Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
He found Hartwell slumped asleep before the fire, seemingly without a care or concern for his earlier wickedness.
William kicked his brother’s feet in an attempt to wake him.
His brother merely grunted something unintelligible and rolled over on the settee instead.
With little patience for the man, William strode to where the decanter of whisky and other brandies were set, picked up the jug of water, poured a glass, and tipped it over his brother’s head.
Phillip sat up, spluttering and cursing whoever had assaulted him, before noting his presence through bloodshot, intoxicated eyes.
“What the hell are you about, William?” He wrenched a pocketed handkerchief from his coat and dabbed at his face and forehead. “You’ll be lucky I don’t put you on your ass after such an outburst.”
“No, brother, you’ll be lucky if I don’t put you on your ass.” He glared down at his elder sibling, a selfish, prick of a man who cared for little other than himself. “You drugged Clementine this evening and tried to force yourself on her. I ought to call you out and put a bullet in you.”
His brother’s eyes widened, and he attempted to stand and failed, slumping back onto the longue. “You? Put a bullet in me?” he scoffed. “Unlikely, brother, but you can always have the delusion, I suppose.”
William’s temper doubled. “Answer my question,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “Why were you trying to kiss a woman who is going to marry me?”
“Because she was going to marry me first. I found her and was courting her until you stuck yourself into my business.” Phillip stated, blinking several times as if to clear his vision.
“I cannot help that our paths crossed volunteering at The Haven. That is how we met, as I told you before. We formed an attachment,” he lied, trying to alleviate any scandal his brother would relish allowing the ton to know. “And I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.”
“Ah, yes,” Phillip said, nodding. “A woman of heart and kindness, pity you’re going to marry her.
I at least would have given her the life that she deserved.
One that all those Ravensmere sisters deserve.
” He paused, glaring. “She would have been a marchioness, happy in her role in society. Now she is placed lower than where she was born.”
“You would have given her happiness?” William chuckled, the sound laced with sarcasm.
“Oh, do tell me how a self-centered, narcissistic man would attempt to make your wife happy.” He shook his head.
“I do not think that is the case, and nor do I believe you think so either, not if you truly reflect on your character.”
Phillip stared, nonplussed. “Well, marrying her would have made me very happy. Job done. Wife at home, warming my bed for a day or so before I sent her packing to the country where she could look after my estates and the running of the households. But no, you had to stick your nose into my business, and now she is lost to me.”
“She is not lost to you, for you never had her.” William took a calming breath. “Did you drug her or not? And do not lie to me. I don’t have the constitution for your lies tonight.”
Phillip did not answer, merely turned his attention back to the hearth. “You know, brother, I did find out something very interesting recently. The Ravensmere daughters that society loves have other siblings who live in Cheapside. Hidden away like the dirty little secrets they are.”
“What?” William frowned, having no idea what his brother was talking about.
“Oh yes, the late Duke of Ravensmere was quite fond of his mistress and fathered three more daughters. But that’s not all that I’ve come to know.”
Clementine and the Ravensmere daughters had illegitimate siblings?
Did Clementine know this? Not that it bothered William, he couldn't care less if there were siblings born on the wrong side of society’s blanket.
But did Clementine? “Having siblings who are illegitimate is not Clementine's or her sisters’ problem. They cannot be blamed for what their father did.”
“Oh, but he did much, much more than even you, dear brother are aware. He was a cad, a rake, a man with insatiable needs for women and what they could offer, and he was the reason our sister fell from grace.”
A cold shiver ran down his spine, and everything within him stilled. “You lie. We do not know who was behind Sarah’s downfall.”
“I’ve recently come to know the truth, and it was one of the reasons I wanted to marry Lady Clementine, just to make her life hell.
To the contrary of what you believe, I did love Sarah and never wished harm to befall her, but even I couldn’t stop a duke from giving her what she craved most—laudanum.
He seduced her into his bed using her addiction against her, and she went willingly, unfortunately.
She was so very young, and the duke should have known better, done better, but he didn’t care.
He did not really care for his legitimate daughters, his mistress, or our sister, and now you, dearest brother, are going to marry his daughter.
You ought to throw her to the wolves and watch her downfall from afar, just as I planned, as we had to watch our sister do the same. ”
William swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “How did you find this information out?”
“A maid, dusting Sarah’s room, came across some old correspondence from the duke to her. It was stuffed into the hollow piece of her bed's foot. If you’d care to read it, it’s in the top drawer of my desk. But I warn you, it’s quite detailed and disturbing.
William did not move.
The fire snapped in the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, the sound far too loud in the silence that followed. His brother’s words seemed to hang in the air, thick and suffocating, impossible to ignore and yet impossible to accept.
Clementine’s father had ruined his sister. His beloved Sarah…
His betrothed’s face rose in his mind—soft, earnest, far too good for the filthy truth being thrown about this room.
No. It could not be true.
But doubt crept in all the same, insidious and unwelcome. He couldn’t ignore what he’d just heard—not entirely. Not when Sarah’s ruin had never been explained. Not when the pieces, however monstrous, seemed to fit.
Slowly, almost against his own will, William turned toward the desk.
His steps were measured, heavy, as though each one pulled him deeper into something he could not undo.
He reached the drawer and paused, his hand hovering over the handle.
Once read, there would be no returning to ignorance.
No pretending this night had not changed everything.
Still, he opened it.
The letters lay within, aged, folded, and tied.
He took them out, his fingers tightening slightly as he broke the seal and unfolded the first page.
His eyes moved over the words, devouring them.
His heart stopped beating. The language was intimate.
Possessive. Dark in a way that turned his stomach.
Promises made not of affection—but of control.
Of dependency. Of something far more sinister than seduction.
His grip tightened on the paper, and he had the sudden urge to tear each letter to pieces. To hope that with each sheet of paper that fell to the floor, a piece of his sister was restored.
The hope was futile. There was no turning back time. Of saving Sarah.
He tossed them back onto the desk, having read enough. More than enough.
A wave of anger rose—hot, sharp—but beneath it…something far more troubling. Uncertainty.
Because if this were true, then Clementine’s father had done exactly what Phillip accused him of.
And Clementine… He shut his eyes briefly, as though that might block the thought before it could fully form.
“This cannot be true,” William said at last, his voice low, controlled, though every muscle in his body had gone rigid.
The lie, the futile hope tasted bitter on his tongue, the weight of what he had seen pressing heavily upon him.
“Whatever the late Duke of Ravensmere did, whatever sins he committed, they are not Clementine’s to bear. ”
He wanted that to be enough. Wanted to believe it completely. But the certainty he had once held now wavered.
His brother laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You always were the righteous one. Blind to what sits before your eyes.”
“I see perfectly well what sits before me,” William returned, stepping closer, his shadow falling over his brother where he slouched before the fire. “A drunk. A coward. A man who drugged a defenseless woman because he could not win her honestly.”
His brother’s expression darkened, the haze of drink shifting into something sharper. Dangerous. “I did what I had to do,” he snapped. “She would have been mine if you had not interfered.”
William’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “She would never have been yours.”
Even now, even with doubt clawing at his thoughts, that truth remained unshaken.
Phillip scoffed. “You think she wants you?” His brother pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
“You, with your charity work and your sanctimonious airs. Your rakish reputation and gentleman’s club.
Do you think that makes you an enigma to society, a man of secrets, of sin?
” He laughed again. “You are an outcast, and she will tire of you within a month.”
William took another step closer to Phillip, close enough to smell whisky on his brother’s breath and see the water clinging to his hair. He met Phillip’s gaze and spoke, his words slow and deliberate. “You touched her,” William said, making sure each word landed. “You forced her.”
“She did not fight me very hard,” his brother sneered. “She kissed me back, and oh yes, her sweet tongue tasted well against mine.”
The crack of bone against bone echoed through the room, sharp and final. His brother staggered back, colliding with the arm of the settee before catching himself, one hand flying to his jaw. Blood touched his lip, and he stared at it, stunned for a heartbeat.
“You bastard,” he roared, launching himself forward. “You do not hit me.”
They collided hard, the force of it driving William back a step before he regained his footing. His brother swung wildly, his movements uncoordinated from drink, but still strong. Still dangerous.
William ducked the first blow, drove his shoulder into his brother’s chest, and sent them both crashing into the desk.
Papers scattered.
The decanter toppled.
Glass shattered against the floor.
His brother struck him then, catching his cheek, the blow glancing but enough to sting. Enough to sharpen William’s focus into something cold and precise. He drove his fist into his brother’s ribs.
Once.
Twice.
The air rushed from his brother’s lungs in a choked gasp.
“You think this is about revenge?” William ground out, gripping his coat and slamming him back against the desk. “You think ruining her, sullying her family, will bring our sister back?”
Even as he said it, the image of the letter burned in his mind, complicating everything he believed.
His brother struggled, swinging again, catching William across the jaw this time. Pain flared. William answered it with another punch.
Harder.
Cleaner.
His brother crumpled to one knee, coughing, clutching his side as he tried to drag in breath.
William didn’t give him time. He hauled him up by the front of his shirt and struck him again, sending him sprawling onto the carpet before the fire.
The flames cast a flickering glow over his fallen form, highlighting the blood at his mouth, the bruise already forming along his jaw.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing.
Ragged.
Uneven.
William stood over him, chest heaving, his hands aching from the force of the blows, but it did nothing to quell the storm now raging inside him.
“If you ever go near her again,” William said, his voice deadly quiet now, far more dangerous than the violence that had come before. “If you so much as speak her name in anything less than respect, I will not stop at fists next time.”
His brother let out a weak, humorless laugh, though he did not attempt to rise. “You would destroy your own blood…your family, for her? Her father killed our sister. How could you be so unloyal?”
William did not hesitate. “I’ve made a promise to her.
” The declaration settled heavily between them.
A final nail in their dead relationship.
Yet saying the words aloud sounded wrong, as if he were being disloyal to Sarah and his family.
That by remaining true to Clementine, he was stating that what the duke did to Sarah was acceptable.
It was not.
Phillip straightened, adjusting his coat with hands that were only just beginning to steady.
“You will stay away from her,” William added. “And from me. Whatever dealings you think we still have as brothers end tonight.”
His brother said nothing. Only watched him through swollen, bloodshot eyes.
William turned without another word and strode from the library, leaving behind the wreckage of the room—and the man who had caused it.
He stepped out into the corridor, the door shutting firmly behind him, and one truth settled deep within his chest. Even after all he’d said to Phillip, he didn’t know what future he could offer Clementine.
Or whether there was any future at all.