“Together,” she agreed, surprising him by reaching out, taking his hand in hers, her expression fierce. “I am so sorry, Theodoric. Sorry for your suffering, for the years you’ve been exiled.”
“It isn’t your fault, Stasia. You were naught but a child.”
“I should have done something to fight him.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “If I had, then mayhap none of this would have happened.”
“No,” he denied softly. “You would have had the same fate as I did, or perhaps worse. I am glad it was me who went to the dungeon. I’m glad it was me who was tortured, who bears the scars. Did he ever hurt you? If he did, you must tell me now, so that I can revisit the same suffering upon him, only a hundred times worse. I’ll not be merciful.”
“The hurt was a different kind,” Stasia explained. “He was cruel and controlling, but he knew he could use us to his advantage. He wanted to see us married to increase his power and fortune, and he didn’t dare ruin his chances by beating us or sending us to the dungeons.” She smiled bitterly. “Thank Deus for that.”
“What of Reinald?” he forced himself to ask, though it pained him. Pained him mightily to think of their brother suffering as he had, to wonder what had become of him. “Did Gustavson harm him?”
“I don’t know for certain. We were never free to speak openly with Reinald. Over the years, I saw very little of him. He was forever meeting with the council or our uncle, and many times, he would remain in the king’s chambers for weeks at a time.” She paused, shaking her head, looking distraught. “Knowing what I do now, I suspect Gustavson was somehow making him ill. And then, there came a day when Reinald was gone and our uncle declared himself king.”
Fury rose inside him at the lives their uncle had destroyed with his corruption and greed. At the lives he would yet destroy if he wasn’t removed from the throne.
“We will have vengeance,” he vowed harshly. “That monster will be stopped, even if it requires my last breath to do it.”
“I pray it won’t be your last breath, brother,” Stasia said. “Boritania needs you.”
“I will do my utmost to see that it won’t be. I’ve too much to live for.” He had Pamela now. And he would do everything in his power to come back for her. “Now, tell me what must be done.”
The carriage rocked through London, and their plotting began in truth.
* * *
Pamela stoodover Theo’s shoulder, watching the masculine scrawl of his penmanship take shape on the register laid before him. He was about to give away another one of his secrets—his surname. But unlike the last occasion when he had made a revelation to her, this time, he hadn’t a choice in the matter.
Ridgely and Virtue had married in a rushed little ceremony attended by two witnesses only—Theo and Pamela. Somehow, her brother had persuaded Lady Virtue of the wisdom of marrying him. Pamela didn’t wish to hear what he’d done, for knowing Ridgely as she did, she was rather convinced it involved something positively scandalous.
But then, she could hardly claim to be innocent of all scandal herself. She and Theo had spent the last few days making love whenever and wherever they could. The music room, the library, her bedchamber. The tunnel leading from the gardens. The room he had been temporarily given. Although their conversations hadn’t again drifted to the future, she had been content to sneak away to meet with him. To hold him close in the night before dawn inevitably put an end to their idyll.
She didn’t wish to press him. He had already shown her his scars. The rest, she was sure, would come, given the proper amount of time.
With a cool impassivity that belied the heated embraces and masterful kisses he had been bestowing upon her, Theo stepped to the side, allowing her to take up the quill and sign her own name on the register.
His full Christian name was there—Theo St. George.
He did possess a surname. A familiar one, at that.
Familiar for very good reason. The newspapers had been laden with reports concerning the visit of one of the royal Boritanian princesses, Her Royal Highness Anastasia Augustina St. George. But surely there could not be a connection…
Stomach clenching, Pamela dipped the quill into its ink well and signed her name in the designated space.
Her mind spun with the possibilities as the rest of the formalities concerning the wedding took place. Theo could not somehow be a relation of Her Royal Highness, could he be? Of course not. He would have told her. Would he have not?
Misgiving curdled the tentative happiness that had her in its grasp.
There was his accent. The way he had tensed when she had mentioned foreign royalty. The way he had spoken of English lords as if he hailed from a different land.
She swallowed hard.
Everything around her seemed to slow and blur. She was dimly aware of Ridgely politely asking Virtue what she wished to do following the wedding breakfast and Virtue responding that she wished to ride on Rotten Row despite it not being the fashionable hour.
“You will join us at the wedding breakfast, will you not, sir?” Ridgely asked Theo, drawing Pamela’s attention back to the man she loved.
The man who she had secretly taken as her lover.
The man whose mysteries continued to unravel, one by one.
