“Oh, Alessandro,” she said softly, her heart aching for him. All this time, she had imagined him simply gone, and he had been at war. “What have you done?”
He shook his head. “You need not worry yourself with it,hermanita. I am here when many other good men are not. I was working with our army, using my men to pierce enemy lines and obtain important information about their positions. I was meant to aid Searle, but the detail I sent with him was ambushed by French troops and he was taken captive. My men were either slain or taken prisoner and then sent to the gallows.”
Leonora pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden sob that threatened to break free. She had not imagined. Had not even begun to guess at the true nature of Searle’s hatred for her brother or the reason for it.
“He believes you are responsible for his capture,” she concluded at last.
“Yes, the fool does,” Alessandro acknowledged, his tone grim. “And not just that, but that I somehow arranged it. He thinks I personally arranged for my men to capture him to make myself seem more fearsome. In truth, I was acting upon the orders of our superior, who felt Searle would be better served in the event of his capture to be viewed as the prisoner of Spanish guerrilla soldiers rather than being complicit with them. Napoleon’s army executes spies. If Searle had been considered a spy…”
“He never would have escaped,” Leonora finished for her brother. Even though Searle had hurt her badly, and even though he was safe and presumably somewhere in the vicinity of his study, entertaining himself with drink and his own bitterness for company, the notion of Searle facing execution sent a shiver down her spine.
Alessandro inclined his head. “He would have been hanged on the gallows, without question. Dozens of better men than the Marquess of Searle have already been captured and met their fates at the end of the hangman’s noose.”
Another thought occurred to her then. Or rather, another question she wanted to know the answer to. “Was Searle a spy?”
Her brother did not hesitate. “One of the best. His capture was a tremendous blow, and I have taken the blame for it.”
“From others, beyond Searle?” she probed.
“Yes,hermanita. From my superior officers. From everyone who is important.” Alessandro’s lip curled. “When Searle escaped, he made certain everyone was aware I was responsible for his confinement, at least in his version of events. He made a campaign of undermining my credibility. I lost my position on the same day I received word my sister was being forced to marry the Marquess of Searle. Information which was kindly sent by your bastard-of-a-husband.”
She struggled to make sense of the information he had just divulged. “I do not understand, Alessandro. How could Searle make you lose your position?”
“Easily.” Her brother’s smile was bleak. “I never purchased a commission, and my involvement with the army was informal, at best. When I was no longer useful to them, they turned their backs upon me. But not before letting me know my sister had become the means by which Searle intended to gain his vengeance upon me.”
“Searle wanted you to know he had compromised me,” she said, her mind frantically working.
“The message was sent by him, and it was received by me.” Her brother paused, the frown on his brow deepening. “It is the reason I left Spain and returned to England with as much haste as possible. It is also the reason why I followed the two of you here rather than awaiting your return to London. I could not bear to think of another day of you being at his mercy. Has he harmed you physically? If he has, I will call the devil out this very night, our seconds be damned.”
It had not occurred to her until that very moment just how badly a part of her had been hoping Searle’s deceptions had not been as egregious as she had initially supposed. Just how badly she had longed for evidence of his innocence rather than his guilt, proof he had not intended to use her against her brother, proof he had not been so reckless or careless with her love for him.
But it would seem she was doomed for disappointment, because the Marquess of Searle had not only planned to use her against Alessandro; he had laid the foundation with the efficiency of a master builder. Stone by stone, beam by beam, he had raised the testament to his hatred from the ground. And he had built that hatred into a thing of awful, ugly beauty. He had built it until it festered and ruined everything in its wake.
Her tongue felt as numb as the rest of her at this latest realization of the depths of her husband’s betrayal. But she forced herself to speak anyway, because she knew her brother expected an answer and because she could not bear for any more violence or upset this evening.
She wanted peace.
She was tired.
And sad.
So very, very sad.
“Searle has never raised a hand against me.” Her voice was flat and dull, even to her own ears. A testament to the turmoil raging through her. Her brother had revealed so much, and she had so many questions. She required so many answers. “He would not harm me physically.”
Of that much, she was certain. The marquess was a confusing and complicated man. But she did not fear him. His touch had only ever brought her pleasure. Though Searle had savaged her heart, she would not pretend he had harmed her otherwise when her brother posed the question.
“I will spare him for another day, then,” her brother growled.
“You will not face him in a duel,” she insisted. Even after everything she had heard, she did not wish for her brother and her husband to face each other with pistols at dawn.
“I must,hermanita.”
Her brother’s voice was tinged with a sad acceptance, as if he, too, did not wish to fight a duel but somehow found it necessary.
“You must not,” she countered, and at last, all the fragments in her mind came together, settling into awful, ruinous place. “Only think of it, Alessandro. A duel is precisely what he wants from you. Why else would Searle have conducted such a concerted campaign here in England, making every effort to reach you abroad? Why would he have made certain word of his compromising me reached you? He wanted you to leave Spain, and he wanted you to come back to England to avenge my honor. He wants to duel you.”
Because he wants to kill you.
