Page 130 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Then why—” Rourke began, but Ellie’s mind had been whirling.
Of course.
“It was not loyalty,” she interrupted, her eyes wide as she worked through this puzzle, her attention on Fawkes. “You did his bidding because he was forcing you. You knew from the beginning that he was evil, because he came to you with evil intentions.” She stood. “What is it he said to you? What was his threat?”
Again, he watched her with something like pride, only this time he wasn’t smiling.
“My…my mother,” he finally confessed. “He threatened my mother, and I wouldnae allow anything—”
He broke off his words and moved before Ellie could understand. One moment he was near the fireplace, and the next, he was gathering her in his arms, tucking her beneath his chin.
Where she belonged.
Rourke hummed thoughtfully, but Ellie ignored him.
“Christ, Ellie,” Fawkes rasped against her hair. “Ye must believe me. Ineverwanted to hurt ye, but Blackrose…”
Her arms had snaked around his waist, and she was holding him as if he was her lifeline, which she supposed hewas. “I understand. Estella is a special person. If my uncle threatened her, I can understand why you did his bidding.”
“Explain!” barked Demon from across the room, in a tone that left no one able to ignore him.
As they turned, the baby in his arms began to fuss, and Georgia said in a warning tone, “Demon.”
The scarred man immediately turned his attention to the wee cherub. “Apologies, sweet princess.” His tone remained sugary-sweet as he bounced her. “What Papameantto say was that if these cantankerous dick-weasels dinnae get their heads out of their arses and explain what in the Jesus-H-Fookis going on here, I’ll be quite…perturbed. My angel.”
Thorne coughed to cover his laughter, and Georgia warned again, “Demon.”
“It doesnae matter what I say,” her husband explained, still talking to Rosie in that syrupy voice, “only how I say it. And I can threaten to twist that calamitous fart-nozzle’s head from his shoulders, aye, my Rosie?”
To be fair, the infant let out a lusty belch and seemed to settle quietly into her father’s arms.
While Thorne chuckled, Fawkes kissed Ellie’s hair and pulled away. He still held her, but not so tightly he couldn’t meet the others’ eyes.
He took a deep breath, and she knew—knew—she was finally going to understand.
“Almost twenty years ago, the Duchess of Stroken died. Her heart gave out.”
“Aye.” Thorne sat up straighter. “Aunt Louise. It wasnae a love match, but His Grace didnae remarry since he already had my cousin John. Yer brother.”
The way Fawkes shook his head was sharp, violent. “Half-brother. Barely blood, I never kenned him. He was nae brother of mine and made nae effort to ken me. But aye, the Duke had an heir, and a spare in Thorne, so he didnae remarry.”
“Ye said herheartgave out?” Rourke mused, watching him carefully. “Was she an aulder woman?”
“No’ at all. Her decline confounded physicians,” Thorne supplied.
It was only because Ellie had her arms around Fawkes that she could feel how tight he was. How…worried?
“It was obvious to anyone who had experience with herbs that the duchess’s death wasnae natural,” he admitted. “Likely foxglove, same as…” He trailed off, glancing down at Ellie.
She squeezed him.
“Did ye kill her too?” snapped Demon.
Fawkes ignored the question. He met Rourke’s gaze. “Blackrose kenned poisons. Although Stroken had never suspected, Blackrose did, and he began to dig. He learned that when I was a lad, the duchess—kenning I was the Duke’s natural son—began to mutter about getting rid of me. I couldnae inherit, but I suppose she thought I would try to steal something away from her son, the heir.”
“So ye killed her,” Demon repeated.
Ellie rolled her eyes and twisted in Fawkes’s hold. “For goodness’s sake, Demon, he was aboy.”
