Say something,she thought desperately.Say anything.
“If you had gone to the authorities, you would have been delivered straight to Victor Bramwell,” Neil said at last. “He had spies everywhere, including the constabulary. Several men have been arrested, and we’re beginning to uncover the extent of the man’s network. If you hadn’t run, he wouldn’t have been arrested in the end.”
Maggie blinked, absorbing this. “Well, that is a surprise. But still—I ran for cowardly reasons.”
“You are no coward,” he said with a quick laugh. “You defended Emma. You faced him when others might have fled. You were put in an impossible position, and you did what you could.”
She chewed her lip, watching him. He waited, patient and a little weary. She felt the urge to confess everything, to lay bare what she had kept hidden. At last she spoke.
“I should have told you.”
He smiled a rueful, self-deprecating sort of smile. “And I should have told you. Let me tell you the whole story, Maggie.”
Her breath caught. The whole story of what? She turned to him; their eyes met, and the old familiar thrill passed down her spine.
“My brother-in-law was murdered by Victor Bramwell,” Neil said at last, simply. Maggie sucked in a sharp, horrified breath, and he continued, ploughing on as if he were desperate to get to the end of the story. “It was not a matter of debts or petty quarrels. Victor wanted to marry my sister Catherine; she refused and vowed to marry James instead. Not long after their wedding, James was found dead—presented as the work of highwaymen, but it was staged. I was certain of it. And I knew it was Victor.”
“How did you know?”
“I heard him,” Neil replied. “At a card-party—after most had grown merry—I chanced upon him on the terrace with a companion, a man of loose morals and a heavier hand to the bottle than sense. Bramwell was drunk and boastful; his words were slurred, but their meaning could not be mistaken. He spoke of what he had done and of how he had intended to ruin my sister for refusing him. It was not a clean confession in the manner of a beseeching sinner, but it was confession enough for me.”
He swallowed, the memory tightening his features. “I was a young duke then, barely established, and who would have believed me against a man of Bramwell’s station and reputation? I took Catherine away in secret, but she never recovered from the grief and the strain. She died soon after childbirth. Emma’s birth kept her breathing for a while longer, but the strength she took from that miracle was not enough in the end. I was left to raise the child.”
A hard, quiet resolve settled in his tone. “After that night, I set about to fashion a name—a certain fearsome reputation that might give men like Bramwell pause. I cultivated it deliberately: a gambler, a man who would not be trifled with. That evening, I struck at three of his associates by ruin rather than by law; let us say they found their credit and standing considerably diminished. It was never perfect justice, but it was a beginning. My purpose has always been the same: to bring Bramwell to account.”
“Do you think he’ll hang for the murder of your brother-in-law?”
“I doubt it. But he’ll hang for the murder of Lord Pemberton’s son, and that is good enough for me. It’s justice enough.”
He drew in a breath and faced her more directly. “My point is that I already knew that Victor was searching for a MargaretCamden. Almost as soon as you arrived here, I knew your true identity. I knew you were hiding something, and perhaps if I’d talked to you, and let you know that I wanted to help you, things could have worked out differently.”
Maggie stared. It was not wholly the revelation she had expected—nor wholly a surprise.
“Was that why you were kind to me?” she asked, voice catching.
Neil’s eyes widened. “No—no, Maggie. Not merely that. I did wrong by putting you at risk, but my feelings for you… They are honest.” He gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “It sounds absurd to say it plainly, but I love you. I cannot say precisely when—only that the feeling took me unexpectedly and with conviction. And now I do not know what to do with myself.”
Maggie let the confession settle. He reached for her hand with a careful, tentative touch; the warmth of his fingers made the cold in her bones ease a fraction.
“I am asking you to marry me, Maggie,” he said, scarcely louder than a whisper.
She stared at him, astonishment and something like joy flickering across her face. “Me? Neil—I am a governess. A ruined man’s daughter at best. I have no fortune, and the scandal—”
“I care nothing for scandal,” he interrupted, earnest and plain. “I love you. If you choose to leave and forget this place, I shall not blame you. But I want you. Emma wants you with us. I cannot imagine a life without you.”
She reached out as if fearful he might withdraw and cupped his face. The rough scratch of his stubble against her palms made her smile.
“You love me,” she whispered. “I have no dowry, no standing. And I would be quite awkward as a duchess.”
“That would be all right,” he said with a crooked grin, taking her hand in both of his. “You would marry the worst duke in England.”
She gave a short laugh at this, leaning forward to press her forehead against his.
“Fortunately for me, I amin lovewith the worst duke in England. Some call him a Devil, you know, but I know now they simply do not understand him. My answer, then, is yes. Of course it’s yes.”
Neil barked a laugh of incredulity and swept her into his arms. He kissed her then, openly and without restraint. Maggie did not pull away; she kissed him back, with all the certainty a woman can give to a promise.
Epilogue
