Dark Duke(43)

Hortense gaped at him. “He’s a criminal.”

“He was, once, a hero. We knew each other—in the war.”

“I see.” Hortense knew of his exploits, or at least some of them. “You must bring her back, my boy. She means more than you can ever know.”

“I do know.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You do not. You don’t know everything.”

The way she said the word made him pause. That, and the fact Hortense had proven herself to be a font of dark family secrets. “What are you saying?”

She blew out a breath and hobbled to the fire, frowning at it for a long while. When she spoke again, her words were puzzling.

“Brianne named Ned after his father, you know.”

Edward snorted. Perhaps the stress had made her dotty. “Ned’s father was Horace.” This he explained to her gently. Because Horace was Ned’s father and this was something she should still remember.

She spun. Gored him with a gimlet gaze. “Was he?”

Something uncomfortable crawled into Edward’s chest. “What are you saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

She blew out an impatient breath. “Your Uncle Horace was not a Wyeth.”

Surprise and confusion wrinkled his brow. “I beg your pardon?” And what on earth did that have to do with Ned’s parentage?

Hortense rolled her eyes. “Right. I had forgotten. People don’t like to acknowledge infidelity.”

She was making no sense at all. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” She leaned closer on her cane and met his gaze. “But the fact of the matter is this—your grandmother was something of a whore.”

Edward choked on his indrawn breath.

“Oh everyone knew it back then. Well, everyone but the old duke. Your grandfather was only mildly puzzled when his second son didn’t have the family mark.”

She allowed Edward a moment to reflect. No. Uncle Horace had not had the family mark—the curious mole on the left cheek each and every Wyeth had borne from time immemorial. He’d never really thought about it before. But it was odd. All Wyeths had it. Every one.

Hortense whacked him in the shins with her cane. “Think about it, boy. Horace did not have the mark. Yet all of his progeny wear the family badge. Wherever could it have come from?”

Edward tried to think this through. His mind was not cooperating. He was so damn tired—

And then realization flooded him. “Are you telling me my father…?” No. It couldn’t be.

“Was in love with his brother’s wife? Think about it, lad. Your father visited Perth exactly six times, nine months prior to each happy event.”

Edward dropped into a convenient wingchair as the truth of this revelation hit home. “Do you…think my mother knew?” Yes. Judging from the constant snapping and snarling between them, his mother very probably knew.

“Ah poor Clarice. They were married in some ridiculous dynasty match. My father was obsessed with strengthening the family fortune and standing in London. Back then we were considered the lowly Scots skulking about in town. So he forced his firstborn son into a marriage with the highest lady in the land. Well, the highest lady he could blackmail into marriage with a Wyeth. But in truth, your father had always loved Brianne. He never forgave his brother for marrying her.”

“So he cuckolded him?”

“No. He cuckolded his brother because he desired his brother’s wife. Don’t read more into this than there is. The bottom line is this—all Horace’s children are actually your father’s issue.”

Edward swallowed. Images of Ned and Malcolm, Dennis and Sean, Hamish and Tay…and Violet danced through his head. “My brothers and sisters?”

Hortense patted his hand. “Indeed. Every one. So you see. You must bring her back. Safe and sound and whole.” She dabbed at a tear. “I couldn’t bear it if you did not.”

“I-I couldn’t bear it either.”

It was so much. A weight on his soul.

No one had ever needed him before and now so many depended upon him. He couldn’t let them down.

Ned appeared in the doorway and Edward’s heart hitched as he saw the boy—his brother—with new eyes. A brave, valiant, frightened soul. A man who had taken on the responsibility of his family and was now faced with the loss of one of his dearest.

God help him. He would not let them down.

* * * * *

Kaitlin stared up at MacAllister House, the home in which she’d been raised. It was not nearly as grand as Edward’s home, but it was grand enough. Resentment coiled in her belly. It was grand enough to sell and pay Callum’s debts. There would be some left over, but not much.