Regency Temptation: The Greatest of Sins / The Fall of a Saint. Christine Merrill
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Or Jamaica. With luck he would succumb to a fever and his suffering would end.
He turned away from the crowd, hoping to find diversion, in cards, brandy or perhaps a pretty face that might distract him from the only woman he really cared to look at.
Instead, he found their father.
‘Doctor Hendricks.’ Lord Thorne had tracked him in the crowd of well-wishers and Sam checked the height of his raised glass, the fullness of his smile, searching for any telltale signs in his person or behaviour that might show him to be less than enthusiastic for the match.
‘Sam.’ Now Thorne’s tone was as it had been, when he had still been a favoured son. Before he had made his stammering offer for Evie.
‘My lord,’ he said, with a half-smile that he hoped was not too strained.
‘St Aldric and Evelyn have nearly finished their dance. There is no reason to wait longer.’
For what? he wondered. Was he expected to depart already?
But it seemed Thorne was speaking more to himself, than to Sam, as though there was some duty that he had been delaying. ‘I … we … wish to speak to you, in my study.’ If anything, Thorne looked as uncomfortable as Sam felt. It was odd that he could not match his mood to the festivities. Surely, this must be a moment of triumph.
‘Of course, my lord.’ Sam glanced at the clock. ‘On the half-hour, perhaps? That should give enough time for the crowd to settle.’
‘Twenty minutes.’ Thorne seemed to see this as some sort of reprieve. ‘An excellent idea. Until then.’ He moved off through the crowd again and Sam watched him absently accepting congratulations for his daughter’s successful match.
It was damned odd.
And there in the centre of the dance floor was Evie. Dear, sweet Evie, looking almost as overwhelmed as Thorne. As she spun past him, in the arms of the duke, her eye caught his, if only for a moment. She gave him a smile of triumph, her eyes shining not with tears but with an almost evil glee. She had done what he’d requested. She hoped he was satisfied.
If he must lose her—not that she had ever been his—it was better that it be this way. She was angry with him and would be so for some time. If she had doubts about this decision, he would be gone before she expressed them.
But all there proclaimed St Aldric an exemplary man, truly a golden child, who had not allowed the ease of his success to taint his innate goodness. He was worthy of Evie. And he obviously adored her. He would treat her as she deserved to be treated. Sam doubted he could ever bring himself to like the duke. But he would have no cause to see the man again, so it did not matter.
The dance ended. And the precious St Aldric was not at her side, damn him. He had won. The least he could do was enjoy his prize. But Sam had seen Thorne part the couple as soon as the music stopped, whispering something to the duke.
Evelyn had watched. And though she would not have been able to hear what was said, she nodded. There was the strangest look upon her lovely face, as though she was remembering some troublesome detail that rendered the moment less than sweet. Then she had turned back to the crowd, perfection again.
Something was afoot. But damned if Sam could imagine what it might be. The clock ticked out the minutes until his appointment.
When the requisite time has passed, he made his way up the stairs to find Thorne.
And here was St Aldric as well, waiting in the office of his mentor, looking almost like an errant schoolboy, although he had no reason to. The self-deprecation was all the more annoying in its effectiveness. Had he been any other man, Sam would have been instantly in sympathy with him.
But he was not just any man. And Sam could manage nothing more than the expected courtesies. He smiled and bowed to the peer, and to Thorne. ‘My lord. Your Grace.’
‘Sam.’ And there was the old familiarity from Thorne again. Sam greeted it with a cynical smile. Now that Evelyn’s fate was sealed, he was to be a favoured son again? Not bloody likely.
‘I suppose you are wondering … you are both wondering … why I have asked you here,’ Thorne said, unsure which man to look at first. ‘It is at Evelyn’s behest,’ he said.
There was another awkward pause. ‘She realised the truth, you see. And has convinced me that, if it was obvious to her, it might be to others. She thinks that perhaps it would be kinder to settle the matter, before there was any speculation. And since you would be here, tonight …’
Then he paused again, as though the previous statements might mean something and need no addition.
St Aldric was looking back with a crooked grin, as though he could not quite contain his amusement. ‘As it stands, Thorne, the only speculation occurring is between the two of us. It is clear that you wish to share some information and that it is coming difficult for you. Please, speak. Doctor Hastings and I are quite in the dark.’
Thorne looked back and forth between the two of them now, like a rabbit caught between two foxes. ‘I must first say that I mean no disrespect to you, your Grace, or to your father, who was a dear friend of mine. Nor was it ever my wish to betray his confidence.’
‘Since he has been dead nearly ten years, he is unlikely to call you out on it,’ St Aldric said, with an encouraging smile. ‘But I take it that he swore you to some secret or other and that it is weighing heavily on you, now?’
‘It is nothing so very serious,’ Thorne said, encouragingly. ‘Nothing that many other men have not done. There was no real disgrace in it. And you must know that your father was always the worthiest of men.’
‘It pleases me to think so,’ St Aldric said with a nod.
‘It is only because the truth is likely to come forth with or without my help, that I am speaking now,’ Thorne said.
‘Then out with it, man,’ St Aldric said, with another smile. ‘The good doctor can attest that, when pulling a splinter, there is no point in drawing slowly. It only prolongs the pain, as this prolongs suspense. What is this not-so-terribly-dark truth that you have been concealing from the world?’
‘This happened when you were just an infant, obviously. And your mother still quite fragile. There was …’ another dramatic pause ‘… an indiscretion.’
Sam’s attention had begun to wander. It was clear that, whatever the problem might be, it was St Aldric’s concern and not his. Perhaps he was here in case the shock proved too great and a physician was needed. If that was the case, he would have done better to bring his bag.
But there was nothing about the duke that made him think the man would be prone to fits at receiving bad news. His colour was high, of course. But considering the reason for the evening, it was only natural.
‘Since both my mother and father are gone from this planet, I see no reason that such information should be concealed any longer. Speak with my blessing. Immediately, in fact.’ Even a saint had limited patience. It appeared that St Aldric had reached the end of his.
‘There was issue, from this indiscretion,’ Throne said hurriedly. ‘The child survived.
A boy.’
‘But that would mean …’ St Aldric gave a surprised shake of his head. ‘I have a brother?’
‘A half-brother,’ Thorne said hurriedly.
St Aldric was forwards in an instant, gripping the man’s arm. And for the first time since meeting him, Sam saw what he must look like when angry. ‘You knew of this? And did not tell me? Damn it, man, I must know all.’ He calmed himself just as quickly. But it was clear that he was eager for more news. ‘Did my father reveal anything about him? For I would like to know him. No. I must.’
‘It will not affect the succession,’ Thorne said hurriedly. ‘You are the elder. And he is a bastard.’
‘I do not care,’