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“James.” Miss Doyle’s voice sounded brittle. “Why do you keep referring to Reynard as ‘my lord’?”

The abrupt lull in conversation was deafening. James glanced at Jonas, awareness of his mistake hitting him instantly. Jonas shifted, waiting to hear what his groom would say.

“I think it might be best if he answered that himself, Miss Doyle.”

“Reynard?” She shrank back. “Who are you?”

They had reached the stables. James dismounted, and holding his horse’s reins in one hand, he reached for Jonas’s. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

Jonas tossed him the straps and slid out of the saddle. Turning, he raised his arms to assist Miss Doyle.

She did not move. “Your name, sir.”

He locked eyes with her, placed his hands on her waist, and lowered her to the ground. She took an unsteady step back but did not lower her gaze. Her arms were wrapped around herself. He sensed her feeling of vulnerability, and hated that he was the cause of it. Vaguely aware that James was leading the horses away, he took a deep breath. “My name is Jonas Ainsworth, the Viscount Langton.”

Chapter 18

Elizabeth stumbled backward, her breath catching as the magnitude of this revelation struck hard and fast. Feelings of shock, anger, and betrayal assailed her simultaneously. She had trusted him, opened her heart to him even, and he had lied to her. He was no more a poor smuggler than she was a noblewoman. Humiliation burned through her cheeks. Dear heaven, she had rushed into his arms at the inn, had leaned her head against his shoulder while sharing a saddle—and he was the Viscount Langton.

Turning away from him, she began to walk. Her turned ankle screamed in protest with every step she took, but she did not care. She heard him call her name, but she did not stop. She did not look to the left or the right; she just kept walking into the black night. Thoughts and emotions tumbled over each other, and her weakened limbs shook. What must he think of her? Had he laughed at her naiveté? And what of his mother and sister? They were surely in on this joke. The kindness they’d both shown her—was that also all a lie?

Something snagged the hem of her gown. Mindlessly, she bent down to free the fabric from the vicious thorn and realized that she’d come to the rose garden. Up ahead, she saw the silhouette of the arbor where she and Lady Langton had spent so many hours feeding the birds. Following the familiar path, Elizabeth walked until she reached the bench tucked between the white rosebushes. Slowly lowering herself onto the seat, she closed her eyes. Hot tears seeped out from beneath her eyelids and ran down her cheeks. She had nothing and no one. What would become of her now?

She heard his footsteps before he spoke.

“Miss Doyle? May I speak with you?”

Wiping her damp cheeks with her fingers, she looked away. “You are a viscount. You may do whatever you wish.”

He gave a troubled sigh. “Oh, that that were true.” The bench shifted, and she knew he was sitting beside her. A moment later, she felt his arm against hers. “Please. Take my handkerchief.”

She took an uneven breath, and a tear dripped off her chin. “Thank you,” she said, taking the proffered fabric without meeting his eyes.

“I would like to explain,” he said.

Weariness blanketed her from head to toe. She wiped her eyes and stared out into the darkness, saying nothing. He must have taken her silence as assent because after a few moments, he began to talk.

“I was only ten when my father died. He left home on a stormy night in an attempt to prevent smugglers from luring a ship to shore. He never returned. Five days later, his body washed up on the beach. The magistrate declared it an accident, and my mother, sister, and I were forced to accept the tragedy and move forward without him.

“But my father’s untimely death has haunted me, and when I grew older and learned more about the atrocities occurring along Kent’s coastline at the hands of the smugglers—and the Lamhurst Gang, in particular—I determined that I must do something about it. Up until now, the government men’s efforts have continually fallen short, not only because they are so outnumbered but also because they’ve never uncovered the man at the helm.”

“So you posed as a smuggler to discover his identity,” Elizabeth said. At some point during the viscount’s narrative, she had turned to face him.

He nodded. “I began by making deliveries in London. After a few months, I was invited to participate in unloading a boat at Little Tilbury. My first night on the beach was the night I interrupted Mr. Cummings’s unwanted advances in the passageway; the second was the night I received my wound.”

“You could have told me your true identity,” she said. “All that time we were together in the hidden room, you were lying to me.” That fact alone hurt more than she was willing to admit.

“If I had known you then as I do now, I would have told you all,” he said. “But at the time, I knew you only as the daughter of one of the gang’s leaders, living at the center of the smuggling activity and serving the smugglers their drinks when their illegal work was complete.”

“Which meant I was guilty by association,” Elizabeth said hollowly.

“I was wrong,” Viscount Langton said. “By the time you helped me to my horse the day I left the hidden room, I had come to suspect as much. When you arrived at Langton Manor battered and bruised, I knew it for certain.”

“And yet you still said nothing. This whole time, I have been at Langton Manor waiting for Reynard to return, with Lady Langton and the Duchess of Kelbrook playing along. The servants must have thought me such a fool.” Her voice broke. “Everyone knew the truth but the gullible innkeeper’s daughter.”

“No,” he said vehemently. “You must never believe that. There are only four people in this house who know I have masqueraded as Reynard—five if you include my sister, who is now gone. Mrs. Beecham and James were the ones who discovered me when I arrived here weak and feverish after my flight from the inn. My valet, Hancock, procured my costume and was with me in London. I will forever be grateful that he knew my pseudonym because without his attentive ear, you may have never gained access through the servants’ entrance those many days ago. Lady Langton and the duchess learned of our previous association only after your arrival, when I had to explain who you were and why you had come.”

He turned to her, and the moonlight etched the strain on his face. “I swear to you, Miss Doyle, the other servants know nothing of Reynard’s existence. Mrs. Beecham, Hancock, and James kept silent because they are loyal servants; my mother and sister said nothing because they knew I must be the one to deliver such news. I had determined to tell you this very evening, but when I returned from London, you were already gone.”