The Season(73)

“I would still like to discuss it,” she said quietly.

“I am listening.”

And so she told him everything, trying to be calm and relay facts rather than suspicions. She again recounted the conversation she overheard, again relayed what she had witnessed in the corridor beyond the orangery and in the garden outside his study, and then, steeling herself for his anger, told him about the trickery with Bingham, their reconnaissance of the Blackmoor House study when they knew he’d be away, her encounter with Lucian, and, finally, the note they’d found from the late earl.

He had remained silent, though his spine had grown straighter as she recounted her tale. When she was finished, he had only one question. “Do you have the note with you?”

She did, of course, and rose from the bed to find it in her trunk, which had arrived with them that evening, still tucked inside A History of Essex. She handed the book and note over together, not knowing what more to say.

Opening the parchment, his face was stony as he read the words of his father—words that seemed as though they’d come from beyond the grave. Alex winced, knowing what pain they must be causing him. He held still for a long moment, then looked up at her with a question in his eyes. “What name is at stake?”

“We could only believe that he was referencing the Sewell name. The Blackmoor line,” she said carefully, uncertain of his thoughts.

He nodded, looking back at the letter. “And the book? A History of Essex? Every household in the county must own a copy.”

“We don’t know. There must be something particular to this copy. Do you remember your father ever speaking of it?”

He shook his head, turning the book over in his hands and studying it. After a few moments, he raised his eyes to hers. “Alex, I should have thought twice when you told me about the conversation you witnessed. I should have asked more questions, listened more carefully.” Gavin’s voice wavered, as he fought his emotions.

“Gavin—” She stopped, unsure of what she could say to help.

He stood and walked toward her, taking the spot next to her on the bed. He took her hand in a simple, beautiful act. She stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak.

Long minutes later, he did. “I believed in him. Believed that, despite his oddities, his coldness, he was first my uncle. My father’s brother. My family. I suppose I wanted to believe in him because he brought me that much closer to the father that I no longer had. I searched for something about him that would remind me of my father. I was desperate to find that similarity. I haven’t been able to. And now…I find that not only is he nothing like my father…he’s the reason I lost my father.”

The sadness and shock in his voice devastated Alex, and she wrapped her arms around him. He remained still, not responding to her attempt to comfort him for the first few seconds until, consumed by emotion, he caught her in an intense embrace, burying his face in her neck. They stayed that way, wrapped tightly together, sharing their strength in the silence.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back, loosening but not releasing his hold. Brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, he asked, “What should I do?”

She smiled softly, placing her hand on his roughened cheek. “You mean what should we do.”

He shook his head. “No, Alex. It is too dangerous for you. He’s already threatened you.”

“Nonsense. I’m the one who discovered everything. We can do this together! We can discover his deeds and make sure he is punished for them, together! I’ve already been thinking about what we might be looking for at Sewell Hall.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. You are forbidden from going within a quarter of a mile of Sewell Hall. Whatever I do, I shall do it alone. I won’t risk anyone else I love.”

Her voice shook with indignation. “And what am I to do? Simply watch someone I love sally off to save the day without helping you succeed? The concept is as ridiculous as it is impossible. I should like to see you attempt to forbid me from helping you. I am no delicate flower, Gavin.”

He offered a half smile at her reference to her governess’s lesson. “You are certainly no delicate flower right now, Alex. That much is true. We will discuss this in the morning, when we are both calmer,” he said, ignoring her eyebrow raised in ire, and continuing, “Do you not think we should take this time to consider the minor fact that we seem to be in love?”

Her eyes widened slightly at the words and she played the last moments of their conversation over in her head. We are in love. He met her gaze, not letting her look away as he spoke. “You appear to have missed my meaning. Allow me to repeat myself more plainly. I love you, Alex.”

She looked at him, shocked by his words, which chased all thoughts of their disagreement from her mind. She had been so wrapped up in making sure that he would include her in his plans that she had glossed over the meaning in his words. She opened her mouth, then closed it, scared to speak for fear of ruining this perfect moment.

He leaned forward and placed his forehead against hers, smiling as he spoke in low, liquid tones. “I adore you. I adore your laugh and your wit and your intelligence and your confidence. I cannot think of another woman I would rather have by my side than you. You are as brilliant as you are beautiful and I probably should have realized it years ago, but I seem to be rather dull-witted.”