Page 61 of The Duke’s Suspicion

“No. Not this time.”

Erica very nearly cried out, for Tristan had squeezed her hand to the breaking point at those words. That voice, though…rough and shrill with fright…almost familiar…

“Hold!” Tristan shouted, dragging Erica to her feet beside him before releasing her. Remington appeared in the doorway with a lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other. Pilkington threw up one arm to shield himself from the light, and behind him, cowering in the shadow of his body, stood…

Lady Viviane?

“For God’s sake, don’t shoot Vivi,” Tristan ordered hoarsely as he vaulted over the sofa and landed only a few feet from an astonished Lord Easton, and rather too close to Remington’s line of fire for Erica’s comfort.

“Don’t shoot anyone,” Erica said, hurrying forward.

“I won’t,” Remington ground out, his eyes fixed on Pilkington. “Yet.”

“That’s right,” Tristan agreed. Cold resolve settled over him, until all that was left was a stone statue of man, something that might break but would never, never bend. “Not until I find out what the hell is going on.”

Viviane’s face was a mask of pure terror and tears streamed down her cheeks. Erica stepped to her side and would have pulled the papers from her shaking hands, but the girl would not, or could not, relent. “I’m sorry, Tris,” she sobbed.

But his eyes were only for Pilkington. “So help me God, if you’ve hurt my sister…”

Remington came forward, his stride smooth, his hand steady, his aim unwavering, even when he bent to deposit the lantern on a low table. “I’d say you’ve got two minutes at most, Your Grace, before we have an audience.”

“I’m not sure I care.” And with remarkable speed, like the strike of asp, he drew back his fist and punched Lord Easton in the face. Pilkington, whose entire attention had been focused on the pistol in Remy’s hand, hit the carpet with a thud. Bewildered, Erica watched as Remington handed his gun to Tristan, knelt to search the unconscious man’s pockets, and finally tied Lord Easton’s wrists with his own cravat.

Meanwhile, Tristan came closer to his sister, and when her eyes shifted nervously toward the pistol in his hand, Erica stepped nimbly between them. At the movement, something snapped inside him and some of the tension eased from his body. His complexion warmed and his eyes showed fear. Carefully, he laid the pistol on the desktop and extended an empty hand. “Oh, God, Vivi. No. It’s all right. Tell me you’re all right.”

She snuffled loudly, and Erica turned just in time to catch her as she fainted. The papers she’d been clutching fluttered to the floor. Together, she and Tristan carried the girl to the sofa.

“Burn those,” Tristan ordered Remington, and when he’d completed his other tasks, Remy did not hesitate to gather up the fallen pages, open the little glass door on one side of the lantern, and touch them to the flame.

“But—” Erica exclaimed as Remington strode to the fireplace and dropped the burning letter onto the hearth.

“I know what it said,” Tristan said, bending over his sister’s pale, still form.

Viviane moaned and blinked and in a moment was struggling to sit up. Erica sat beside her and wrapped one arm around her thin shoulders while Tristan knelt at their feet. “He—he p-p-promised—”

“Promised what?” Erica prompted when Tristan couldn’t seem to form words.

“He t-told me you were in danger. He said everything I c-could tell him would help to keep you safe.”

Tristan’s throat worked. “How long?”

“M-m-months and months. Since right after Papa and Percy died. I didn’t know m-m-much, tried to remember what I’d heard them say, about where you were and what you might be doing. When your t-t-trunks came, I f-found a couple of letters, but I couldn’t b-b-break the code, and I—” Her teeth chattered in earnest then and she broke off.

“Shh,” he murmured as he rose and came to sit on her other side. When he wrapped his arms around her, he caught Erica in his embrace too. Their eyes met over Viviane’s dark head, and she could see by his distracted gaze he was trying to piece together the information that had been stolen, how much damage had been done.

They were still seated that way when the others began to arrive, Lady Lydgate leading the way in a violently purple silk wrapper, both her husband and her lover at her heels. The duchess came next and flew to her daughter; Tristan surrendered his place to her and went immediately to the door to speak to Whitby. The captain turned but was too late to prevent the next arrivals from seeing into the room. Caroline shrieked, Lady Easton fainted, and the commotion made Pilkington stir at last.

Erica caught herself instinctively counting off the room’s occupants. Who was missing? Ah, the vicar and his wife. A nervous hiccup of laughter burst from her as she imagined Mrs. Newsome barring their chamber door to keep her husband from indulging in the sin of gossip.

Lord Beresford and Sir Thomas carried Lady Easton to the sofa on the opposite side of the room, and Caroline knelt on the floor and chafed her mother’s hands while Lady Lydgate plied her with a makeshift fan that Erica feared might in fact be one of the late duke’s priceless medieval manuscripts.

Then Captain Whitby stepped to the center of the room, surveyed the chaos around him, and said, “I owe Miss Burke an apology. I was the one who told the duke she was a spy. I was wrong. She had no hand in any of this.”

“Except,” Remington pointed out, one hip propped against the desk and the pistol pointed once more at Pilkington, “for unmasking the real villain.”

Whitby nodded. “I owe you an apology too, Raynham, for—”

Though she wasn’t quite sure how it happened, the next moment Tristan was hugging him and Whitby returned the gesture, two friends reunited after a long and difficult journey. “That’s Major Laurens to you,” Tristan said gruffly when they broke apart. “But if anyone other than this man”—he jerked his chin in Pilkington’s direction—“is to take a share of the blame, it must be me. Captain Whitby warned me there was trouble at Hawesdale.” His gaze darted around the room, pausing longest over the odd collection of his sister, his stepmother, and Erica. “I didn’t want to hear it.”