Page 9 of After the Abduction

Sebastian stifled a curse. What was this? He’d kept track of what happened after the “elopement,” and he knew she’d not been hurt by it. “So her elopement was found out, and her reputation ruined?”

“Not at first. Since my sister-in-law Helena had wisely kept the elopement secret, my wife and I were able to preserve Juliet’s reputation upon her return.” He scowled. “Until recently, that is.”

What the devil—

Juliet fixed him with a blistering look. “Rumors about the elopement have surfaced in town, and the only person who knows enough to spread them is Morgan. That’s why we’re here. We want it stopped.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sebastian leaned back, catching up the stained hunk of India rubber upon which he sometimes released his frustrations. Kneading it between leather-gloved fingers, he shook his head. “But I told you—Morgan went down with the Oceana. Someone else must have started the rumors.”

“Isn’t it possible Morgan returned to England without your knowing?” Knighton persisted. “That he wasn’t on that ship when it went down?”

“Even if my nephew had returned,” Uncle Lew put in, “he would never behave so abominably.” Uncle Lew might disapprove of Sebastian’s actions, but he was nonetheless loyal.

“Morgan kidnapped her,” Knighton said dryly. “I don’t see why he’d balk at a little gossip.”

Weren’t any of them listening, blast it? “I tell you—he’s dead,” Sebastian maintained. “So he can’t be spreading your rumors.” If there truly were any rumors.

“Well, somebody is,” Lady Rosalind protested. “And what if you’re wrong? What if he’s very much alive and hiding out in Sussex or London?”

“Now see here, my brother isn’t—”

“That’s another thing,” Juliet put in, her palpable anger slapping at his conscience. “You still haven’t told us why the world believes your brother to be your ward. I find that decidedly suspicious.”

Deuce take it, she wasn’t accepting any of this. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian exchanged glances with his uncle. He’d known there was no way to avoid it, but damn if he didn’t hate laying out his sordid family history for them. For her.

“I understand how you might see it that way,” he said stiffly. “Very well. You’ve been straightforward with me, so the least I can do is explain.” He gestured to the tea tray. “But you may want some fortification first. This is a long, involved tale.”

To his surprise, Juliet did the honors, pouring tea for everyone. He couldn’t help watching her, despite the very real possibility that Knighton would read the avid interest in his eyes. But she was so dainty, so winning, so much like the girl he remembered…

Yet entirely different. When had she become the brave creature who now met Uncle Lew’s gaze squarely when bringing him his tea? Who took charge of pouring the tea in the first place, instead of leaving it to her older sister? It was a conundrum that kept him watching her even when he shouldn’t.

Juliet could feel Lord Templemore’s gaze on her, and she didn’t like it one bit. Because every time she tried to catch it, he glanced away. It was most annoying. How could she decide if he was really Morgan when he wouldn’t even look at her?

With deliberate clumsiness, she dripped tea on his desk, yet not even that garnered her a glance. Did that mean he was indeed Morgan? Or just the reclusive sort they’d heard he was?

Taking her own tea, she resumed her seat, eager to see what preposterous tale he offered now. She hoped it would be quite unbelievable; otherwise she’d have to accept that Morgan was dead, and that was impossible. She might want to throttle Morgan, but she didn’t wish him dead. Begging for her mercy perhaps, but not dead. So unless Lord Templemore convinced her beyond any doubt, she’d continue to believe that he himself was her kidnapper. Despite his rich surroundings and lofty station.

Lord Templemore settled back into his chair wearily, as if the world weighed down his shoulders. Still holding that odd chunk of rubber, he worked it compulsively, squeezing and torturing it as he began to speak.

“In the summer of 1788, my mother bore my father twin sons, but told him she’d only borne me. She paid the midwife to care for Morgan in secret. Then as soon as she could leave her childbed, she fled to the Continent, taking Morgan along.”

“Goodness gracious, why would she do that?” Juliet asked suspiciously.

“She said later that she took Morgan because she couldn’t bear to leave both children behind, and she figured that if Father had his heir, he’d not pursue her.”

“But why flee in the first place?” Griff put in.

Lord Templemore looked so highly affronted by the question, she marveled that he didn’t throw them all out at once. “That’s a private matter, sir, immaterial to your situation.” He paused, his hard gaze daring anybody to probe further. Apparently satisfied that his aristocratic hauteur had quelled their impertinence, he went on. “To avoid scandal, Father told the world—including me when I was old enough—that my mother died in childbirth.”

That’s what they’d heard, too. Which explained why she felt so uneasy in this bastion of his power. It lacked a single touch of femininity. There were no vases filled with conservatory flowers by a fond mother, no delicate hangings stitched by a loving sister, no watercolor miniatures of family painted by an adoring wife and displayed in glass cases. She’d noticed no such items in the hall they’d passed through, either. It was stark and purely male, a bachelor’s temple.

“Only Sebastian’s father and I knew that my sister Ophelia had really abandoned her son and husband,” Mr. Pryce interjected. He set his cup back on the saucer, rattling it. “She vanished, and all attempts to find her were fruitless. So none of us knew of Morgan until sixteen years ago when Ophelia summoned me to Geneva, where she’d been living.”

Lord Templemore gulped some tea as if he wished it were something stronger, then set down his cup with an expression of distaste. “By then, Morgan and I were thirteen. Penniless and dying of consumption, my mother worried about what would happen to him. She begged my uncle to see that Morgan received the advantages of his birth. Needless to say, Uncle Lew didn’t question her tale—one look at Morgan and he knew she spoke the truth.”

“And I thought my background was odd,” Griff muttered under his breath.

“How do we know that you speak the truth?” Juliet burst out. “There’s no corroboration in Debrett’s—and you know that. You can claim whatever you like. How do we know you and your uncle haven’t concocted this tale of an identical twin?”