“Interfering in my marriage,” Gideon growled, taking the letter from Benedict and tearing it open. He scanned the lines, and his blood surged hot.
Admit the truth! You usurped the dukedom. You cower in fear of the rightful heir. Soon, the reckoning will come!
The words bled, black and barbed, creeping across the page like thorned stems. His breath came hard and fast. He turned on Jeremy, his temper tearing through his flesh like a demon escaping Hell.
“Is this your doing?” he roared, shoving the letter at him, “your poison-ink letters, your whispers in corners? You would unmake me? Is this what you have written to my wife rather than bring it to my face! You coward!”
Jeremy lurched to his feet, pointing at Gideon.
“I have been loyal to you. Loyal toAaron Tarnley. My inseparable childhood friend and thetrueDuke of Winchester! I do not know who you are!”
Inseparable friend? The bastard lied to me about being a passing acquaintance of Aaron!
“Oh, for goodness sake, Jeremy. You have really leaped in feet first this time,” Benedict raged. “Aaron, he does not know what he is—”
“He knows,” Gideon seethed.
He seized Jeremy by the collar, rage flooding him, a tide he could not contain.
“Do you think I will be ruined by the likes ofyou? Do you think I will yield my name, my wife, my life because of your drunken malice?”
Hands grabbed at him. Ben’s voice reached him, firm and urgent.
“Aaron, enough! Release him!”
Benedict was broad and steady, almost Gideon’s own height. He had met Gideon through the club, never having known Aaron. Gideon had found himself befriending Benedict for his connections and knowledge of the ton. That friendship hadevolved over the man’s love of travel and exploration, for his stories of far-flung places and improbable adventures.
For the fact that with him, Gideon could be himself, did not need to worry about maintaining a continuity with the past.
Benedict was exerting all his strength to pull Gideon back, breaking the furious hold. Jeremy collapsed against the chair, gasping, eyes wide with fear. Gideon wrenched himself free, his chest heaving. He could barely hear Benedict’s words, his pulse pounded too loud in his ears.
“He is not worth it. He is drunk. You will damn yourself. Control yourself, Aaron!”
But the red haze would not lift.
With a curse, Gideon tore the door open and stormed from the club, the letter crumpled in his hand. Outside, the air was sharp, cutting through the fog of rage. He did not summon his carriage. He walked with long, furious strides east. London swallowed him, and he sought its darkest corners.
He needed air. He needed distance. He needed… Catherine.
But what point was there in going back?
The evening post would deliver Jeremy’s letter. The truth would be laid bare, and Gideon would be revealed as a liar. As an impostor.
As a murderer.
No, I did not kill Aaron! I never even saw him from the day I was exiled. But that is not what will be believed. Particularly, if the General becomes known.
He needed a drink, but most of all, he needed to keep the truth buried.
CHAPTER 27
Catherine stood before the tall dressing-mirror in her chamber at Caerleon Manor, Isabella at her side fussing with the folds of her gown.
The pale silk shimmered in the morning light, chosen especially for the dinner she and Aaron had agreed would serve as Jeremy’s chance to redeem himself before Isabella’s father. She smoothed her hands down the fabric, forcing herself into composure.
Too little sleep and too much talk. Of present and future but not the past. Not the one subject I wish to talk about the most.
That silence pressed on her now like a weight. Still, she told herself tonight would be an evening of hope, a chance for Isabella’s happiness and perhaps a step closer to the gentler Aaron she had occasionally glimpsed.
