She’d never been in love.
No one had ever loved her.
Now she’d never know what it was like, would she?
She’d be dead before she ever had that chance.
I’m letting you get out of here alive, Sidney. Somehow. Some way. If I can’t get us both out of here—you’ll be the one who goes free. I promise you.
“Come here, Sasha.” Vile reached out a hand to her. “It’s time to go.”
“Brother.” Virtue gently stepped away from Sidney to approach his twin. It really was remarkable how similar they were to each other, and how, well, night and day different they were at the same time. “Whatever you’re planning on doing,don’t.”
“Me?” Vile put a hand to his chest, smirking. “Who said I was planning anything?”
Virtue crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his twin.
Vile frowned. “I said I forgave her. We’re still early on in this adventure. She’s still adjusting to a life of villainy.”
“Mmhm.” Virtue sighed. “Just, don’t. I mean it.”He turned to walkback to Sidney, stopping to place a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”
“I know. Thanks.” Hopefully Vile was telling the truth and he’d actually forgiven her for the epilogue.
Hopefully.
She wasn’t going to hold her breath.
“Come along, Sasha dear.” Vile held out his hand again to her. “We have a Regency”—he gagged—“romance to suffer through.”
“I thought you said you didn’t mind romance?” She walked up to him, but ignored his outstretched hand.
He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her into his side none-too-gently. “Some, like I said, are fine.” He lowered his voice to a murmur that was meant only for her. “But don’t worry…we won’t be there long.”
His hand tightened painfully on her shoulder.
He hadn’t forgiven her.
The world disappeared into darkness.
At least he didn’t drop her that time.
THE ERSTWHILE EARL
By Sidney Lancaster
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The carriage jostled violently as it trundled over the uneven country road, its wheels rattling with a cacophony that seemed to echo Lady Sidney Whitmore’s nerves.
A single thought raced through her mind: she was finally going to meet him. The man who—until a year ago—had been presumed dead.
“Are you certain about this, my lady?” Mrs. Hawthorne, her companion and stalwart chaperone, cast a dubious glance in her direction.
Sidney hesitated before replying. “No. But I cannot let my doubts deter me. If Lord Everleigh truly is alive, I must see for myself. It is my duty to the family.”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips pursed, her expression softening into one of reluctant approval. “You are braver than I, child. Many would not tread the path you now walk.”
Brave. The word felt ill-fitting, as though it belonged to someone else entirely. Sidney’s heart had not stopped its erratic pounding since the letter had arrived, bearing the curious seal of one “William Everleigh, Earl of Aylesford.” The letter’s contents had been maddeningly vague—an invitation to Aylesford Manor to discuss matters offamily import. No explanation for his supposed resurrection, no apology for the shock it had caused. Only an imperious command, written in an unfamiliar hand that claimed to be his.
