Page 190 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Until that moment, William had believed Algernon’s suspicions came from fear. Terrible, consuming fear, certainly, but fear that might still yield to the truth if William could only make him understand it.

Now he was no longer certain.

Algernon had not merely suspected that Edmund was preparing William to replace him. Somewhere along the way, suspicion had hardened into certainty. Every conversation between William and Edmund had become evidence.

Every attempt at friendship concealed an ambition William had never possessed. Even now, with William standing before him in tears and swearing that he had never wanted the dukedom, Algernon seemed incapable of believing him.

William had no idea how to prove the truth to someone who had already decided what the truth must be.

Algernon was silent for so long that William wondered whether he had heard him at all.

Then his brother laughed.

There was no humor in the sound. “What did he expect?”

William watched him carefully. “Who?”

“Father.” Algernon lifted his eyes to him. “What did the old man expect I would become after treating me like a dog?”

Something in his voice had changed.

Until now, anger had driven nearly every word from him. Even his bitterness had carried heat. Now there was none. Algernon stood several feet away, blood still marking the corner of his mouth, and regarded William with an eerie calm that made the back of his neck prickle.

“What do you mean?”

“I spent years trying to become the son he wanted. I learned to speak and behave the way he wanted. I endured every punishment he thought might beat the weakness out of me.” Algernon’s mouth curved faintly. “And after all of that, he decided I was the mistake.”

William felt the first stirrings of dread.

“Algernon.”

“What did he think would happen?”

His brother’s voice remained quiet.

“He treated me like an animal for most of my life.” Algernon paused, and something almost peaceful settled over his expression. “So in the end, I treated him in kind.”

The dread sharpened as William stared at him, trying to understand what he was saying and already knowing that he did not want to.

Behind him came the faint scrape of Edmund moving closer to the bars.

“Algernon,” the earl said.

Algernon did not even look at him.

William’s mouth had gone dry. “What did you do?”

For the first time, his brother hesitated.

Then he said, “I poisoned him.”

The words seemed to drain every sound from the cellar. William could hear his own breathing. Somewhere behind him, Rosalind made a small sound, but it seemed to come from impossibly far away.

He had misunderstood. He must have.

Their father had been ill. William remembered the physicians coming and going, the gradual weakening of a man he had once believed indestructible. He remembered standing beside Algernon at the funeral, remembered his brother accepting condolences with that same solemn composure he brought to every duty.

All that time, Algernon had known.