Chapter Ten
Rowan stepped into his foyer and smiled at Benton as he approached. A smile that fell when he saw his butler’s pinched, unhappy expression.
“What is it?” he asked, his stomach clenching. He knew that face. There was generally only one cause for it.
“Theyare here, sir.”
There was no need for any other explanation. Rowan knew whotheywere.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled, his good humor fading. “How long?”
“Three quarters of an hour, sir. But they…they are not alone. You had another caller and she was swept away by them.”
“Christ, did they get hold of my mother?” Rowan asked, running a hand through his hair. The countess could hold her own, but he hated to think of those jackals surrounding her.
“No, Mr. Sinclair. It’s…it’s Lady Sophie.”
Rowan staggered, feeling all the blood drain from his face, rush to his racing heart. He shook out his tingling fingers and said, “Where?”
“The Blue Parlor, sir,” Benton said, motioning up the hall.
Rowan raced forward, rushing to the room, fearing…he wasn’t even sure what he feared. But he knew his brothers, he knew their hatred for him and their drive to destroy anything he loved or that mattered to him.
And the only thing that truly mattered to him was her.
The door to the parlor was partially open, and he shoved through it and skidded to a stop as he looked around him in fear and torment. Sophie stood at the window, and as she turned his heart stuttered. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her hands trembled. When she saw him, her expression hardened and she lifted her chin and stared at him like he was…
The enemy.
His shifted his gaze to Keaton and Alistair. Both of them had risen from the settee upon his entrance. And they both looked smug as they smiled over at him.
He had no idea what they’d said to her. Or perhaps he did.
“Sophie, are you well?” he asked, moving toward her in three long steps.
She backed away, raising her hands to ward him off. “Don’t,” she hissed.
He spun on his brothers. “What did you say? What did you do?”
“Merely told her the truth, Rowan,” Keaton chuckled.
Alistair shrugged. “Funny how you’ve spent your miserable life pretending to be so good, so much better, and yet you would lie to this charming creature.”
Sophie swallowed and her soft, wavering voice drew his attention. “Is it true, Rowan? Is it true that you are destitute?”
“Sophie,” he began, holding up a hand as he moved more cautiously toward her this time. He needed to touch her. He needed to make her see that he wasn’t the bastard he’d been described as by these two circling vultures.
“Tell me the truth,” she hissed, wiping at fresh tears that sparkled on her cheeks, accusing him as much as her words. Her pain was palpable and it cut him to his very core. “Is that the real reason you pursued me?”
“Please,” he whispered, and she flinched.
“Isthatwhy you created a situation where we would be forced to wed?”
He stared at her for a beat. Two. The time stretched out forever, and finally he bent his head. She deserved the truth. If he had any chance of surviving this, he needed to give that to her.
Even though he knew full well that the truth would not set him free. It would destroy him.
“Yes,” he whispered, lifting his gaze to her and holding it steady. “When I began, I was thinking of your inheritance.”
