He tugged his jacket away and stuck a finger under his collar, loosening the vice grip of his cravat. The damn thing felt like it was decapitating him. With a glance through the window, the moon was hidden by thick, impenetrable clouds, a mirror of his emotions.
He wanted to hide the truth, but he knew he could not. Not now.
“That summer before my second year at Eton, my father grew ill,” he admitted. “My uncle had contrived this document that allowed him to usurp the ducal lands from me and my family. What I know now, that I did not know then, was that he had the Rothwells under his thumb, and he took advantage of it.
“After having my father—who could barely read at the time, let alone grasp the circumstances—sign and seal it, he had Rothwell’s father and our family solicitor—two men who I trusted my life with at the time—to coax me into doing the same.” Dorian sneered. “They’d brought me in and convinced me the documents were merely formalities to prescribe my father the care he required.
“I was young, but it is no excuse. I should have read it, I know,” he grunted. “But his mother had pies out and Benedict was at thedoor, brandishing a kite that I’d wanted to fly for ages. I’d signed it and rushed out the door, not knowing that I’d signed mine and my father’s life away.”
Evelina slid away from the table and cupped his face with both hands. “Dorian, do you really think he intended to hurt you?”
“We were friends from the cradle,” Dorian muttered. “And he was his father’s shadow at the time, just as I was mine. He had to know about his father’s plans.”
Evelina tried another approach. “When did you learn of the betrayal? Was he there with you?”
Dorian’s face went mulish, and he pulled his body away. “I am not talking about this with you.”
She reeled away as if she’d been struck. “Dorian, please think about this—”
“We are leaving,” he said while snatching his jacket from over the chair and shoving his arms through the sleeves. “Now.”
As the vehicle dipped past the dark London streets, an awkward silence filled the carriage; as ever, unspoken words lingered between them. Not once had Dorian looked Evelina in the eye or made a motion to explain his sudden reticence in proving himself right.
He knew she wanted to continue from the solarium, but Dorian was of no mind to. He damn well knew what had happened with Rothwell—the man was a traitor.
So what if Dorian’s memory showed him the stark, shocked, bloodless face Benedict had donned after the truth of the betrayal had been revealed? An actor and a snake. Pitiful.
By the time they reached Somerton, Dorian knew Evelina’s skin was raw with his dismissal. Ifhefelt it, he knew she felt it ten times worse. He hated himself for it. His emotional state teetered precariously between self-pity and rage.
I want to break something…
As they mounted the last step to the front doors, she tried again. “Do you think your younger self would like you doing this to yourself?”
His head snapped to her. “What the devil are you on now?”
“You were young, Dorian,” she probed. “You took a deeply personal blow, and all your younger mind could latch on to was that your best friend had stabbed you in the back. I think older you knows that is not true, but you’ve held onto it because it is the only truth you’ve told yourself over and over again, and he is the only person that stayed around to hold the brunt of your ire.”
His eyes narrowed. “I know he is a traitor because he is a traitor, and I do not appreciate your tone.”
“Dorian—”
“It would be best if you stay in your rooms tonight,” he cut her off, peeling his jacket away. “I will see you in the morning—” he paused. “—or perhaps not. I’ll be at the club early.”
He slammed the door to his rooms without as much as a look over his shoulder. As bad as Evelina had to feel, he knew the pain in his chest was worse. He shed every stitch from his body as the clothing felt like a prison, slumping to the bed in only his small clothes.
Despite his fatigue, the moment his head hit the pillow, his mind leapt awake. Tucking his fists under his nape, surrounded by the scent of fresh linens and the odd hoot of an owl, he glared up at the embroidered bed hangings.
Instead of sleep came the unbidden memories of his past. Tortured ones, using a stone in an alley as a pillow, filching a hunk of bread and an orange from a costermonger’s cart after not eating for days, and lastly, the slash of the knife as he’d battled for his life in another of Sterling’s twisted games.
“If you want to rise in the ranks, you’ll have to prove it.” Sterling’s dark eyes had glittered in the dark as he handed Dorian the knife. “Prove to me how much you want it.”
“I suppose Sterling has something on me after all…” he rubbed his tired but sleepless eyes.
As he watched the darkness fade and the sky lighten, the only question that lingered in his heart was; did he tell Evelina about his worst sin… or pretend it never happened?
“She will keep asking about her beloved Ash…” he sighed. “What will she do when she finds out he never was? Will she ever forgive me?”
CHAPTER 22
