“I suppose you helped him along.”
He smiled cunningly. “I did. Big fellow. Hurt my back hauling him around. It’s still bothersome.”
“And did you help Father along as well?”
He chuckled darkly. “Do you want a confession?”
“I want to die knowing the truth.”
“The truth. I loved her. You should have been my son.”
Her? His son?Sebastian thought of his mother’s portraits still hanging in the manor. Mary had thought it odd. “You loved my mother.”
“I loved her with all my heart. Your father was duke by then. Keswick wanted to approve her before I asked for her hand in marriage. So she and her family came here for a country party in the fall. Your father strode into the room and conquered her with little more than a smile. They were married by Christmas. He only took her because I wanted her.”
Sebastian had been only four when she died. Yet he knew without doubt that his father loved her. With all his heart. He always spoke of her with reverence and adoration.
“I left. For years I lost myself in wine and women. Then I came to my senses. I knew if I ever wanted to find love again, I needed to be a duke. So I killed your father easily enough. But then you and your brothers ran off. And I had towaitto make a bid for the title so suspicions would be few. Then I met Lucretia. She wanted a duke. She wanted me! But then you came back. I can only have her if I have the title.”
“I understand the power of love, Uncle. What it will make men do. Take me, but let Mary and my brothers live.”
“Sebastian, no,” she pleaded.
“Mary,” he ground out, glaring at her, wishing he had time to tell her everything. All that he felt, all that he realized too late. “You will do as I say. As I desire.”
“Your brothers will seek revenge,” Lord David said derisively.
“No. Neither of them cares about the titles or the estates. They’ve made lives for themselves apart from all this. I’ve written them a letter. It’s on my desk. Mary will take it to them. It instructs Tristan to set sail with Mary and Rafe. They’ll get word back to England that the ship sank, and that they’re dead.”
His uncle laughed. “You truly believe they’ll do this, give all this up?”
“Neither of them wants it. They never have. It’s always been only me. I am all that stands between you and the title.”
“Sebastian, no!” Mary shouted.
His uncle shook her, and Sebastian held his breath. If the pistol went off, all this would be for nothing. All the pain he’d endured, all the suffering ... for nothing.
“Who’d have thought you’d be so clever?” his uncle asked.
“But you release Mary now.”
His uncle studied him, and he saw the pistol lower a small fraction. “You must think me a fool to believe such a poppycock scheme.”
“I swear it on my father’s grave. And do you know why I will do this?” His hand was in the pocket of his greatcoat, his fingers curled around the handkerchief, the ribbon wound around his finger. He removed the bundle—
“What the hell?” his uncle shouted, pointed the pistol at him—
Mary screamed and shoved at his arm—
Using the only weapon he had, Sebastian slung the linen bundle toward his uncle to distract him as he lunged—
An explosion ripped through the night. Something scalded his arm.
He saw his uncle duck to avoid the soaring object, lose his balance, his feet slipping out from beneath him—
“Mary!” Sebastian yelled.
She was in the path of his flailing uncle, caught in the maelstrom, her arms windmilling—
