Chapter 13
Alistair sat in his study, the fire burning low in the grate and shadows stretching long against the paneling.
His cravat hung loose about his neck, a testament to his disheveled state of mind.
He had endured over an hour of the constable’s endless prying questions, every inquiry striking like a hammer upon his frayed nerves.
Yet he had given little away, only vague and evasive replies.
The man had left frustrated, muttering beneath his breath about wasting his time, but Alistair cared not.
What were the law’s petty frustrations compared to the gnawing terror in his chest?
Jane’s face rose unbidden in his mind—her soft laugh, the brightness of her eyes—and the dreadful certainty that she might be the next target.
He rubbed at his brow, trying in vain to will away the thought.
The door creaked open and Warwicke strode inside, his breathing labored. “I came as fast as I could.”
“Thank you for coming,” Alistair murmured, holding up the glass in his hand. His voice was hoarse, worn. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“No,” came the swift reply.
A humorless smile tugged at Alistair’s lips as he set his untouched glass down with a soft clink. “You and me both, then. I had hoped it might steady me, but I find myself too restless even for brandy.”
Warwicke lowered himself into the armchair opposite, eyes sharp. “Tell me everything.”
Alistair drew in a long breath and let it out in a weary sigh.
“There isn’t much to tell. A footman—one we had only just hired—attempted to kill me.
Danvers shot him before he could succeed.
” He paused, running a thumb along the rim of his glass.
“Afterwards, we found two notes. One bore my address. The other… Jane’s. ”
Warwicke stiffened. “You need to warn her.”
“I know,” Alistair said heavily. “And I shall—tomorrow. But I would spare her needless fear if I can. I did, however, send over guards to watch her townhouse until I go speak to them.”
“Two of your comrades are dead already. The time for sparing feelings is past.”
Alistair closed his eyes briefly, conceding the truth of it. “You are right. If only there were a way to guard her every hour of every day.”
Warwicke grew silent. “You could marry her.”
Alistair’s head jerked up. “Be serious.”
“I am,” Warwicke countered, his gaze unwavering. “You feel something for her—anyone with eyes can see it. Marriage would place her under your constant protection.”
The words settled like lead in Alistair’s chest. Marriage.
The very thing he longed for, yet the last thing he dared claim.
His jaw clenched. “The closer she stands to me, the greater the danger she is in. No. She must be far from me.” He leaned forward, forcing the thought from his lips before he could falter. “She could marry Lord Whitehill.”
Warwicke’s brow furrowed. “Have you lost your senses?”
“Think of it. Whitehill has recently lost his wife. By all accounts, he is a decent, honorable man. He would treat Jane kindly.” Alistair’s voice hardened. “More importantly, he could keep her safe as a former soldier.”
“That is absurd.”
“I disagree. It makes perfect sense.” Alistair’s hands gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles whitened. “If Jane is with me, she will die. But Whitehill can give her safety, stability. I would make him understand what is at stake and he would see that she is guarded.”
Warwicke studied him in silence for a long moment. “You would sacrifice her—willingly—to another man?”
Alistair forced himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “It is not a sacrifice if it means her life.”
“And what of your life?” Warwicke asked. “What of your heart?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alistair said, rising abruptly.
He strode to the tall window, staring out into the night.
The moon spilled cold light over the gardens below, silvering the hedges.
“If I die, so be it. I have done deeds I can never atone for. But Jane—Jane is innocent. She deserves a chance at life unshadowed by my past.”
Warwicke tried again. “She ran from one marriage already. Do you truly think she would accept this one?”
“That was the Duke of Brackenford,” Alistair snapped, his voice sharper than intended. He pressed a hand to the window frame, steadying himself. “A vile man. Whitehill is nothing like him. He is charitable. Kind. He would never hurt her.”
Warwicke rose, exhaling slowly. “You were attacked only hours ago. You are in shock. I suggest you get some sleep before you make such a rash decision.”
Alistair turned, his expression grim. “Are we any nearer to finding Jules Leclerc?”
“No, but—”
“Then what choice do I have?”
Warwicke frowned. “We will find a way. You are not alone in this.”
“If Jules is in London, every hour matters,” Alistair bit out. “Jane must be kept safe.”
Warwicke shook his head. “And what if she refuses? What makes you think she would agree to your scheme?”
Alistair’s shoulders slumped, weariness crashing over him. “I do not know. But I must at least try.”
Warwicke laid a hand on Alistair’s shoulder, his tone gentling. “I know this is tearing you apart. But do not throw away your chance with her so easily. We will find another way.”
“And if we fail?” Alistair’s voice broke. “If Jules reaches her first?”
The silence that came next was damning.
Warwicke finally admitted, “I don’t know.”
Alistair stepped back, dislodging his friend’s hand. “I cannot bury her, Warwicke. If Jane dies—” His voice faltered, hoarse with raw emotion. “It would destroy me.”
A moment passed before Warwicke said, “Then do what you think you must. I will keep searching for Leclerc. He cannot hide forever.”
When Warwicke departed, Alistair sank into his chair, his head falling into his hands. He knew his friend did not understand, but he must do what was right. He could not watch Jane pay for his sins.
And then the realization struck him with brutal force.
He loved her.
Suddenly everything made sense. Every mistake he had made, the paths he had taken, and all the decisions he had made—led him to her.
But he couldn’t act upon it. Not now.
“That was conveniently dramatic, Brother,” came Charlotte’s voice from the doorway.
Alistair lifted his head to find her standing there in her wrapper. “You were eavesdropping,” he said flatly.
“Of course I was,” she replied with a careless wave. “I always do. And you are a fool if you think giving Jane away is the answer.”
His mouth tightened. “You misheard me. I am not abandoning her. I am ensuring her survival.”
She drifted farther in, perching on the arm of a chair. “And who is this Jules Leclerc?”
Alistair stared at the ceiling for strength before answering, “A very bad man who wants me dead.”
“Why?”
He swallowed slowly. “Because I killed his father.”
Charlotte didn’t react. “Did he deserve it?”
“Yes.” His voice was firm. “He was responsible for the deaths of thousands of our soldiers.”
“Thank you for finally telling me the truth.”
Alistair winced at his sister’s words. “I should have done so sooner,” he admitted. “But I was trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Yes, you do,” he said more forcefully than he intended, his voice rising with conviction. “I have a duty—to you, to this family—”
Charlotte’s eyes glinted as she asked, “To Jane?”
The name hit him like a blow, for it was true. He pressed a hand against the desk as if bracing himself. “Yes… to her as well. After all, she saved my life. I owe her everything.”
“Even your happiness?”
Her quiet challenge sank into him, leaving him momentarily unable to meet her gaze. “Even my happiness,” he murmured at last, the words tasting bitter as they left his tongue.
Charlotte sighed, the sound full of sisterly exasperation. “Well, I don’t need your protection, and I would imagine Jane feels the same way.”
“But you are just a wo—”
The sharp look she leveled at him halted the word on his tongue. “I hope,” she began, “you weren’t about to say it is because I am a woman.”
He cleared his throat. “It is a simple fact…”
Charlotte crossed her arms. “I am not some simpering miss in need of coddling, Alistair. Stop treating me as though I am made of glass.”
“What do you expect me to say? You are my younger sister. I will always look out for you.”
“That is fine,” she responded, “but you don’t need to shield me from pain, or sorrow, or whatever else life chooses to hurl at me. I am stronger than you think.”
Her words struck him to silence. “I don’t want to fail you, Charlotte. Not as Father failed you.”
Her eyes widened. “You could never do that,” she rushed out. “Just being here… caring for me… is more than what he ever did.”
A hollow laugh escaped him, though it was tinged with relief. “He did not set a very high standard, did he?”
That earned a genuine laugh from her. “No, he did not. But you will never be like him. He was half the man you are.”
Alistair smirked, rising. “What a nice thing to say. You do like me, then.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes but her voice softened. “I love you, Brother.”
A warmth he hadn’t realized he needed spread through him. “Good, because you are stuck with me.”
“I suppose that is all right with me,” she said with mock solemnity, before stepping into his arms.
Alistair wrapped her in an embrace. For the first time in hours, he felt some measure of ease return to him. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was not failing her as he so often feared.
After a long moment, she stepped back, her expression thoughtful. “We should be going to bed.”
“You go ahead,” he encouraged. “I am not quite ready to retire.”
Charlotte hesitated, her lips pursed as though wrestling with something. “Alistair… there is something I need to tell you.”
He straightened, alert. “Which is?”
A flicker of indecision crossed her face. “Never mind. Now is not the time for it.”
“You know you can tell me anything,” he said, trying to coax her.