“Strip away the trappings of civilization and we are revealed as sophisticated animals. But as the Lord made us.”
“Well argued. You are a philosopher?” Lionel added, with a hint of a smile.
“Arthur kept a large and wide-ranging library at Penrose.”
Lionel barked a sudden laugh, throwing back his head. Now it was her turn to be offended. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, mouth set in a firm line.
“Have I said something funny now?” she asked.
“I was at school with Arthur. I doubt he could find the library at Westlands without a map. The librarian certainly would not have recognized him. He spent his time playing cricket or football. Or pugilism and wrestling. Any sport. Arthur was a master but he had to be whipped to open a book.”
Cecilia wanted to be offended at the suggestion that Arthur had been some kind of muscle-brained oaf but the description was too close to the man she had known and loved.
“Arthur was never happier than when he was out of doors. He could not sit still,” she confessed.
Lionel chuckled but seemed to sober quickly. “I do miss him very much.”
“As do I,” Cecilia whispered.
She looked up at Lionel and was shocked to see the glint of wetness in his eyes. He turned away when he saw her watching him but she was unwilling to let this glimpse of the man behind the armor go. She put a hand to his shoulder, moving around so that she faced him. Lionel looked up with eyes bright with pain, face taut with suffering.
“We both still grieve,” she sighed, tears of sympathy staining her own eyes.
He shook his head sharply. “I do but that is not… I do not shed tears for loss. It is the injustice. And the guilt.”
“Guilt?” She released him at once. “You told me that it was not you that shot Arthur as the coroner decided.”
“And I spoke the truth,” Lionel responded with heat.
Such was the conviction in his voice that Cecilia nodded and put her hand to his shoulder again. “Lionel. Look at me. I believe you. But why will you not tell me what truly happened? Even if you cannot prove it. I am your wife and I want to be your most trusted confidante and advisor. You should be able to trust me with your life.”
“I feel guilt for Arthur’s death… he died because of me. I did not pull the trigger but it was my family that brought about his death,” Lionel muttered.
“How?” Cecilia said, breathlessly.
“The man who killed Arthur was aiming for me. Arthur saved my life. Had he not acted with such courage, I would be dead and another man would be Duke.”
Cecilia had both hands on his shoulders now, though she did not remember putting up a second hand. Lionel did not pull away and she could not bring herself to lose the physical closeness she had now realized. Thoughts whirled through her mind as she tried to adjust her worldview to this new information. He spoke with such pained sincerity that she did not doubt him. When he could not offer her any other explanation, it was hard for her to take him at his word. But now…
“Who?” she pleaded.
“A man I knew, but did not know at all, it seems. A man I have since discovered bears my father’s blood in his veins, though I am reluctant to admit him to be a Grisham. No Grisham would behave as he has done. You recall the Viscount of Thorpe?”
Cecilia’s heart pounded violently in her chest, her breath catching as her eyes widened in disbelief. “The Viscount of Thorpe? He is your…?”
“Half-brother,” Lionel finished.
“Half-brother?!” she blurted without regard. “It was your half-brother that took away my Anthony?!” Cecilia was shocked—no, horrified. She did remember the confident young man who had escorted Lionel’s then-fiancée to the hunt that fateful day. He had seemed confident to the point of arrogant and it was clear that Arthur and Lionel both disliked him, though it was unclear why. There had been no opportunity to ask Arthur about the feud—if that is what it was. She looked into Lionel’s face, still handsome despite the anguish that painted it at her accusatory glare.
“Lionel,” she whispered, her voice quivering yet resolute, “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, I believe you. I will stand by you.”
CHAPTER 15
Lionel felt as though a weight had been lifted from his back. After the revelations of Menzies Lennox, Lionel had sent the man away to find himself breakfast at the castle. The papers he had brought which showed Thorpe’s business interests, carefully concealed, had been locked away for safekeeping. The safe was too heavy to be lifted easily and would be impossible to open without key and combination. Assuming one was able to find it in the long-abandoned mill, to begin with.
For the entire night, Lionel had remained in his sylvan hiding place, rocking back and forth, brooding on this new information and the light it shed on Thorpe’s motivations—or rather, his own entire life. On his father’s legacy, on his view of the Dukedom. On the reality of what he was now toiling towards—the utter destruction of his only kin. That truth had been a millstone, like the one that lay forgotten in a corner of the room, buried beneath soil, leaves, and brambles. It had taken an age for him to eventually submit to the song of slumber and he was soon dragged right out of it by a lonely voice outside.
Now, he gazed into Cecilia’s soft brown eyes and felt unburdened. Could he truly trust her? If she was in league with his enemies, then what he had told her would only serve to tell Thorpe… hishalf-brother, that Lionel was on his trail. He found himself reaching up to stroke her cheek, savoring the feel of her soft, perfect skin.
