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Nicholas remained silent, as if to allow them all the time to absorb the revelation. After another minute or two, John encouraged him to continue.

“Walter MacNaby joined the household of Lord Campbell in Edinburgh when my mother was a girl. Shortly after, when the marriage contract had been signed for her to marry my father, Lord Campbell died suddenly. My mother inherited the title and the entailed properties when she was just seventeen. Which was when she took it into her head that if she had a son, that son would one day ascend to the rank of baron, but only if she could clear the way to make that happen because the late Lord Blackwood already had two heirs in place.”

“No disrespect intended, but … she was cracked in the head even then?” Molly questioned.

Nicholas nodded. “And just as manipulative. She decided she would need someone belowstairs in her new London household to carry out her will, and she wished MacNaby to accompany her as part of the retinue of servants she would bring. He, however, wished to remain in Scotland, so she …” He was pale, drumming his fingertips on the journal he had just read with a haggard expression. “Perhaps Molly should not be here.”

She jumped to her feet, bristling with alarm. “No!” Then, casting a glance out the window at Miss Dubois, she lowered her voice and sat back down. “This affects me as well. I have a right to know the truth. Do not attempt to treat me as some mere shrinking violet just because something in that journal is improper!”

“I agree. Molly can hold her own. She proved her mettle when she took care of me after my collapse. I do not think it would be right to exclude her.” The baron’s show of support placated her, and Molly settled back into her chair with an expression of relief.

Nicholas soughed. “Even I cannot process what I had to read, but so be it. My mother went to considerable lengths to entice MacNaby into joining her. They had a brief but imprudent attachment in the months before and after her wedding. Simon was born within the first nine months of her arrival in London.”

Silence fell again, until at last, a soft, feminine “ick” broke the tension, prompting Marco to huff out a humorless half-chuckle.

“Ick, indeed,” agreed Nicholas.

“What of you?” Angelo asked. “Are you … the son of Lord Blackwood or …”

“Reading these journals has revealed that my mother had a habit of singling out male servants whom she recognized she could manipulate. It is not impossible that I am a result of one of those manipulations. She was obsessed with her mission, and the excessive quantities of laudanum she partook in did not help clear her thoughts. Some of her entries are pure rambling.”

“I am sorry,” Angelo replied.

Listening with disgust, Marco felt he had re-entered the circles of hell. Before he could stop himself, the words left his lips. “Will these sordid English intrigues never end?”

Molly turned to him, her lips parted in surprise at his vehemence. “I assure you that these sordid English intrigues are isolated to Lady Blackwood alone. No one in this room played any role in this.”

Marco shook his head, still seething. “And yet, for some obscene folly from three decades past, a man has tried to kill me not once but three times! I should never have come! It feels as though the devil himself beckons me to my death over events that predate my very birth!”

Molly flinched ever so slightly, refraining from responding as her face settled into desolate lines. Marco realized he had wounded her with his words, yet his frustration continued to simmer. “I apologize, Molly. That was not directed at you. I am simply not accustomed to hearing of such despicable behavior.”

She nodded, but her shoulders remained a little slumped. What had he said to produce that reaction? She had the glum appearance of someone who had received terrible news, when all he had done was allow some of his outrage to escape.

Angelo glanced at her, too, a question in his eyes, but he apparently decided to ease the tensions with a shift in subject. “Nicholas, I wish to acknowledge your fortitude in reading your mother’s journals. It must have been difficult, and I am not sure I could have done so if I were placed in a similar position.”

Nicholas shrugged, his lean face exhibiting his usual belligerence. “It was the right thing to do. Simon wished to keep the less relevant contents private out of respect.”

“Nevertheless, it took fortitude. Thank you for shedding light on the past few days.”

“I am yet curious,” interjected the baron. “What exactly is MacNaby up to?”

Nicholas straightened, lowering his feet to the floor. “I believe he helped her all these years. She would have needed him to intercept the mail from your late father. From what I can tell, my mother sold MacNaby the same dream she once pursued for herself … convinced him that his legacy could be a son raised to the rank of baron. At least according to these entries, where she describes using a combination of guilt over their affair and pride in Simon, whom he believes to be his son, becoming someone of high standing.”

John frowned, shifting in his chair as if to ease some discomfort. “Is it not enough that he is a viscount?”

Nicholas shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “She speaks of the truly great houses as English. She claims that until she married the baron, she was an inferior peeress from Scotland, but the wedding elevated her status. She was welcomed into important homes, even enjoying state dinners and important events with the King in attendance. Rank was her obsession, and I believe she convinced MacNaby that his son could one day rub shoulders with royalty.”

“Do we believe he will continue the quest to kill Marco?”

“I cannot say. I suppose it depends on how committed he is.”

Molly felt the need for privacy after the meeting. Witnessing Marco’s angry disgust over what Isla Scott had done, she had realized that convincing him to remain in England was a lost cause.

She was going to lose the man she thought she might very well love because of the dead Lady Blackwood, and it was not fair. How was she going to be enough to make up for his terrible experiences since his arrival? Three murder attempts? Dreadful family secrets about people he had never met, which had made him a target of such plots? If she were in his position, she would choose to return to Italy, too.

Marco was repelled by what had happened here in this beautiful but terrible home. By what was happening even now.

He had said as much.