Dirt #2
“Already done.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s expression sharpened. “Lord Croft was seen last evening with Mr. Annesley of the ecclesiastical court.”
Damien’s blood chilled. “Annesley? The same man who would oversee any challenge to our marriage?”
“I’m afraid so. My men followed Croft toward Richmond but lost his trail near his residence.” The Widow paused meaningfully. “The same residence where Lady Laura has been staying.”
Damien’s mind raced with the implications. “You mean where she’s been kept?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon studied Damien’s face with sympathy etched on her expression. “It raises interesting questions about the nature of her relationship with Lord Croft.”
“Laura despises Croft,” Damien insisted. “She knows what he did to Dom—”
The Widow’s voice was deceptively gentle. “Memory can be quite selective, particularly when someone we trusted has disappointed us.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m suggesting that Lady Laura’s understanding of events three years ago might differ significantly from yours. And that your brother’s current activities may not align with your assumptions about his victimization.”
Damien drained his brandy, using the time to process this disturbing possibility.
“You care for her still,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon observed, her voice carrying a note of kindness.
“I…” Damien paused, surprised by the question.
The answer should have been simple—of course he cared for Laura.
He’d loved her once, had proposed marriage, had grieved when she’d refused to accompany him abroad.
But now, with Eleanor’s taste still lingering on his lips and her blue eyes haunting his thoughts…
“I thought I did,” he said slowly, the admission surprising him. “For three years, I carried the memory of what we’d shared, the regret of what might have been if circumstances had been different.”
“And now?”
Damien met The Widow’s knowing gaze, feeling something fundamental shift in his chest. “Now I realize I was in love with the idea of her rather than the woman herself. Laura symbolized normalcy, acceptance, a life uncomplicated by Dominic’s struggles.
I confused comfort with love, familiarity with passion. ”
“Whereas your feelings for your duchess are…?”
“Consuming,” Damien admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “Eleanor challenges me, infuriates me, makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself. When I’m with her, I feel alive in ways I never experienced with Laura.”
The Widow’s smile held genuine warmth. “How extraordinary. It appears my matchmaking instincts remain intact.”
“What do you mean?” Damien stared at her in confusion.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s laugh was rich with satisfaction. “When she needed a husband to circumvent Abram and Croft, which meant you’d have to return to England, I knew that the two of you would fall in love.”
Damien’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “You used Dominic as a bait to force my presence in England?”
“Of course.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. “I sent word that Croft was moving against you and Eleanor, that Dominic’s presence was urgently needed in London. I knew you’d never abandon him, so naturally you’d follow.”
The revelation slammed into Damien with dizzying clarity. His hands clenched into fists, rage and disbelief warring in his chest. “You manipulated my brother into—”
“Into doing what he would have done anyway,” she interrupted smoothly. “Dominic had been chafing under your protection for months, desperate to return. I simply gave him the perfect excuse. I would have given him protection too had he listened to my instruction to come straight to me.”
Damien shot to his feet, fury radiating from every line of his body. “He’s an addict, Bessie. A vulnerable man you sent into Croft’s clutches for your own amusement.” His voice shook with barely contained rage. “Three years I’ve spent keeping him alive, and you undid it all with one letter.”
“You’ve spent three years keeping him captive,” she replied with steel in her voice. “There’s a difference.”
“Captive?” Damien’s laugh was harsh, bitter. “I saved his life. Repeatedly. And you—you gambled with it like it was a chess piece.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon rose slowly, her expression softening slightly. “Damien, I understand your anger. But Dominic is a grown man who deserves the right to make his own choices, even poor ones.”
“You had no right to make that decision!”
“Neither did you,” she replied with steel in her voice. “It’s time you acknowledge that you cannot be your brother’s keeper forever.”
Damien turned toward the door, his shoulders rigid with controlled fury. “Find him, Bessie. Use whatever resources you have, whatever contacts, whatever it takes. Because if my brother dies because of your meddling, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“And if you find happiness with the woman you love?” she called after him.
Damien paused at the threshold, his voice deadly quiet. “What are you saying?”
“I saw two people perfectly matched yet determined to remain miserable apart. You deserve your own happiness. As does your duchess.”
“You manipulative harridan,” he said, and despite himself, a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You did all this to bring Eleanor and me together?”
“I prefer romantic visionary,” she replied primly. “And judging by your current state of besotted confusion, I’d say my vision is coming to fruition quite nicely.”
He shook his head at her audacity, suddenly feeling the weight of years crash down upon him. “While I’m playing at romance, my brother may be rotting in some godforsaken corner of London.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s expression grew serious. “Whatever you believe or discover about Dominic, don’t let it jeopardize your future with Eleanor. Some battles aren’t worth winning if they cost you what matters most.”
As Damien departed Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s parlor, her words echoed in his mind. Suddenly, his choice became clear. Dominic’s safety and Eleanor’s happiness weren’t competing priorities—they were both his responsibility now.