That admission hung heavy, sucking the life from the room.

Invariably, it was there in Lucas’ eyes. As it always was when her connection to that famed traitor was discovered. Only this time it gutted her in ways it never had before. Shock. Denial. Disgust.

It was both deserved and too much, because of it.

“Your father was a traitor,” he said bluntly. Her stomach lurched at having him repeat the truth aloud.

 “I will leave,” she said quietly, making for the door.

***

When Lucas’ brother-in-law, the powerful Duke of Devlin, had seen him traded over to the hands of English forces, Lucas  existed in a haze. Details had swirled about his capture: the gunshot that had pierced his side and knocked him from his horse at Talavera. The Frenchmen who’d dragged him from the fields and who’d ultimately sold him for a small fortune. But from there, he’d retreated. And so, he’d never known there had been a traitor who’d sold the plans at Talavera. Nor had his family shared as much with him.

Then, he’d carefully snipped them out of the fabric that was his existence.

Now, he stood before Eve, daughter of a traitor. A man whose crimes had seen many British killed on that bloody field in Spain, and others, such as Lucas, dragged away as a prisoner of the French. With her revelation, she’d offered him everything he’d asked of her since she’d arrived—her resignation.

No longer. Now, the possibility of her leaving filled him with a greater terror than his days at the hands of the French. She was the only person who had treated him again as a man. She’d boldly challenged him at every turn. A woman who’d seen more than the caged monster he’d become, to the man he’d once been. And she expected he should hate her for her birthright. Mayhap a fortnight earlier, before knowing her, he would have. For he’d subsisted more than two years on hatred alone. He’d allowed it to consume him, feed him, and shape him into an emotionless bastard, who kept even his family out. That isolation was easier than the pity.

Until Eve had stepped into his life and thrown his well-ordered world upside down.

How many people had so judged her for crimes that belonged to another? Disappointment filled him at that low-opinion she had of him. The uncertainty in her eyes gutted him. “Do you think I’m a man who’d hold you responsible for the crimes of your father?” he quietly asked, unable to keep the hurt from creeping into those handful of words.

Her lips parted and she fisted the fabric of her wrapper, her knuckles white under the force of her grip. “Everyone  before you has judged me.” How matter of fact she was. Lucas silently damned every bastard before who’d quashed her sense of self-worth. “Why should you not?” she countered, her voice threadbare.

At that hint of frailty from this undaunted woman, his stomach muscles knotted. “Did you turn the English plans over to the enemy?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Eve flared her eyes and shook her head frantically. “No,” the denial emerged, as though ripped from her lungs.

A woman of her resiliency and courage could never act in cowardice or with self-serving motives. “No,” he repeated. “You were the woman taking care of fallen soldiers in the fields after battle. The woman haunted by those same sights and sounds of war.”

A tortured sound spilled from her lips. “But had I paid attention to what he was doing and who he was meeting, I would have known.” So much guilt she carried.

“No,” he said quietly, that calm utterance breaking across her trembling voice. “You would not have.” Lucas took her by the shoulders and she stiffened, momentarily resisting his touch. He drew her back against his chest and some of the tension seeped from her frame as she leaned into him. The hint of lilac and lemons that clung to her skin wafted about with a cleansing purity. How right Eve felt in his arms, as though she belonged there. As though she’d always been meant to be here. He briefly rested his chin atop her brown, silken tresses and rubbed. “You could never have known to look for that evil, because you yourself were never capable of it.”

Eve turned to meet his gaze. Her abrupt movement knocked his arms back to his sides and he mourned the warmth of her tall, slender frame. Had he truly ever seen her as plain? How, when she radiated more beauty than any woman he’d had in his arms before her? Tears filled her eyes and the sight of those crystalline drops ravaged him. She blinked furiously. Did she seek to hide those signs of her grief? Warmth filled his chest. How very proud she was.

“I share his blood, Lucas. As such, those crimes cannot be separated from who I am. I—”

“You are your own person and cannot take ownership of anyone’s decisions but your own,” he said gruffly.


Chapter 8

...You cannot take ownership of anyone’s decisions but your own...

Lucas’ words echoed between them as Eve stood there, allowing them to wash over her.

How long had she done precisely that? The muscles of her throat worked and, God help her, she fell in love with Lucas Rayne. Loved him for seeing her as a person removed from her father’s crimes. She loved him as a man who didn’t see a servant but rather a woman—a woman of value and strength—who’d helped her see those gifts within herself.

He opened his mouth once more, but she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. He went still. Then with a groan, Lucas guided her back against the wall and slanted his lips over hers again and again.

There was nothing gentle about this meeting. Eve moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair and layering herself against him. She parted her lips to receive him. He cupped her buttocks and she moaned again, but Lucas swallowed that sound. He ran his hands searchingly over her, coming up to palm her breast and through her modest nightshift, her nipple puckered under his ministrations.

“Lucas,” she pleaded, as he trailed his lips down the curve of her neck, sucking at the tender flesh where her pulse pounded.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath fanning her skin. The fire of his touch spread like an out of control blaze, threatening to burn with desire for him.

A bang penetrated the haze he’d cast and brought them apart. Their chests rose and fell in a like frantic rhythm. The distant footfalls of an approaching servant drew closer.

Lucas fixed his gaze briefly on the door and panic riddled his features, replacing all earlier desire.

Her heart tugged, hating the chains that bound him still. “Go,” she urged gently.

He hesitated and then with several long, silent strides, marched across the room and drew open a panel door built into the wall. And just like that, he left.

With Lucas gone, she wandered over to the hearth and gripped the stone mantel.

Lifting her gaze, Eve found that gleaming sword affixed above the mantel. It stared back, mocking her with the truth. With her lies. With the barrier that would forever exist between her and him. For no matter what bond they shared or how deeply he’d slipped inside her heart, she would always be an Ormond and he a Rayne. And love was not enough to ever—

The door opened, and she spun around. Her heart promptly sank to her toes. “Mr. Rayne,” she finished lamely. In a bid to shield herself, she folded her arms at her chest.

The tall, commanding gentleman stood framed in the doorway. His midnight black jacket and breeches enhanced the edge of danger to his dark good looks. Where Lucas’ gaze warmed her, this man’s iced her from the inside out. How was it possible for these two to share blood?

Mr. Rayne flicked a cool stare over her and briefly shifted his gaze over to the point beyond her shoulder where the gladius rested. Then he returned his eyes to Eve. “Miss Ormond,” he greeted and slowly yanked off his stark white evening gloves.

Desperate to place distance between her and Lucas’ brother, Eve cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me?” she murmured and took a step to leave, when his words registered. Her stomach lurched and she spun to face him.

His face was set in a hard, unforgiving mask. “Yes, that is right, Miss Ormond. I know precisely who you are,” he murmured, folding his arms at his chest.

Oh, God. She shot a hand out and steadied herself with the stone mantel.

“You see, my family has been robbed of our due too many times in history.” Mr. Rayne flicked a hand. “I’ll not bore you with the details, as I expect, you, being an Ormond, well knows them.” Abandoning that relaxed pose, he took a step forward and Eve sidestepped his advance. “My sister saw the gladius rightfully restored and hung here after Lucas’ return as a testament to our reversed fortune.” He flared his nostrils. “I have not, however, forgotten the battles waged and won for this sword and, as such, I’m far more suspicious of strangers who are granted rights to this home. I took the liberty of uncovering the details of my brother’s latest servant and returned the moment I pieced together who you, in fact, are.”

Understanding dawned. “You believe I’m here for the gladius?” she blurted. Of course, it made sense and he was deserved of that suspicion.

Mr. Rayne snapped his eyebrows into a single black line. “Are you saying you’re not?” Not allowing her to respond, he flicked her white sleeve. “Wandering inside this room where the gladius is held, in the dead of night in your nightshift.”

Heat burned her cheeks and she balled her hands. She’d rather be thought of as a thief than a whore meeting his brother. Eve cast a desperate look beyond Mr. Rayne’s shoulder, searching, hoping—

“I want you gone,” the gentleman stated bluntly, wringing a gasp from her.

She shook her head as panic set her heart beating a frantic staccato. He’d order her gone and never again would she see Lucas. What would happen to Lucas and all that slight forward momentum he had made? Eve fought for a semblance of calm and found pride when her words emerged smooth and unaffected. “I am no thief,” she said coolly, favoring him with an up and down glance that earned another hard frown. She may be the daughter of a traitor but she was not responsible for their crimes. Lucas had shown her that. “Nor are you my employer. I’m here in your father’s employ and in Captain Rayne’s.” Lucas will not send me away.