Page 68 of To Seduce a Stranger

As if she suspected all that their ruse might have entailed, Mama said, “All the more reason you should help her now, Neddy.”

One of Jack’s dark eyebrows arched, giving his face a sardonic cast. “He already has.”

“Continue with your story, Revard,” Edward demanded. “How is it you came to claim my name?”

“When Lord Beckley died a few months ago—”

Mama gasped. “He’s dead?”

“So he says, Mama. I have not confirmed it, but from the state of things here, it would seem—”

“It’s the truth,” Jack insisted.

At his words, some of the pain and fear leached from his mother’s face, leaving her looking years younger.

“When he died, the story was in the papers again . . . how his son had disappeared, how the loss had almost driven him mad with grief. He spent most of the last twenty years in London, living the quiet life of a respectable gentleman. Or so they say. Occasionally, a servant would escape to tell another tale,” he added grimly.

“You’d always known he was your father, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes. My mother made sure I knew. When she was gone, I set out to find him. I never got close enough to speak with him, but now and again, I caught a glimpse. I guessed who you were almost from the moment we met.”

At that reminder of his resemblance to his father, Edward cut his gaze away.

“But when I read about the son who’d been missing for years, believed kidnapped, the title that would simply be tucked away and forgotten, the estate that would likely revert to the Crown . . . Well, none of it seemed fair. He had another son, one who was alive and well.”

“And in need of ready cash.”

“How was I to know anyone would be hurt by it?” he cried. “Everyone thought you were dead. So I hired a coach to bring me to Ravenswood, just to see what was what. Expected to find a few servants around. Not this. Not you. And certainly not the Disappearing Duchess.”

“I’m sure she was not expecting you, either,” said Edward. “That’s why she ran.”

“I am sorry for frightening her. But I could see there was nothing else here to help me. I needed that reward.” He folded his arms on the table and his head drooped forward once more. “Now that’s come to naught, too.”

“A reward?” Mama asked. “For what?”

“Her return. The old duke left her something well beyond her dower,” Edward explained. “And his son means not to stand for it. He hopes to have the will voided, and the marriage, too, if he can.”

“Will he succeed?”

Jack shrugged. “There’s folks that say the duke will do what he must to keep the money out of her hands.”

A memory washed over Edward: Charlotte in the inn, glancing over his shoulder, terror filling her dark eyes. Had she been fleeing more than gossip? “Is she in danger?”

“She could be,” Jack said. “Having met Langerton’s servants, I’d say he’s a man more feared than liked.”

“What now?” Mama asked.

“I’ll take the necessary steps to claim my title, then do whatever I must to bring Ravenswood back from the brink,” Edward declared firmly. “No more sleeping in cold stone cottages for you.”

At his words, an edge of bitterness crept into Jack’s expression. Perhaps he was recalling his own mother’s struggles. Edward’s mother had spoken of Louise Revard with such affection. Perhaps a good woman’s blood was enough to temper the worst of his father’s qualities, Edward thought, glancing toward his own mother. He could not like Jack’s behavior, but he was his brother, and he had been raised in a hard school. Under similar circumstances—without the gentle, guiding hand of Thomas Holderin—might he not have turned out much the same?

“And you’re right, Jack. It’s not fair. Your mother suffered through no fault of her own. You, too, have paid a steep price for what my—what our father did.”

“It’s a poor excuse for the way I’ve behaved these last days,” Jack replied, sounding unexpectedly contrite. Then his shoulders sagged as the weight of it all seemed to hit him again. “But there’s still my debts.”

“How much?”

“Almost two hundred. Mostly doctor’s bills, and what’s owed to my mother’s landlord. And the fee for her grave. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t let her be buried as a pauper.” When Edward gave a grim nod of understanding, Jack’s expression grew sheepish. “There’s also the tailor’s bill, and the bootmaker’s, of course—I knew I had to look the part, if I was to convince anyone I was Beckley.”