What was this all about? Dorothea scowled, trying to ignore the shiver of anxiety curling in her chest. They were alone, isolated. If things did become ugly or out of hand, there was no one in the vicinity who could come to her aid.
“You are scaring me, Roddy,” she declared on a shaky breath. With feigned calm she once again attempted to walk past him, but he would not allow her.
“I apologize. I never wanted to bring you into this mess, but things have gone badly, very badly, and I need your help.” His features went taut and he appeared to be struggling with a difficult choice.
Dorothea shook her skepticism aside and tried to tamp down her fear. And then the major began to speak, to tell her a tale so incredible she was speechless. His voice was low, emotionless, but his words were powerful. She heard every word, but understanding them was a slow, confusing process.
A part of her could not credit what he was saying, could not believe such an absurd tale. Yet as she stared intently into his face she clearly saw depths of misery in his eyes. At that moment, her hesitation dissolved. There was too much passion and pain for this to be a lie. Her eyes misted in sympathy, and Dorothea reacted instinctively, from the heart.
She reached her arms around Roddy’s broad shoulders and pulled him into a comforting hug. For a long moment the major’s arms hung at his sides and then slowly he moved them around her.
“You believe me?” he whispered.
“Of course!”
“Thank you.”
Dorothea closed her eyes and held tightly, but suddenly Roddy was harshly wrenched away. She heard a masculine grunt of surprise, followed by the distinct crack of a closed fist connecting with flesh and bone.
Horrified, she watched the major recover his balance and stare in shock at the man who had so unceremoniously assaulted him.
“Carter!” Dorothea’s heart lurched. “What are you doing here? I thought you left for London hours ago.”
“Was that the plan, Dorothea?” Carter barked, his voice panting with anger. “Wait until I was gone before meeting with your lover?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if there were any truth to that absurd notion, how would I have known you were leaving this morning? ’Twas the note from your father that summoned you away.”
Carter’s eyes blazed with stormy, self-righteous indignation. “If Roddington was lurking nearby, it would be easy enough to send him a message when the opportunity presented itself. The beauty of it all is that I would have been none the wiser, but my horse threw a shoe a few miles into my journey and I had to walk him slowly back to the house.”
Dorothea tried to ignore Carter’s icy disdain, but his accusations hurt. How could he believe that she would turn to another man when she so clearly loved him?
“Do you trust me so little?” she asked in a burst of vexation.
He ignored her and turned to Roddy. “’Tis a bit of a cliche to ask what you are doing with my wife, when my eyes clearly tell me,” Carter said, his expression closed and thunderous.
“Stop it!” Dorothea shouted. “You have it all wrong, Carter! Major Roddington came to speak with me on a matter of extreme importance.”
“What matter?”
“A personal matter.”
“Between lovers?” Carter mocked.
“Between friends,” Dorothea insisted.
Now what? Would the major reveal the truth to Carter? She cast her eyes over at Roddy and they exchanged a silent look.
A look that Carter caught, and it further enraged his already escalating temper. “God help me, I shall not be made a fool,” he cried, lunging forward, fists clenched.
Heedless of her own safety, Dorothea placed herself between the two combatants. Carter tried to move her out of the way, but she would not budge.
“Give me one good reason why I should not blacken both his eyes?” Carter bellowed in rage.
“He is not my lover,” Dorothea declared in a desperate tone. “Major Roddington is your brother.”
Chapter Seventeen
Carter felt his body sway. He lifted his face to the sun and fleetingly closed his eyes, searching for divine intervention. Surely he had not heard Dorothea correctly.
A gust of wind rustled the leaves in the trees, but he barely felt the breeze, barely felt the sting on his knuckles from the blow he had landed on Roddington’s jaw.
“Carter?” Dorothea’s voice was soft, questioning. A moment of utter silence settled over the garden and then he tilted his head from the sun’s glare and looked directly at his wife. “You are out of your mind!” Carter exclaimed breathlessly. “How can he possibly be my brother?”
“Your half-brother.” An uneasy expression flitted over her face. “It’s the truth, Carter. That’s why the major is here, to tell me.”
“And you believed him!” Carter shook his head vigorously. “’Tis a lie. A bald-faced lie.”
Dorothea’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Please, Carter, you must listen to him before you make such a hasty judgment.”
Why was she crying? For him or for Roddington? Carter held up a commanding hand, hoping to silence her. He needed time to think. “I refuse to listen to this rubbish,” he said forcefully, directing his words at the major.
Roddington folded his arms and stared back at him arrogantly. “I told her this is how you would react,” he said bitterly.
“No!” Dorothea exclaimed quickly. “Carter is not like the duke. He is a reasonable man. He will listen. Tell him, Roddy.”
Her fingers gripped Carter’s forearm, pleading with him to stay. He resisted shrugging her off, though every instinct screamed at him to turn and storm away. She was so intent, so emotional. He would listen, refute the lies, and then leave.
It took a moment for the major to find his voice. “My mother was a genteel woman, the daughter of a knight,” the major began. “She was raised in comfort, as befitting a lady, but when her father died he left debts for his only child. Once they were paid, there was very little money. She had no dowry and no desire to be a burden on her relatives, so she was forced to earn her way in the world.”
Carter snorted. God help him if Roddington said his mother had become the duke’s mistress. He would smash his nose, no matter how emotional Dorothea became. It was a well-known fact that the Duke of Hansborough adored his wife and was a loyal and faithful husband.
As if reading the direction of Carter’s thoughts, Roddington scowled. “She found employment as a governess,” he said with emphasis.
“My governess was a woman I remember fondly,” Carter replied. “She was a family retainer who had also taken charge of my father when he was a boy. A female far too old to have given birth to you.”
“I never claimed my mother was hired to care for you,” Roddington shot back. “It was not her employer who violated her trust, who took advantage of a young, pretty, helpless woman. It was the duke who resided on the neighboring estate who seduced her and then abandoned her to bear the child alone and in shame.”
“Who was your mother’s employer?” Dorothea asked.
“Lord and Lady Alderton.”
“That proves nothing!” Carter shouted, though he was rattled to hear the name. The Aldertons’ estate bordered on Ravenswood Manor and his father was the only duke in that county.
Dorothea looked stricken. “Your father has a great dislike of Lord and Lady Alderton. Perhaps the origin of the feud has something to do with this mess.”
Carter shifted his weight uncomfortably. Snippets of conversation came to mind. Things he had overheard as a child, words spoken in anger between his parents, words that made no sense, had no meaning. Until now.
