Lord Blackthorne was studying them closely. “It is obviously a painful memory. You don’t need to speak of it.”
But she was watching Oliver, and thought of the pain of never speaking of his beloved twin. “He was killed by a crocodile,” she whispered.
Lord Blackthorne frowned.
“You probably expected a fever to have taken him,” she said, her voice hoarse now. “He pushed me out of the way—saved my life.” She was supposed to be watching over him—his death was all her fault. It should have been her whose body was never found, not her sweet little brother.
She waited for Oliver to condemn her as she condemned herself. Sometimes, she felt like she was always waiting for that.
“He would have been the earl,” Oliver said. “A better one than I.” He drained his brandy and poured another.
“That’s not true,” she insisted.
When Oliver didn’t answer, she began to play the piece he’d picked out, but he didn’t join in, as if he didn’t want to be that sort of brother anymore.
“I have to leave,” Oliver said, when she’d finished.
Michael watched Cecilia’s face, saw the disappointment and sadness that she so quickly hid. Now that he’d heard the tragic story of her brother, it was obvious she had much practice at concealing her emotions—and her guilt. She must never have gotten over being the one who lived instead of dying. Her worried gaze followed her brother to the door, even as her fingers touched her locket.
“You are very talented,” Michael said into the silence that followed.
She glanced at him, then looked back down at the keyboard. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Appertan will be all right.” He wanted to lift the concern from her eyes, make her happy, but she didn’t want him to do that.
She gave a faint smile. “I hope so.”
“That locket you wear—does it have something to do with Gabriel?”
She looked down at it, then glanced at him, wearing a sad smile. “Each side is a miniature of my brothers just before Gabriel’s death. Although they were identical, I could always tell them apart.”
She opened the locket and held it up to him, displaying the small faces of two laughing boys, both with tousled, lighter blond hair than Appertan had now.
“The artist tried to persuade them to be serious,” she continued, “as the subject of such paintings usually are, but they just ... couldn’t.”
When she closed the locket, he said, “Does Lord Appertan look at the miniatures?”
“No.”
“I imagine becoming the earl made him relive the death of the brother he’s now replaced. That is only natural.”
“Do you think so?” She sounded hopeful.
“I do. We’ll continue what we’ve been doing. It will help. Will you play another song for me?”
She nodded, and to his surprise, she began to hum and eventually sing, her voice simple and pure, her beauty angelic in the candlelight. Michael let peace wash over him, as if the world’s cares could remain beyond the closed doors. He knew desire could forge a bond between two people, but he’d never imagined that contentment and happiness could be just as seductive. She made him happy, just being with her. But they would be separated soon.
The last notes of the song trailed off, and Cecilia rose to her feet. “I believe I’ll retire for the evening. Don’t let me inconvenience—”
But he’d already arisen. “I’ll escort you.”
She bit her lip but didn’t protest. Will waited in the shadows of the entrance hall with a candleholder, and Michael accepted it. Side by side, they walk up the main staircase, and he wondered if she remembered the terror of beginning to fall just a few days before. Her expression was impassive, showing him nothing.
“I understand you’ve recently hired a watchman,” he said.
“I have. He joins two others. The grounds are extensive, and I don’t want miscreants to assume we are ripe for their mischief.”
“Do they patrol indoors?”
