“How dare I not die?” he asked sarcastically.
“How dare you frighten me!” Her voice rose before caution could choke the words. The hackney clattered over cobbles.
“Were you worried about me, Little Blossom?” The endearing name caused her to shiver. “Believe me, frightening you was not high on my list of aims.”
“No? Where did it appear on the list precisely? After upending your skiff in the Thames or before having my housekeeper weeping in my sister’s morning room?” She threw her arms up in despair.
The lamplight caught his eyes, making them look almost black, and she noticed the emotion behind them.
“You cried?” he asked, too softly.
“Of course not,” she lied.
One of his brows rose, but he did not press, which was both a relief and an irritant.
“You received my note then,” he said instead.
“It was quite melodramatic. You sound like Pamela’s gothic novels.”
Blaise chuckled, and the sound tugged at her heart. It took all her strength not to reach out and pull him to her. Now was not the time, especially when she did not know where they were going.
“I was short on time,” he said. “And I rather thought you might enjoy the drama.”
“I do not?—”
“You are in a hackney at midnight, rushing to meet a man the world believes drowned.” His smile was faint and crooked. “You might not enjoy it, Little Blossom, but you cannot deny you are suited to it.”
The old familiar sting of being seen, too clearly, burned under her ribs.
“What is this about?” she demanded. “If this is some elaborate jest?—”
“You think me sadistic enough to fake my own death for a jest?” he cut her off.
“I think you’re capable of nearly anything if you believe it would serve your purpose,” she said. “You never did explain what those purposes are, exactly.”
He huffed a low breath, somewhere between a laugh and a curse.
“In this at least, I shall attempt to satisfy you,” he said. “You know about Daniel Vale?”
“Only what have you told me.” She inclined her head.
“I told you the edges,” he said. “Not the center.”
The wheels jolted them as the hackney turned onto a narrower street. The air shifted, growing colder.
“Go on then?” Iris urged him.
“Daniel’s dream was always my brother’s title,” Blaise went on. “He was never meant to be anything more than the spare of thespare, but he fancied himself a great man thwarted. He helped Benjamin elope, you know. Stood beside him as his secretary, and I did not even know about this. He witnessed the vows, signed the register, and I am certain he hid them.”
Iris stared at him. “Where are we going, Blaise?”
“I am getting there,” he said calmly. Daniel told me himself at Hentley. He thought I would be grateful for his offer tofix everything.” His mouth twisted. “His proposition was simple: I am to disappear, and the world will go on believing I am dead. My poor nephew will continue to cling to his illegitimate status and education until the scandal drags him down. Then Daniel will step in like a savior. He will ‘rescue’ Marcus from disgrace and assume the dukedom in my absence, and everyone will applaud his nobility.”
“But Marcus remains illegitimate in the eyes of the world,” Iris said slowly. “Because all evidence of his parents’ marriage is in Daniel’s hands.”
“So, Daniel believes.” Blaise’s gaze held hers steadily. “What he did not account for is that sentimentality is his weakness. He claims to despise my brother, but that is only half true. He loved being important to him. When Benjamin married, I believe Daniel stood beside him. When he ruined that marriage, he kept one thing he could never quite bring himself to destroy.”
“The proof,” she breathed. “He kept it.”
