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Alexander looked at him with dislike. “You’re talking about my half brother.”
“He’s talking about a murderer who would have happily killed our sister and probably you as well,” said the younger sister. “I’d dance on his grave.”
With that Alexander walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. His hands were shaking, and he wasn’t quite sure why. The most important thing was that Sophie was safe. After that, nothing else mattered.
/> “Your lordship?”
Alexander turned. Dickens was standing there, a sympathetic look on his stolid face. Alexander looked up at him.
“There, there, lad,” Dickens said, in a rough, fatherly voice. “They were a bad lot and you knew it full well, much as you tried to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t save him, even years ago. He was under the old witch’s thrall and there was nothing you could do.”
Alexander took a deep breath. “I knew there was something wrong. His stories just didn’t add up, but he was my brother . . .” His voice broke for a moment, and then his mouth hardened. “I should have gotten rid of Adelia and her pernicious influence long ago. But he loved her, and I loved him.”
Dickens shook his head. “Nothing you could do,” he said again.
“I need to call the police, do something . . .” He felt dazed, shattered, and all he wanted was to go to Sophie and have her wrap her arms around him, but there were too many sisters getting in the way.
“Don’t you worry, your lordship. I’ve already notified them, and they’re outside right now, removing the bodies. I’ll see to the garden after they’re gone, but they want to talk to you.”
“Of course they do,” Alexander said, trying to pull himself together. His eyes finally focused on Dickens. “I don’t understand—why are you here?”
“I followed your stepmama, of course. I knew she was up to no good. Mr. Wilton is outside directing the constables while I see to you. When you’re ready to speak to them just let me know. And remember what’s important. You’re in love with that little girl, whether you admit it or not, and you almost lost her. If you don’t do something about it now, today, you may still.” He fixed him with a fierce gaze. “Be the man I brought you up to be. Your brother’s gone and there’s no bringing him back, and in the end it’s a mercy and you know it.”
A mercy, Alexander thought, remembering the small boy who had followed him with worshipful eyes, the young man who’d already been old in the ways of sin, the man who was ready to commit fratricide for his mother and his own greed. It didn’t matter—he had the right to grieve him anyway, whether his death was convenient or not.
And then he thought of Sophie. Sophie was the one who’d knocked Rufus to one side, sending him spinning off the roof instead of falling to her death. How would she feel about killing someone, even if he had been trying to kill her? He needed to hold her as well, to tell her it was all right, that no one would hurt her again. He wouldn’t let them.
He straightened, taking a deep breath and shaking off the demons that hovered around him. “Thank you, Dickie,” he said. “I’ll go kick her yammering family out of the house long enough to tell her the truth. You’re right; I love her. And I’m not letting her go.”
Sophie was lying on something hard and uncomfortable when she regained consciousness. Her head ached, and there were too many people talking, too many people arguing, fluttering about her. She wanted Alexander and no one else, and his deep voice wasn’t among the cacophony.
“Go away,” she growled in a low voice.
“She’s awake!” Maddy said much too loudly.
“Sophie, darling, are you all right?” Bryony was kneeling beside her, touching her with delicate hands as if to ensure that she was really there. Sophie did her best to tolerate it.
“I’m awake,” she said, opening her eyes and searching for Alexander. He was in one corner of the large room, speaking to a pair of uniformed police officers; Bryony was beside her with Maddy next to her; the men who’d accompanied them were nearby, conversing among themselves; and she saw to her shock that even Dickens was there.
“Dickens?” she said, before she even spoke to her sister.
“I was worried about you, Miss Russell,” he said, stepping forward, an abashed expression on his rough-hewn face. “And I figured his lordship would need all the help he could get.”
“Thank heavens,” Sophie said, sinking back on the settee. It was particularly uncomfortable—trust a man to furnish a house with the wrong furniture, she thought randomly, staring at Alexander. He looked pale, drawn, and she wanted to go to him, to pull his head down to her breast and comfort him. He looked as if he’d survived a bloody battle, and she wondered what he was thinking. He’d killed someone.
Then again, so had she, and she didn’t have a moment’s regret. She always prided herself on being practical, and there’d been no other way out of it, but Alexander might not be quite so sanguine, considering it was his half brother. In fact, he might be blaming her . . .
“Oh, darling Sophie, you’ve been through so much,” Bryony crooned, interrupting her worried thoughts.
“Not that it wasn’t your own fault for going off like that,” Maddy added.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop trying to pick a fight!” Bryony snapped. It was so blessedly familiar that for a moment Sophie wanted to cry. “We need to get Sophie home, take care of her. She’s been through a huge shock.”
Alexander turned at her words, suddenly intent. His eyes met hers for a moment, and his were dark, tormented, and he quickly looked away.
“You’ll be all right,” Maddy said to Sophie with rough affection. “Just don’t think about it.”
Sophie looked up, confused. “Don’t think about what?”
