If she weren’t in pure terror not just for her life, but for Lucas. And if she weren’t still processing what Caldwell had told her hours ago in London: that her father was alive. A lie, of course. It had to be a lie. Why Caldwell would tell it, aside from causing her pain, was another question entirely.
“You like two sugars, do you not?” he asked.
She glared at him. “Why pretend you care? I’m not your guest.”
He smiled over his shoulder. “One of the things that attracted me to you all those years ago was your fire,” he said. “That must be what Willowby likes, as well.”
“Do not compare yourself to him,” she hissed, turning her face when he brought the cup to her and lifted it to her lips. “You are not half the man he is.”
Caldwell’s smug smile faltered a fraction. “Yes, so I’ve heard more than once. Do you really think he’s worth more because of his title? His fortune?”
“No,” she said softly, and thought of Lucas. Thoughts of him were all that kept her focused and centered in this terrifying ordeal. The only thing that kept her from succumbing to the swell of anxiety that kept rising in her chest. “He is worth more because of his goodness, his decency. His bravery and his heart. That is what makes him fifty times the man you are, you craven, bloodthirsty coward.”
He set the teacup aside, and then he gripped her face in his hand, smashing her cheeks as pain shot through her.
“That’s enough now,” he said, quiet even as he hurt her. Controlled. “I’ve spent quite enough time hearing about the virtues of the Undercover Duke from my superiors and your father and everyone else. If only he’d died when he was supposed to, but that was Oakford’s fault. He’s the one who bandaged Willowby’s leg so he wouldn’t bleed out on the lawn right outside this very window.”
Diana froze, thinking of what Lucas had told her about the knot in the bandage that had been around his leg when he woke up after the attack. That knot she’d recognized and tried so hard to explain. And yet here was the best explanation.
One that said this bastard wasn’t actually lying to her. That her father was alive.
She turned her face and wrenched her cheeks from his grip. “What makes a man like you?”
He smiled. “A lifetime of scrambling for every little thing I earned. Of watching men like Willowby be given what they did not deserve. Of being injured in the field and realizing I was risking my life for nothing.”
“What about your family?” she asked. “What about your wife and your children? Are they not worth being decent for?”
He turned his head. “My wife and children mean nothing to me. I married because it was expected and her father’s name helped me in my position. She is but a burden, as are they.”
There was something in his tone when he said “they” that belied those cold words. She thought he didn’t care about his wife—that was true. But the children…that might be a different story.
He walked away, back to the sideboard. As he did, she looked out the large window and saw a puff of dust coming up from the direction of the road. Her heart leapt. Rescuers. Lucas. Only she didn’t want Caldwell to notice that.
She had to distract him and give whoever had come for her their best opportunity. She knew only one way to do that.
“Did you know about our daughter?” she asked, every word like a stab to her broken heart.
He spun around and faced her, his face bloodless and shocked. “What?”
“I became pregnant after our ill-thought tryst,” she whispered. “Did you not know?”
“Liar,” he spat.
She bent her head and the tears came easily. “I wish I were. But it’s true.”
He was silent for a long time, what felt like an eternity. Then he said, “Oakford never told me. Even when he tried to break our partnership, he never said a thing.”
She flinched, for that statement was, once again, proving that her father had been a traitor. She shoved her heartbreak aside and focused.
“I named her Mirabelle,” she whispered. “She did not draw a breath.”
His cheek twitched and he gripped his hands at his sides. Then he erased the emotion, using those same spy skills she’d seen her father and Lucas employ so many times. Push the pain away, erase the anger, leave behind…nothing.
“That is probably for the best,” he croaked.
She struggled against her bindings. “For the best?” she screamed. “You heartless, empty bastard!”
He stepped toward her, but before he could respond, he glanced at the window. “Riders,” he grunted. “Close, too.”
