Patrick clamped him on the back, steering him toward the edge of the village. “I haven’t much experience, son. But I’ll do the best I can.”
For a long while, they walked in silence, the full moon lighting the familiar path to Aldabaran. Dylan still hadn’t managed to absorb everything he’d learned, but he was very aware that he’d promised he’d tell Patrick what had happened the night of his mother’s death.
The words were not easy to find. He’d held them inside for far too long.
Patrick didn’t push, did nothing to reveal the impatience he must be feeling.
“My mother was terrified when the earl arrived at Aldabaran,” Dylan said at last. “We were in the tower when she saw a coach pull into the courtyard. She sent me to my room, made me promise not to come out until after he was gone. But I didn’t listen. I crept downstairs to listen, hoping he hadn’t come to fetch us back to London.”
“I was crazy with jealousy when I heard he had arrived, so I took myself off to the pub to drown my miseries.” Patrick’s voice was heavy with regret. “I should have hurried to Fiona’s side. But I thought my being there would only cause more harm.”
“You were right to leave,” Dylan assured him. “If you’d been there, he would have killed you, too. He bribed my mother’s maid to report back to him, and he knew every single thing that had ever transpired between the two of you.”
Dylan sensed Patrick shaking his head in the darkness beside him. “He drove her into my arms, the fool. If he had given her the least little bit of affection, she never would have broken her vows.”
For the first time, Dylan wondered what he would have done if Natalia had been forced to marry Ivanovich. Would he have been strong enough to resist her if she’d return to London for a few months every year? How would he have borne to see her neglected or abused?
He knew the answer. He would have found a way to see her. He would have tried to comfort her. Like Patrick, he would’ve found himself caught up in a romance destined to end in tragedy.
Tearing himself away from such thoughts, he forced himself to return to the story. “I couldn’t believe what he was saying, didn’t want to believe it.” The terrible betrayal of learning the earl wasn’t his father still seemed fresh in Dylan’s mind. As a child, he’d been devastated to realize his mother and Patrick had lied to him. “I turned to leave, but before I got very far, he hit her. She sobbed your name and ran from the house, out into the storm.”
“You followed them?” It wasn’t really a question, and Dylan could tell Patrick was having a hard time keeping his own emotions under control. How must it feel to know the woman he’d loved had run to him, seeking his help, and he had not been there to give it?
“I was afraid of what he might do to her.” Even then, Dylan had known what violence the earl was capable of. It hadn’t been the first time he had beaten her. “He chased her out to the cliffs, and they fought again.”
Dylan had been too far away to hear the last words that had passed between them, but he’d seen the earl’s fury escalate and sensed his mother’s growing desperation.
“The bastard pushed her, didn’t he?” Again, it wasn’t really a question. Like Dylan, Patrick had always known the truth. “She never would have jumped. Not my Fiona. She was far too strong to give up on life that easily.”
“He struck her again, but this time, she’d had enough. She hit him back, and he went a little mad. He shoved her. She scrambled to keep her footing.” Dylan paused in the middle of the trail, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. His breath came in harsh pants. No wonder he’d blocked all this out for so long. “I can still hear her screaming…”
Patrick put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, again trying to offer a bit of fatherly comfort. And it came at great cost, because Dylan knew how hard this was for Patrick to hear. Dylan couldn’t imagine how he’d survive if he were to lose Natalia in such a manner.
Gathering his courage, Dylan managed to go on. “I must have made some sound, because he turned toward me… That’s when I started running… I don’t know how long I ran, or if he even chased me…”
Patrick’s hand slid from Dylan’s shoulder, and he sank to his knees in the middle of the trail, silent sobs wracking his body. “Forgive me,” he managed, his voice broken and lost. “Forgive me for not knowing, for not being there when you needed me.”
Now it was Dylan’s turn to offer comfort. He lightly touched his father’s bowed head. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Natalia will leave me when she finds out the truth.” Dylan spoke casually, as though the imminent loss of his wife’s affections didn’t really matter, but inside, he died a little at the mere thought.
He didn’t want to lose her.
“Then don’t tell her.” Patrick, too, kept his tone neutral, devoid of any emotion—an excess of which had already been expended this evening.
They’d almost reached Aldabaran, having spent the last few hours catching up on the past twenty years. It was late, past midnight. Natalia would be furious with him when he arrived.
She’d be wondering if the things he’d said—the promises he’d made in the heat of passion—were all lies. She’d assume he’d been unfaithful, drinking and carousing while she worried and waited at home.
In the long run, perhaps it would be better to let her go on thinking those things. Let her believe he was the rake she’d first assumed him to be.
He didn’t want her to know the truth—that he was a bastard, so far beneath her in Society’s eyes he wasn’t even fit to lick her boots, let alone all those sweet pale places he’d kissed and touched last night.
But, dear God, he wanted to make love to her again. He wanted to lose himself in her arms, forget how dramatically his life had changed for just a few blissful moments. She would hold him so tenderly, kissing him with that beautiful soft mouth…
With a defeated sigh, he wrenched his mind back to the matter at hand and his father’s ridiculous suggestion. “What do you mean, don’t tell her? We can’t all live in the same house without her finding out eventually.”
