Chapter Fourteen
Several Hours Earlier
Cassandra’s hands trembled. Inside her mind, sense and horror warred in equal measure. Surely, this was a terrible nightmare. Even the knowledge of what that secret room contained left her stomach churning in revulsion.
She paced the length of the parlor, trying to regain control of her thoughts.
Emotion ran hot through her blood. Seeing Reuben and Phillip locked in battle had nearly torn her heart in two.
How could she choose a side when she knew both were guilty of harboring secrets and betraying her in their own ways?
Phillip’s accusations rang in the back of her mind.
The fact that he would use his position—his authority—in such a manner left her in anguish.
Remnants of James lived in Phillip. Cassandra saw it in his mannerisms and his speech, but she’d never seen it in his actions toward another living creature before now.
“Mother,” Phillip began as he entered the room. “Allow me to apologize.”
“Apologize for what?” She stiffened.
“I should never have made such an assumption.”
“You assumed a lot and made your opinion quite clear.” Cassandra arched her brow. “Perhaps you should apologize for each offense independently.”
Phillip slouched, looking more like a boy of ten than a duke of twenty-eight years.
He sighed. “I apologize for assuming you were having an affair with a servant, for assuming you eloped to Scotland, for assuming you would live the rest of your life in chaste solitude.” He met her gaze steadily. “Forgive me.”
“I forgave you the moment you said those hurtful words out of spite and without thought.” She saw the remorse in his eyes. Relief filled her.
He was not his father. But she had coddled him for far too long. He was not only a man, but a duke. It was past time for her to treat him as such.
“But do not make the mistake of thinking I will forget this transpired.” She raised her chin and squared her shoulders, holding herself in a maternal and regal manner. “I expect better of you as the Duke of Tolland.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Shall I pour you a drink?”
“Whisky, please.”
His brow rose in question, but he said nothing as he moved to the sideboard and poured a drink for both of them. When he’d returned, he handed her the glass.
“Let us begin again,” he said, lifting his glass in salute.
She met his toast and took a sip, letting the liquid infuse her with a courage she barely felt.
“Why did you come to Scotland?” Phillip asked.
Cassandra’s heavy exhale did nothing to ease the pressure burning inside her chest. The weight of it nearly crushed her. “It is a complicated story.”
“I have all the time in the world.” Phillip smiled. “Humor me.”
“Very well.” Cassandra finished the whisky and set the glass aside.
A coil of unease and uncertainty tightened around her heart.
She detested the horrors she had to reveal, but it was the only way to make him see—to force him to understand.
Mustering her courage, she began at the beginning.
“Not long ago, I discovered some documents hidden in your father’s desk.
Including letters mentioning this specific holding among other more unsettling details.
All of which I will share with you upon our return to London. ”
“Why did you not ask me about the hunting lodge? Perhaps I could have answered your questions without having to travel so far.” Phillip leaned against the chair.
“It was not quite so simple.” Cassandra pressed forward, knowing the revelation would hurt him and in turn crush her. But it needed to be done. “It seems your father incurred some debts before his death.”
“I took care of all his outstanding debts,” Phillip said with pride. “And incurred none, I might add.”
Cassandra shook her head. “There is one you have not addressed.”
Phillip’s brow creased with confusion. “With whom?”
“The Lord of Devil’s Acre.” Cassandra saw the moment of realization strike her son with the swift effectiveness of a bullet.
Phillip collapsed in the chair. “It cannot be true.”
“It is.” Cassandra sat on the chair opposite. “I have met with him and promised to ensure the debt is paid by the new Duke of Tolland.”
His eyes widened and he shot out of the chair, raking his fingers through his hair in obvious panic. “Mother! How could you meet with such a man? He is the most notorious crime lord in London. How did you arrange such a meeting?”
“Reuben.” Cassandra’s simple response left Phillip swearing in multiple languages as he paced the room, his agitation palpable.
“I knew he was not to be trusted!” Phillip spat, pointing to the hallway where they had just been arguing. “That bastard.”
Cassandra did not elaborate on Reuben’s affiliation with the Lord of Devil’s Acre or his own debt but instead chose her battles carefully. There would be time enough later to expand on the intricacies of the situation.
“What did he say?” Phillip asked, nostrils flaring.
“He requested a meeting with you after I explained the complexity of the arrangement and ensured that you were willing to acquiesce to his demands.”
Phillip scoffed. “What demands?”
“I wager he meant the original terms of the agreement he held with your father.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“I was not privy to the intimate details of the bargain that was struck, but I was asked to ensure that you would be amenable to meeting with him and willing to negotiate the terms as the new duke.”
“And why did you not tell me before now?” Phillip stared at her, jaw slack.
Tears filled her eyes. “I—I hadn’t the heart to tell you the truth.”
“The truth about what, Mother?”
“Your father was neither a good nor a kind man, Phillip.” She hesitated for a moment but persisted, knowing this would give them both healing and closure. “He did horrible things. Wronged so many innocent people.” The tears flowed freely.
Phillip knelt before her, taking her hand in his and offering a handkerchief. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
Cassandra nodded, and the dam broke free. She sobbed as the torrential emotions burst free from a lifetime of being hidden beneath the perfect veneer of a duchess and a wife.
“I knew it.” Phillip cursed. “I mean, I suspected as much when I came home from school and found fresh bruises marking your arms and neck.” He swore again. “I wanted to believe the best of him, but then I heard you both arguing one night and—well, I heard him strike you.”
Cassandra gasped, choking on another sob. She had hidden it for so long, thinking her secret had been hers alone, and yet her son had borne the pain of it in his own silence. She rested her hand on his shoulder to offer him some measure of comfort.
“I wanted to kill him.”
Phillip’s admission rang in her ears and her blood ran cold. She shivered, suppressing the thoughts racing through her mind about Reuben’s previous confession.
“I should have told you,” Cassandra whispered. “You deserved to know.”
“No, Mother, I should have protected you.” He smoothed his hand over hers. “You never deserved to be treated in such a horrid manner. No one does.”
“I am proud of you, Phillip.” She smiled, grasping his hand in hers. “No matter what lies in our past, you can create something good from it.”
“I will try.”
“There is something else you should know about your father.” Cassandra’s smile faltered.
“What else could there possibly be?” Phillip asked.
“In the trophy room, you will find a secret door open along the north wall.” She swallowed the fear pooling in her gut. “Go. See for yourself.”
Phillip slowly rose to his feet and cast a concerned glance over his shoulder. But he gave a determined nod and exited the room.
Cassandra twisted her hands in her skirts. What had she done? This was too much. Phillip should never understand the depths of his father’s depravity. Yes, he knew of the abuse. But to see the sick and twisted obsession with death firsthand was truly monstrous.
Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Cassandra rose, poured herself another drink, and returned to her seat. An inhuman howl of rage echoed through the lodge. She trembled at the sound and wrapped her arms around her, sinking deeper into the chair.
When he returned, she recognized the disbelief and horror painted on his face. He bore the same expression she had earlier that morning.
“Mother, tell me that room is not what I think it is.” He pointed in the general direction of the hidden closet. “Tell me this is a farce.”
“I am afraid it is not, son.” Cassandra rose and went to him. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “I am as horrified as you at this revelation.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He truly was a monster.”
“This—This cannot be true.” Phillip slumped against her, hiding his face. “Is it?”
“I fear it is, my darling.” She stroked his head.
“When did you realize?” he asked, his voice unsteady.
“When you found me earlier, I had just discovered that room and the truth.”
Phillip pulled away. “What of him?”
“He knew the truth as well.” Cassandra sighed. “Long before the rest of us.”
“But—how?”
“His sister, Lord rest her soul,” she said softly, “was one of the victims.”
Fury replaced grief in his eyes. “He knew, and he said nothing—did nothing.”
“What could he do?” Cassandra’s heart broke. “Who would believe him?”
“You did.” Hatred poured from his lips. “Was this before or after you fucked him?”
“Phillip!” Wounded, Cassandra pulled away, putting distance between them. “How dare you ask me such a crass question?”
“So it is true.” Phillip narrowed his gaze. “You slept with him.”
“That has no bearing on the conversation regardless of my answer.”
“Oh, but it does, Mother.” Phillip cocked his head. “Did he tell you his story of woe before he seduced you or after?”
Cassandra gasped, indignation burning in the pit of her stomach.