“Dear heavens,” she said.
Roarke allowed the initial shock to wear off. “Do you know of any possible reason that could have caused all this subterfuge?”
He thought he caught a flash of…something in her eyes.
She lowered her hand. “I’m sorry, Roarke, but I have no idea.”
Leaning back, Roarke pinched the bridge of his nose. “What am I going to do?”
“Why should anything be done?”
Of all the things Lyra might have said, Roarke certainly wasn’t expecting that. “How can I possibly let something like thisgo?”
“It was years ago,” Lyra reasoned. “Why dredge up the past?”
“For some bloody answers!” Roarke gave a disbelieving bark of laughter that held no humor. Running a hand through his hair, he stood and began to pace the room. “I loved her! I was going to marry her, for God’s sake!”
The sudden pain in Lyra’s eyes was acute. “I know you loved her, Roarke. And don’t think that I don’t care about Mara’s welfare, because I do. She was my dearest friend, servant or no, but she obviously had strong reasons for doing what she did. We may not understand or ever know why she did it, but whatever it was, it was her choice. The past is over and done with. We can’t change it.”
Roarke stopped his pacing and put his hands on his hips. “I can’t just ignore it,” he admitted harshly. “That woman wasted seven years of my life.”
“Is that what you want from her?” Lyra gasped. “Retribution?Vengeance?”
He blew out a breath. “Honestly? I don’t know.” He shook his head and started walking to the door.
“Roarke, wait!” As Lyra rushed up to stop his retreat, she stepped on the hem of her dress, pulling the seam loose around her neckline.
“Did Weston do that?” Roarke asked darkly.
It took his sister a moment to figure out what had upset him, but when she looked down at the top of her gown where it was gaping open to reveal the top of her shoulder and the dark bruise there, she gasped and quickly tried to pull her clothes together to shield it from view. Roarke knew the earl was a libertine and a scoundrel, but he’d had no idea that he was abusive as well.
Lyra instantly lowered her head. “I fell down the stairs yesterday. I’m fine.”
“I ought to call out that son of a—”
“Roarke, don’t. Please.” She clutched his arm.
He wanted to ignore her and murder the putrid filth right then, but his sister’s entreaty was the only thing that gave him pause. But that didn’t stop him from pulling her to him for a brotherly embrace. “Promise me that you’ll come to me if it…intensifies.”
He loathed the very thought, but as much as he hated it, she had taken the vows that bound her to the man and unfortunately, under English law, a husband had the right to do whatever he wanted to his wife, even if he felt it involved ill treatment.
“I swear.” She nodded against his chest.
Breaking away, Roarke looked into his sister’s watery eyes before he took his leave, finding much more to think about now than when he’d arrived.
