Page 86 of The Duke and the Darkness

Her shoulders sagged. “I can’t keep any of it.”

“You should. You deserve that part of it. Use it for whatever you want. My mother and sisters raised some very good suggestions for it.” He paused, barely a heartbeat, but she felt it, so attuned had she become to this man during the past few weeks. “Such as your dowry.”

Laughter spilled from her at the ludicrousness of that. “You saw the looks of shock and horror on the faces of everyone in Malvern House when I announced I’d returned. Who would want to marry me?”

He kept his gaze straight ahead on the street. “The Raines women have some determined ideas on the subject.”

“Of course they do.” She blinked rapidly. If they found her a husband, they could send her away with him and thoroughly wash their hands of her and any association society might think connected them. “But they don’t need to worry about me. I’m a survivor, you know. I’ll be just fine on my own, wherever I am.”

“I know.”

They stopped in front of the shelter’s door, and Peyton stared at it, unable to bring herself to look at Devlin for fear he would see the anguish glistening in her eyes. She rasped softly, “This is goodbye, then.”

“No.” With a gentle tug, he led her onward down the street. “This is just the beginning.”

She glanced up at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you want to know what other ideas my family had for your inheritance and for the rest of the money still left to be uncovered?”

“Yes?”

“Restitution.”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“They think you should use it for restitution for the people our fathers harmed.” He shrugged. “Or reparations, as the case may be. And I agree with them.”

He led her toward the small pocket park at the end of the street, where a lone chestnut tree protected the only patch of green grass in the neighborhood. Someone—perhaps Mrs. Martin—had planted a small bed of flowers beneath the spreading boughs to make it as inviting as possible. Peyton couldn’t help but compare it to Brechenhurst. A small refuge of beauty and peace in the midst of an otherwise colorless, impersonal city.

“It means hiring detectives to hunt those people down, enduring disappointment and grief, and it won’t be easy, either in finding the people involved or in figuring out the best way to provide help.” He reassuringly squeezed her arm, then posited carefully, “You would need to remain in London to oversee it all.”

“No,” she whispered, barely a sound on her lips. “Ican’t… Your family, Lucien…you—you would all hate knowing I’m in the same city with you, that I’m digging through your pasts to discover more sins…” She shook her head, but not before her eyes began to sting and the world around her blurred beneath her gathering tears. “I have to leave. You all need time to heal. How could you ever come to terms with what our fathers did if the sight of me constantly dredges up painful memories and grief?”

She turned her back to him and swiped desolately at her eyes.

“Good Lord,” he murmured, stunned. “That’s why you want to return to France, why you’ve been so determined to leave? Not because you want to live there.” He took her upper arms and gently turned her around to face him, and his eyes searched her face for answers. “You want to leave because you think you’ll cause us more pain by staying.”

She closed her eyes to keep from seeing the expression on his face at the stark truth of what she’d planned. She couldn’t bear it. “Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He cupped her face between his hands and rested his forehead against hers. His breath fanned warmly across her cheeks. “We need you here with us, Peyton. We need to heal together—all of us.” Another pause, and in that hesitation, she felt the world shift beneath her. “I need you, Peyton.Ineed you here with me.”

Her eyes flew open and stared at him, his face tear-blurred. He couldn’t possibly mean… Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I would only cause you pain if I stayed.”

“You would cause me infinitely more pain if you left.”

She stepped back, needing space and air to breathe. She simply couldn’t trust in what he was saying. “And your family?” she argued. “How are they supposed to move on if I’m haunting them?”

She’d learned a hard lesson during the past few weeks. There were more ghosts than just those in graveyards.

He leveled a solemn gaze on her. “My family wanted to make certain that I delivered a very precise message to you.”

She steeled herself for the worst. “Which is?”

He reached into his jacket’s inner breast pocket as he took her hand and lowered himself onto one knee in front of her. “Marry me.”

Peyton couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—she could barely find the strength to keep standing as she watched him slide a small ring onto her finger.

Devlin looked up at her, not with expectation but determination. She’d always known he was a force to be reckoned with, but she never knew exactly how much until that moment. His expression held no uncertainty whatsoever as he waited for her decision, only strength and resolve.