“Do stop whispering,” Grace said. “It is insufferably rude.”
Christabella laughed. “You are merely frustrated because your wedding has been delayed to accommodate for the arrival of the dowager Duchess of Revelstoke.”
Grace and her betrothed, Viscount Aylesford, were wedding in another week to allow his grandmother time enough to arrive from Scotland. Grace’s patience had grown thin. It was plain to see her sister was ready to become a wife.
“Who would have thought,” Pru said, smiling at Lord Ashley, whom she had already married three days prior. “All the Winters found happiness and love in the span of a year.”
Suddenly, a commotion could be heard in the great hall. Raised voices preceded the frantic scrambling of footsteps. Christabella stiffened, clutching her husband’s arm in an instinctive gesture, for she could not fathom any event which would cause such a reaction save a fire. Oh, how she hoped Abingdon House would not burn to a heaping pile of ancestral rubble. She had grown rather fond of the massive old edifice.
Dev had already sprung to his feet when the door to the room burst open.
A tall, dark-haired man swept into the chamber, still clad in his travel clothes, carrying a walking stick. There was something strangely familiar about him, although she was certain she had never before seen him. Lady Adele, seated quite near to Christabella at the table, let out a gasp.
Behind the man arrived a gaggle of servants, including a winded butler who apologized profusely to the gathering before turning his attention to the intruder.
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” he told the man pointedly.
The man simply raised his walking stick and withdrew the hollow end of it to reveal a sword. All this, he performed with a dangerousennuithat sent a chill down Christabella’s spine.
“I’ve already silenced one of you with my fists,” he drawled to the butler, his voice cold and hard. “If I am forced to silence another, I’ll not be responsible for the bloodshed.”
Gill stood up suddenly at her side, as did all the other gentlemen in attendance—Mr. Hart, Lord Hertford, Lord Aylesford, and Lord Ashley.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Dev demanded, his voice carrying the sting of a whip’s lash.
“Forgive me,” said the interloper, scorn dripping from his voice. “It looks as if I have interrupted a wedding breakfast. My invitation must have been lost.”
Dev looked as if he wanted to do murder. He gripped the back of his chair, scowling. “You are not welcome on my lands,” he growled, his tone laden with fury and menace.
“Your lands?” the stranger mocked. “Ah, yes, you bought it just as you buy everything and everyone.”
The enmity between her brother and the menacing man was palpable.
“Why the hell are you here?” Dev asked.
“I have come for what is mine,” the man said, his gaze hovering on Lady Adele before flicking to Dev. “At long last.”
Lady Adele was ashen, fear evident on her lovely face.
“Nothing here is yours,” Dev warned.
“I suppose blood means nothing to you,” the stranger said coldly.
Blood?Christabella stared hard at the man, then turned her gaze to Dev. The similarities were remarkable. Both tall, broad, dark-haired. Their noses were the same…
“Go back to the rookeries where you belong,” Dev snapped. “I will not allow you to hurt this family any more than you already have.”
“I have no intention of hurting anyone as long as I get what I have come here for,” sneered the man. “Fear not. The bastard Winters want no part of any of you. Attempt to become an aristocrat all you like. We earn our coin as we see fit and answer to no one, least of all Devereaux Winter.”
Dear God.
The bastard Winters?
Could it be that this dangerous-looking stranger who had interrupted the wedding breakfast was…her half brother?
“We need to speak,” Dev said grimly. “In private.”
Christabella watched in shock as her brother and the stranger strode from the chamber. She could not help but to note, along with a sinking feeling of dread, that even their gait was the same. Stunned silence filled the chamber in the wake of their exit. The servants seemed to disappear.
