“This is hardly interesting,” Lacey said, his voice freezing with contempt. A vein pulsed at his temple. “I didn’t know the man.”
“And then one day he simply disappeared,” Alec went on. “He went to London, met an old army superior about a post he wished to take, and then vanished. No word to his family, no letter, not even funds sent on to pay the accounts due a week after he left.” Alec paused, watching Lacey feign indifference. “Eventually his family grew worried enough to inquire of the man he was to meet in London and ask for help finding the sergeant. And so I came back to Marston—rather reluctantly, might I add.”
“As well you should have been, bringing your treachery back on your family! The shock of it might have killed your poor mother.”
Alec bowed his head. “Yes, it might have done; my treachery, as you call it, was terribly hard on my family. But that leads me to another interesting story I would like to tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Lacey retreated, circling around the chair. Alec moved with him, always keeping between Lacey and the door, like a hunter monitoring his prey.
“I think you do, whether you believe you do or not. It begins several years ago and far away—in Spain, to be precise. When Will fell in love with a Spanish girl.”
Lacey’s eye had begun twitching. “Do not speak of my son.” His voice was the low growl of a cornered animal. Alec refused to relent.
“He married her, and was very happy until word of your displeasure reached him. I don’t know what he wrote to you, but to me he expressed his deep regret. Not for marrying her—he loved her deeply—but for the fact that he had not planned better and couldn’t keep her in the comfort she deserved.”
“A hot-blooded foreigner. She did not deserve my son!”
“She was a Spanish grandee’s daughter, a lady from a good family, and used to a life of ease. She left it all to go on campaign with Will, and to the best of my knowledge she never regretted it.” Alec paused, but Lacey merely snorted. “Of course, we were in different divisions. I didn’t see Will much after Bonaparte escaped Elba and returned to Paris. Our paths crossed once or twice in Belgium, but never for more than a few moments’ conversation. I was grieved to hear of his death.”
“Don’t you speak of his death!” There was real agony in Lacey’s cry.
“The last time I saw him was the night before the great battle at Waterloo. It was pouring rain and we had only a few moments, but he was very odd that night. He made a few requests of me; he seemed to be quite certain of his impending death. I had entirely forgotten it, in my…difficult situation, until today, when I read the journal of Sergeant Turner.”
Lacey jerked. The agony in his expression faded away at the mention of Turner’s name, replaced with a look of such loathing that Alec realized the full truth of what had happened. “Stop,” said Lacey viciously. “I’ll tell you. Here to seek the noble Sergeant Turner, are you? You may find him in hell. That—That offal betrayed my son, and held it over my head ever since. I care nothing for his family; if anything, they are better off without him. And if you think to sully my son’s name, I shall pursue you to the end of my days. Who would believe a traitor, after all?”
“You will,” said Alec softly. “You know I speak the truth. Will needed funds after his marriage. Turner offered him a way to make money and in desperation, Will took it.” Lacey recoiled as if Alec had struck him. “And when Will died on the battlefield, Turner planted the letters from the French colonel in my belongings, then blackmailed you with a threat to expose the truth.”
For a long moment, Mr. Lacey simply stood with bowed head, one hand braced on the back of a chair, his body shaking with every breath. “You were dead,” he said heavily. “You were supposed to be dead.”
Alec said nothing at this confirmation of his dark suspicion. His family had not been dead, and Lacey knew exactly what he had done to them, neighbors he had once valued as friends.
“He was the lowest of men, utterly without honor. The thought of that beast using my son…” Lacey’s knuckles were white where he gripped the chair.
“You paid him not to speak. You allowed my family and the entire country to think me a traitor.” Alec’s iron control on his temper was finally slipping. “Whatever Turner’s sins, what of yours, sir? What honor is there in supporting a lie and ruining my good name? My father’s name?”
“You were dead,” repeated Lacey. “He was my only son. I had no choice!”
“When did you kill him?” Alec meant the question to startle Lacey, even goad him into a confession. All his calm and restraint were under terrible strain.
Lacey, though, was unshaken. He raised his head in defiance. “He deserved to die. It was a boon to humanity, ridding the world of his sort. I make no apologies for it. Not only did he lure my son…Not
