Allie smiled and nodded to the footman, Thomas, waiting at attention beside the open coach door. She had been on a mission to charm Kendall’s servants into giving their devotion to her. Unfortunately, her brother paid well and expected allegiance and loyalty in return.
It had been a slow battle.
But as Allie placed her gloved hand in Thomas’s to be assisted into the carriage, she felt the telltale rasp of foolscap against her fingers.
Hah!
Without missing a beat, Allie palmed the scrap of paper as she settled onto the carriage seat.
I will win over the servants yet.
Behind her, Kendall looked up to speak with the coachman. Allie took advantage of his momentary distraction to glance at the foolscap, tilting it into the lamplight just outside the carriage window. An inky scrawl jumped off the white paper.
Tu sei stata avvisata. Ed ora, ho fatto come ti avevo detto. Aiutaci o rivelerò al mondo il tuo passato.
—F
Allie barely suppressed a sigh as she slipped the message into her pocket.
Of course.
Like squawking homing pigeons, the events of that momentous day last August were returning home to roost this evening.
First, Mr. Penn-Leith.
And now, another attempt at blackmail from Fabrizio.
Staring sightlessly out the carriage window, she replayed the note in her head.
You were warned. And now, I have done as I said I would. Help us, or I will reveal your past to the world.
Honestly, Fabrizio and his Italian flare for the dramatic.
The man did not understand how little she cared. His threats and demands for money were pointless. She had nothing left to lose. Any information he revealed about her time in Italy would only aid her and plague her ducal brother.
Why wasn’t Fabrizio blackmailing Kendall? Her brother was the one who cared about protecting her reputation as a pristine lady. And his deep pockets had clearly paid for Fabrizio’s services in the past. Allie could still taste the laudanum on her tongue.
Likely, Fabrizio saw her as the easier target.
More the fool him.
The coach rocked as Kendall finished speaking with the coachman and climbed into the seat opposite her, facing against the flow of traffic.
Again, beautifully mannered, her brother.
Pity it didn’t extend to his soul.
The carriage lurched into motion.
Allie noted Kendall’s tight fist now resting on the seat beside his thigh. Did his knuckles ache at night given how hard he clenched them when in her presence?
The Tristan of her childhood had been a shy, quiet boy who listened to her monologue about the travels she intended to take, his dark soulful eyes attentive. She had never called him Lord Hawthorn—the courtesy title of the Dukedom of Kendall. Instead, from her earliest memory, she had insisted on being his equal in everything, including using their proper Christian names with one another.
Back then, Tristan had been the brother who had sat beside her sick bed readingFabulous HistoriesandTales from Shakespeareto stave off her boredom. The boy who had wiped her tears whenever an encounter with their father became physical.
But the autocratic, cold gentleman sitting opposite her now was none of those things.
The Tristan Allie knew had perished at some point. And in his place, a hard man had emerged—power-hungry, arrogant, and despotic. Now reigning as the mighty Duke of Kendall, her twin aimed for the Prime Minister’s seat and a role in governing the country.
