Page 96 of Courting the Wrong Duke

He pushed the door inward, and the conversation died at once.

Augusta turned first, all color draining from her face, while Algernon remained beside the desk with one hand resting against its polished surface. His expression barely altered, yet William knew his brother well enough to recognize the tension hidden beneath that practiced composure. Neither of them had expected him.

William's gaze moved slowly between them, suddenly conscious of how warm the room felt despite the dying fire.

“I thought,” he said carefully, “you were halfway to Aldermere by now.”

Neither of them answered.

The silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

William waited another moment before taking a slow step farther into the room. “You told me you were leaving London.”

“I intended to.”

The answer landed strangely.

“But you did not.”

“No.”

William searched his brother's face, expecting irritation, annoyance, or even a sharp rebuke for questioning him.

Instead he found only weariness. It unsettled him far more than anger would have.

Almost without thinking, his eyes shifted to Augusta.

She was one of the few people William had ever known who met another person's gaze without hesitation. Even when embarrassed, even when challenged, she possessed a quiet confidence that rarely faltered.

Tonight she lowered her eyes.

Something cold spread through William's chest.

“What is happening?” he asked, unable to keep the confusion from his voice. “What have I walked into?”

Once again, neither of them answered.

It was not the lie that finally broke something inside him. It was the silence.

His brother had never lied well, not because he lacked the ability, but because he had never found it necessary. Algernon answered questions directly, accepted responsibility without complaint, and faced every difficulty head-on.

Tonight, for the first time in William's life, he was choosing not to answer at all.

“No.” The word escaped before William realized he had spoken it. He looked directly at his brother. “You lied to me.”

“William—”

“You lied to Mother. You lied about leaving London.” His voice remained remarkably steady, though he could feel anger and confusion knotting tighter with every heartbeat. “Lady Rosalind believed she saw you tonight, and I defended you because I believed such a thing impossible. I watched your carriage leave this house.”

“It did.”

“Then where were you?”

The question lingered unanswered.

For the first time, William found himself unable to dismiss the possibility that there were truths about Algernon's life he had never imagined.

He did not want to believe his brother knew more about Lord Eastmere. He refused to believe that.