pulled free from Charles and staggered toward her brother. “Is it truly you?”

“Eleanor.” He strode to her. “My butler has informed me you are a new bride. Felicitations on your marriage.” His gaze slid toward Charles, all emotion masked.

“We thought you were dead!” She fell then, pitching toward the ground.

Evander caught her and gently held her upright. “Why ever would you think that?”

The weakness in Eleanor’s legs strengthened with the force of her ire. “Why would we think that?” she demanded. “Because you have been missing all these years without any word of where you were or when you would be home or even—” Her voice broke. “Or even if you were alive.”

He frowned. “I confess I did not write as often as I should have, but there have been at least two letters sent.”

“Two?” she gasped. “In four years?”

“I gather they did not make it to you.”

Evander had the good sense to cast his eyes downward at her admonishment.

“Have you been here in Comlongon the entire time?” Eleanor drew herself away from him, fully able to stand on her own once more. “While we have feared the worst?”

Evander shook his head. “No.”

It was then that she finally noticed the room, crowded with many items—relics and tomes and crates. In truth, it was cluttered with such mess it looked not at all like a proper receiving room, but rather one meant for storage.

“I do not wish to betray our family troubles to you, sister.”

He cast a glance toward Charles. Which meant he did not wish to discuss such matters in front of Charles. She looked between the two. Did they recognize one another? Did they know each other to be the son of their father’s enemy?

Neither one’s expression gave any indication.

“You mean our dire financial situation?” Eleanor pressed. “It was the reason you left.”

While Charles hadn’t been offered the details, it was apparent that he had already worked out the finer points on his own—or at least was playing the part of knowing admirably.

Evander narrowed his eyes at Charles with a flash of distrust. Maybe they were acquainted after all.