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There was something wrong in his sudden stillness, and the small hairs on Christopher’s neck stood on end. Then the firewood in Oliver’s hands toppled to the ground. His arm flung wide to borrow support from the wooden structure beside him. “Cosa ho fatto.” It was as if every drop of blood had drained from Oliver’s face.

“In English, man! What do you know? Did they take her? Why would they take her?” Christopher asked, frantic.

Oliver seemed unaware of his questions, his face blank. Whirling in a blaze of helpless anxiety, Christopher kicked a nearby wooden stool into the air. It landed several feet away with a clatter. “Fucking hell, Oliver! Enough with the secrets. What’s happening? Where is she?” Christopher forced air in and out of his lungs, trying to slow down a world that was spinning out of control.

He took a menacing step towards Oliver. “You will tell me everything that you know. Now. I’m not an idiot, Oliver. I know that Sofia has been keeping something from me. Something that was distressing to her.” His pulse pounded in his temples with every step as he stalked towards the much larger man, bent on tearing him to shreds if he didn’t provide an answer.

Zach’s hesitant voice slipped through the scarlet of Christopher’s rage. “Oliver is related to Gabriel … somehow.”

Christopher stopped, looking first towards Zachariah, then to Oliver, then to Gabriel, who appeared equally stunned.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Zach said with a calmness that was the antithesis of everyone else’s current emotions. “The shape of his eyes, the angular jaw, his bone structure. His smile when he looks at Sofia. Oliver even doles out advice in a similar fashion.”

Leave it to the artist among them to see beyond the colour of the paint.

“Brother,” Oliver grunted. “Gabriel is my half brother. We share the same sire.”

Christopher could not stop looking between the men.

Gabriel stared unblinkingly at Oliver but he didn’t look entirely surprised. “That you were my sibling hadn’t even crossed my mind. I thought perhaps a cousin.” He raised both eyebrows and shook his head.

“Brother!” Christopher pinned Oliver with a momentary glare then whirled on Gabriel. “You knew?” He narrowed his eyes at Violet. “Which means you both knew and said nothing to me.”

Gabriel shifted, shielding Violet from Christopher. “Only suspected. And only since that first night he came to dinner. I put my solicitor on it, searching for possible connections between our two families, but he hasn’t yet replied.”

“Older or younger brother?” Christopher snarled the question, his glare shifting to Oliver as the full weight of the situation crashed over him.

“Older or younger, you fucking bastard!” Christopher’s fists clenched painfully. His entire body clenched, ready to spring, to fight, to destroy this man who would hurt his dearest friend. My dearest friend who withheld a massive secret from me. Tears sprang to his eyes and he quickly whisked them away. “The old duke was widowed before his marriage to the dowager. They had a son that died in infancy … are you? Fucking hell, are you…” He couldn’t even speak the words. All the air rushed out on a jarring exhale. Then pressing up from beneath the shock and crushing rage of betrayal, worry for Sofia resurfaced, smothering every other emotion in his heart.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Christopher wrenched his gaze away from Oliver. “None of this matters. Sofia is what matters.” Gabriel’s hand landed solidly on Christopher’s shoulder. He squeezed, then he turned to Oliver. “Do you know where she is? Is she in danger?”

Christopher was trembling.

Oliver looked as if he might vomit.

Zach appeared baffled at Christopher’s sudden, uncharacteristic tirade.

Violet had gone still and pale.

But Gabriel was every bit the duke, steady and composed, unshakeable even in the face of unspeakable devastation. The ground had split in two, ripping the trunks of massive trees to splinters, but Gabriel did not flinch. When he spoke, he was grace itself.

“Take a breath, Oliver. Tell me what you know so we can ensure your sister’s safe.”

Oliver’s throat worked as he swallowed. He scrubbed his hands across his face. “Before I arrived here, when I was drunk, I told a group of men at the poker table who I was. I showed them what proof I had of my birth. I used it as collateral for another game. Another drink.”

Gabriel nodded, no more riled than if he had just been told the weather would be poor for a fox hunt. “And you think these men might have your sister?”

Oliver drew in a shuddering breath. “Last night, Sofia realised what I had done and begged me to talk to them. To try to convince them that I was no one but a foolish man who would tell any lie for another drink. I promised her I would.” Oliver inched closer to Gabriel, met him with imploring eyes. “I came here to blackmail you. I was angry and stupid and I wanted to hurt you, but I don’t want that now. I haven’t wanted that for a long time.”

Gabriel nodded again. “You think she went to talk to these men herself? Would she know where to find them?”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “I told her everything. I didn’t think⁠—”

“Of course she went, you stupid prick!” Christopher threw his hands in the air and began pacing. “She did it to keep your secret so she could go on lying to me … to all of us. Stubborn, fearless, independent little wretch didn’t need anyone’s help.” Christopher spat the words out.

“The public house is in the village. I know the name of one of the men,” Oliver said.

Gabriel tugged at the sleeves of his topcoat, nodding decisively. “Violet, take Zachariah back to the house and stay there. Have Bennett get word to the Justice of the Peace. Apprise him of the situation with regards to Sofia and have him look in on—What’s his name?”