Arden did not seem the sort of man who would refuse to make amends for his sins, but he could also be arrogance personified, so she could not be entirely certain.
He grimaced. “Of course I bloody well apologized. I nearly had my brother-in-law sent to prison. As one can imagine, however, my relationship with the two of them remains strained. Lettie is headstrong and fiercely loyal, but she is also her own woman. It is a lesson I learned too late for it to do me any good, I fear.”
“The evidence against him must have been compelling for you to be so convinced of his guilt,” she ventured.
“It was, but I am afraid my actions, however well-intentioned, neither endeared me to the Home Office, nor to Lettie and her husband.” His smile was self-deprecating. “All I wanted for my sister was her happiness, but in trying to secure that for her, I ended up pushing her away.”
His revelations both hurt and warmed her heart. She was grateful he had trusted her enough to unburden himself, for she knew it was not easy for him to speak with such candor, particularly in regard to his own faults. And she also knew the time had come for her to share a painful part of her past as well.
“We all make mistakes, Arden,” she said sadly. “At least the mistakes you made did not cost anyone his life.”
She had not spoken of Adam, of what had happened, in many years. Her silence had not ameliorated her guilt or her sadness. Nor had it dimmed the profound sense of loss his death had caused.
Arden seemed to understand the seriousness of the truth she was about to convey. His jaw clenched. “You have already shared enough of yourself with me, Hazel. You need not feel obligated to share anything more. I told you about what happened with my sister and brother-in-law because you were right some time ago, when you told me you ought to know my weaknesses. It would seem I have far more of them than I had once supposed.”
For a brief, heady moment, she wondered if he was implying she was one of his weaknesses, but then dismissed the thought as silly. She was old enough, and worldly enough, to understand what had happened between them last night had been an even exchange. They had sought pleasure and comfort in each other’s arms. Nothing more, and neither would it be repeated.
But still, she could not deny the closeness she felt to him. Not just because of the intimacies they had shared, but because the Duke of Arden—Lucien—touched a part of her she had not known existed. She would never be the same Hazel Montgomery she had been before she had first clapped eyes on him, when he had been scowling and looking down his nose at her in his study, wondering where H.E. Montgomery was. A part of her would always be his.
And so, she was not telling him about the way she had failed Adam because she had made love with Arden. Rather, she was sharing it because sheneededto. The time had come. She had held her tongue for far too many years. Telling someone felt right, but telling Lucien felt necessary.
“I want to tell you, Lucien,” she reassured him, intentionally omitting her use of his title. “If you want to hear it, that is.”
“I want to hear anything you wish to tell me,” he told her, his expression and his tone both deadly serious.
She swallowed, daunted for a moment by his intensity. But then she forced herself to remember the enormity of the admission he had just shared with her. His secret had been closely guarded.
“I was on my seventh assignment as a Pinkerton,” she began slowly. “A bank teller had been murdered, and one hundred thousand dollars had been stolen from the bank’s vault. It was my first case involving a murder, and a brutal one at that. The teller had been beaten with a hammer. I was working the case with one other detective, my fiancé, Adam.”
“Hazel,” Lucien interrupted, his tone so tender, it made something inside her ache. “You needn’t go on.”
“I suspect you know already how this tale ends, do you not?” Though she tried to smile, she failed. Saying Adam’s name aloud, even after all the time that had passed, pained her. She was no longer the girl he had once known and loved, but she would always miss him.
“I suspect I do,” he acknowledged, looking grim, “but continue. Tell me, if it will lessen the weight you carry on your shoulders.”
She could not be certain if it would, but all she knew was, she wanted to tell him. She continued. “The case seemed an obvious one. The bank teller often remained late to accommodate tradesmen who brought their deposits after their businesses had closed.
“One of the men who commonly arrived with evening deposits was the teller’s good friend. Our investigation uncovered a great deal of debts that man had incurred. His motive was obvious. I was so certain of his guilt, I approached him with the evidence mounting against him, though my fiancé had warned me against doing something so foolish. But I…I had misread the suspect. When cornered, he did not confess his crimes. Instead, he attempted to shoot me. Adam stepped in front of me.”
The violent discharge of that hated pistol would forever echo in her memory, as would the sight of Adam’s body falling to the floor before her, the blood streaming from his mouth, the shocked look in his eyes, as he struggled for breath. A shuddering breath went through her now, as the same old fear gripped her, nearly a decade later. Adam’s blood had been on her hands, warm and wet, such a sickening sensation.
“S-somehow, I was able to retrieve the pistol hidden in my reticule,” she said haltingly. “I shot him before he could shoot me. I put my bullet in his head. B-but…it was too late for Adam. He died in my arms, and I have never forgiven myself for that day.”
To her utter mortification, hot tears had begun to fall down her cheeks, sobs hitching her every breath. She had been so deeply dredged in the horror of the memories, which she had tamped down and repressed inside her for so long, she had not even been aware Lucien had risen from his seat opposite her.
Not until warm, strong hands hauled her to her feet and spun her about. She was confronted with a wall of broad, hard chest for a moment. And then, he swept her into his arms. He held her, his arms banded around her, his face buried in her hair, as he caressed a slow, soothing path up and down her spine.
“You were not to blame, Hazel,” he said. “You were conducting your investigation, attempting to bring a man to justice. You had no way of knowing the bastard would attempt to kill you.”
“It is my fault Adam was killed,” she whispered, her ear pressed over the steady, reassuring thud of Lucien’s heart.Thump, thump.A subtle, visceral reminderhewas here.Hewas alive.
And so was she.
She could not undo the past. No matter how desperately she wished she could go back and make a different choice, time had already taken that ability from her. Adam was gone.
“It is not your fault, and you know it,” Lucien countered, his arms tightening around her even more. “You were doing your duty, attempting to bring a murderer to justice. I know you, Hazel. I know you well enough to know you are one of the best agents I have ever been privileged to work alongside.”
His words had a strange effect upon her, cutting through the grief and guilt, planting deep roots. How grateful she was, not just for his comfort, but for his belief in her. Sharing what had happened with him felt freeing. It felt right.
