Chapter Thirteen #2
“I suspected,” Reuben replied, his expression grim. “I wanted to tell you that night when I found the lockbox. The clippings. But I couldn’t. I needed more proof than that. There had to be physical evidence of his violence.”
“But how did you know it was James who committed these atrocities?” The question slipped free on a stunned whisper.
“My sister.” Reuben’s voice trembled with emotion and regret. “When I found her—I saw—” He swallowed hard, the confession choking him. “I saw him take—part of her.”
“You—what?” Disbelief and rage flooded her.
“I was terrified. Horrified by what I encountered in that dark alley.” His shoulders slumped in defeat.
“I remained hidden until he left, but I saw his face—committed it to memory. When the bobbies found me with her body, they asked if I’d seen anything.
I lied. I knew no one would believe me, and if they did, they would never bring the justice my sister deserved. ”
“Reuben.” Cassandra’s voice cracked as the tears came freely. She took a step toward him, but he held up his hand, determined to maintain a distance between them. Her heart ached for the young man who’d found his sister murdered in cold blood.
“The Lord of Devil’s Acre not only took me in and raised me…” Reuben continued. “He believed me and confirmed my worst fears. The Duke of Tolland had done this before, although there had never been any witnesses willing to come forward. Willing to do anything about it.
“When the duke incurred a large debt, the Lord of Devil’s Acre seized his opportunity to ensure both justice and an end to the murders.
” Reuben flexed his hands. “Simon ensured I was chosen as the duke’s valet.
An insurance policy of sorts to ensure the duke did not step out of line and take another life.
Simon told him only that he would be watching and if he refused to comply, he would be forced to reveal the duke’s proclivities to Scotland Yard. ”
Cassandra stared, unblinking at the man before her.
It fit. All of it. Reuben’s past, his pain, and his presence in their home—in her life.
The Bloody Talons were notorious for their uncouth and dangerous behavior.
The gang was feared among all who resided in London regardless of rank and title.
A thousand questions swarmed her mind like angry bees, but one stood out among the rest.
“Did—” She swallowed past the lump rising in her throat. “Did he order you to kill my husband?”
“No.” Reuben held her gaze, but those familiar depths held none of the warmth and kindness she had come to love. A knot of terror wrapped around her heart.
“But you sought your revenge.” She whispered, “You killed him.”
Reuben’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
Overwhelmed with grief and horrified by the revelation, Cassandra gripped the chair tighter. Tears flowed, and she let them.
“Reuben—say something,” her voice cracked beneath the strain.
He remained silent, keeping his attention fixed on the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
“Say something, damn you!” She lunged toward him, but he remained as still as a marble statue.
Finally, he looked at her, resignation in his eyes. “Forgive me.”
Cassandra gasped, reeling as though he struck her.
He had murdered her husband. Had that been his intent all along?
Had he ever truly cared for her or had it all been an act?
How could she possibly trust him? He had lied to her—again and again.
And even now, he showed no remorse for his actions.
Even though she knew her husband had been a heartless cur with no sympathy for anyone, could she love someone who also committed the same crimes even with the best of intentions?
She raced from the room, tears stinging her eyes and blurring her vision. Her sobs broke free, tearing apart her very soul. Rejection and betrayal clawed at her, shredding what remained of her strength.
She loved him, and he had used her, betrayed her.
Swiping at the tears, she stumbled and collided with a solid, warm body. A pair of strong arms encircled her.
“Reuben?” She glanced up, stiffening at the sight of the man holding her.
Phillip. Relief filled her at the sight of him, quickly replaced by fear of reprisal for being here alone with Reuben.
Of her son uncovering the horrors that they had just unearthed in the neighboring room.
“Phillip? What are you doing here?” She glanced over her shoulder.
Ripley, her son’s valet, carried a trunk over his shoulder as he passed by in the hall.
“What happened?” Her son’s concerned gaze slowly melted to anger at the sight of her disheveled and emotional state. “Where is he?” he growled.
“Phillip, please, I—” Cassandra sobbed as he set her firmly aside.
“No, Mother, enough.” His jaw clenched. “I’m going to kill the bastard.”
*
Reuben watched the woman he loved shatter before his eyes. This was not how he’d intended to reveal it. He cursed himself for a heartless cad. Deep inside his chest, his heart twisted to the point of physical pain.
He had been a reckless fool to think he could hide something so volatile and damning. But he was completely na?ve to hope there could be any future with Cassandra—even after such a heartbreaking revelation.
Cassandra believed him to be a coldhearted murderer.
A man bent on vengeance for his sister’s brutal death.
But there was more to it than that. So much more.
He needed to talk to her. Needed to set things right.
She deserved to know the reason why he’d crossed that line.
Why he had killed her husband. He could not bear the thought of her believing the worst of him without an opportunity to defend his actions.
With a growl of frustration, Reuben bolted from the room after her. He came to a halt, frozen in place when he spied Cassandra in the arms of another man.
Her son.
“I’m going to kill the bastard.” The duke’s words rang loud and clear through the hall.
Reuben’s blood turned to ice. He held his ground when the duke’s gaze met his.
Hatred burned in their depths. For years, an unspoken tension had created conflict between them.
Reuben had ignored it, avoided it, but there was no way to do so now.
Not when fury consumed the duke in such a powerful way.
The duke stepped in front of his mother, blocking her from view. “What have you done to her?” It was more of an accusation than a question.
“I have done nothing.” Reuben’s voice remained calm, although his hands trembled in fists by his sides and his stomach roiled in protest.
“Lies!” The duke roared, advancing on him. He stopped short, braced for a fight. “I have tolerated your falsehoods for long enough. I warned you in London, and still you persisted by remaining in my service—and absconding to Scotland with my mother.”
Reuben bit his tongue to keep from saying something that would escalate the situation even further. One swing at the duke would land him in prison for the rest of his life. But revealing his part in the death of the late duke would earn him a one-way ticket to hell.
“Phillip, enough.” Cassandra came alongside him, tugging on his arm. Face ashen and shoulders tense, she turned to glance at Reuben. His heart shattered at the sight of her in such a wounded state. She blinked quickly and turned her attention to her son. “Please, you do not understand.”
The duke scoffed, turning to Cassandra. “You believe yourself blameless in this, Mother.”
She stumbled back, eyes wide, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wh—What are you implying?”
“Imagine my surprise when I arrived at my London home, only to find it vacated. When I asked the servants, they knew nothing of your true whereabouts, only that he had accompanied you.” The duke snarled, unable to even say Reuben’s name.
“You did not take Sidlow as your traveling companion, and I inquired after your alibi, who confirmed your absence. From there, I managed to uncover your destination through simple logic.”
“Phillip, I can explain. Ple—”
“Explain what, Mother?” the duke snapped.
Cassandra flinched and pulled away, wrapping her arms around her torso.
Reuben wanted to punch the insufferable cad.
“Would you care to explain how you have been engaged in an illicit affair with the butler?” The duke’s accusation compounded the pain on Cassandra’s face.
Her mouth dropped open, and embarrassment stained her pale cheeks red. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.”
“You are still a dowager duchess,” the duke retaliated. “And are expected to behave like one.”
Cassandra straightened, her hands falling to her sides.
“So a duke may behave in any way he desires, gambling away his inheritance, whoring his way through London’s brothels, taking mistresses and creating scandal without repudiation, but a widowed former duchess is expected to be demure in her composure, mindful in her actions, and remain chaste until her final breath? ”
By the time she’d finished, Reuben saw the indignant fury rising around her like a shroud of protection. He remained silent. Whatever this had begun as had pivoted to something else entirely.
“Mother—that was not what I meant.” The duke’s tone softened.
“Then tell me what you meant exactly, Phillip.” Cassandra rounded on her son.
“Because I will not have you disparage myself or Reuben with your vile condescension. I may be a dowager duchess, but I am still a woman with needs and desires. If I choose to take a lover, then I will do so at my own discretion.”
“He is not who he claims to be,” the duke countered. “You cannot trust him.”
“It seems I cannot trust anyone.” Her gaze flickered between the men. “Both of you have lied to me.”
“I never lied to you, Mother.”
“Not with malicious intent, perhaps, but you kept secrets.” She glared at her only child. “Those are just as dangerous as lies, son.”