Pressing her fingers to her temples, Courtney tried to think rationally. There had to be a way out of this trap, some solution that didn’t involve sacrificing either Lucien’s reputation, Ava-Marie’s birth, or her own future happiness.
A flash of inspiration made her straighten. Perhaps there was a third option—one that required cunning rather than surrender. Lockwood couldn’t be the only one capable of gathering damaging information. Every man had secrets,vulnerabilities that could be exploited. If she could discover Lockwood’s before tomorrow evening…
With renewed purpose, Courtney hastily adjusted her shawl and rang for Graves. When the butler appeared, she instructed him to summon her carriage immediately.
“I have an urgent appointment with Lord Ware,” she explained, her mind already racing ahead. Perhaps Rockwell and Farah would know if this information was true because they had found Lucien in Ireland. Rockwell also had contacts throughout London society, connections that extended into spheres Courtney had never navigated. If anyone could help her uncover Lockwood’s vulnerabilities quickly, it would be him.
As she waited for the carriage to be brought around, Courtney’s fingers found the sapphire ring once more. She twisted it thoughtfully, her resolve hardening. She would not surrender Lucien to Lockwood’s machinations. Nor would she allow Ava-Marie to suffer for circumstances beyond her control.
Learning of Ava-Marie’s birth didn’t change her decision to marry Lucien. If anything, it strengthened her determination to stand by him, to prove that her love wasn’t contingent on the approval of society or the circumstances of his past. How could he be held responsible for Ava’s deception? A man injured in battle and with no memory?
But she couldn’t ignore the stabbing doubt deep in her chest.
He hadn’t trusted her…
Could love blossom without trust?
In all fairness, they were not married yet. Perhaps he would tell her soon. She could give him time. But if he didn’t tell her before their wedding day, could she marry him?
The carriage arrived, and Courtney descended the steps with renewed purpose. She had twenty-four hours to disarm Lockwood’s threat. Twenty-four hours to ensure that the life she and Lucien were building wasn’t destroyed before it truly began.
And Baron Lockwood would soon discover that Lady Courtney Montague was not a woman to be trifled with—especially when it came to protecting those she loved.
Chapter Eighteen
“What’s happened?” Farahasked as soon as Courtney entered their beautiful drawing room.
Courtney stood frozen in the doorway, the composure she’d maintained throughout her carriage ride suddenly threatening to crumble. Farah’s concerned face blurred slightly as tears filled Courtney’s eyes.
“Oh, my dear,” Farah said, immediately crossing the room and taking Courtney’s hands. “Come, sit. You’re trembling.”
Courtney allowed herself to be led to a settee, sinking into its cushioned embrace as if her legs could no longer support her. Around the room, she vaguely registered the presence of their other friends—Claire and Ivy exchanging worried glances, Valora setting aside a ledger of figures, and Ashley reaching for the bell to call for tea.
“I need to speak with you privately,” Courtney managed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s…about Lucien.”
Understanding instantly dawned in Farah’s eyes. With a subtle nod to the others, she helped Courtney to her feet once more. “We’ll be in the morning room,” she informed them. “Please continue without us.”
As Farah led her from the drawing room, Courtney caught a glimpse of the investor’s ledger Valora had been examining. Under any other circumstances, she would have been eager to discuss their latest ventures, to celebrate the success of theirbold financial strategies. How trivial those concerns seemed now, with Lucien’s future—with Ava-Marie’s future—hanging in the balance.
The morning room was awash in sunlight, its cheerful yellow walls and fresh flowers a stark contrast to the darkness spreading through Courtney’s heart. As soon as the door closed behind them, Farah turned to her.
“What has happened?” she asked again, her voice gentle but direct.
Courtney took a steadying breath. “Baron Lockwood came to call on me this morning.”
Farah’s expression immediately hardened. “What did that vile man want?”
“He…” Courtney faltered, then forced herself to meet Farah’s eyes. “He claims to have information about Lucien’s time in Ireland. About Ava. About Ava-Marie.”
A flicker of something—alarm, recognition, guilt?—crossed Farah’s face so quickly Courtney might have imagined it, but her racing heart told her otherwise.
“Is it true?” Courtney whispered. “Was Ava never truly his wife? Is Ava-Marie…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘illegitimate.’
Farah closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. When she opened them again, they held a mixture of resignation and sorrow.
“How much did Lockwood tell you?” she asked carefully.
“Enough,” Courtney replied, her worst fears confirmed by Farah’s non-denial. “He said there’s no record of a marriage between Lucien—or John Collins—and Ava in any parish near Malahide or Dublin. He said…” Her voice caught. “He said Ava was known in certain circles in Dublin before relocating to Malahide.”
