Page 60 of The Duke and the Darkness

He slid the top sheet of paper toward Crewe and gave a second set of instructions to Peyton. Devlin had already left them, to go downstairs and work out his frustrations there.

She folded her sheet. “We know what we have to do.”

“Then best to get started on arrangements.” Crewe pushed himself away from the table, and with a nod at both Peyton and Chase, he walked to the door. He paused and turned back, meeting Peyton’s gaze across the room and confided, “I still place flowers on your grave, you know.”

She forced a smile. “Hopefully, you can stop doing that soon.”

With a grim nod, he left, closing the door behind him.

When she returned her attention to Chase, she found his dark eyes watching her. “You’re more than strong enough to do your part,” he said gently.

Her shoulders sank under his quiet compliment. “Thank you.” She paused, then admitted, “I lost my parents, my friend Armand…now I’ve lost Betty Proctor.” She swallowed hard. “If anyone else is lost because of me…”

“Then no blame will fall on you.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Please understand. We don’t do this for you. Well, not only for you,” he corrected when she arched a brow to call him out on that statement. “I’m doing it for Devlin and Lucien, and they’re doing it to protect their families.”

“But you have no stake in this, yet you’re willing to risk your life?”

“I’m a soldier at heart.” He dropped his hand away as he shrugged. “It’s what we do.” He stood and picked up his black gloves resting on the table. “You’ll be well-protected. My men will have the building surrounded and will keep you in sight at all times. We’ll capture him when the moment is right. You need to trust in that.”

She nodded, yet she wasn’t completely convinced.

Neither was Devlin, apparently. When they had begun to plot out their plan, he’d excused himself from their planning and went downstairs to leave it to the three of them. His absence bothered her.

“Devlin said you trained with him,” she murmured.

“Yes, at Eton under Anthony Titus.”

“And you know why Devlin wanted to learn to fight?” she asked carefully. “So he could…harm his father if he had to?”

“No.” His eyes grew somber. “He studied with Titus so he wouldn’t.”

Cold understanding fell through Peyton.Control—that’s what Chase meant. Devlin needed to learn to control himself so he wouldn’t kill his father. Just as he had needed to be anywhere but here when the others were planning the trap. For their plan to work, he had to cede control to Peyton, and apparently, he didn’t like it.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

He nodded, not meeting her gaze. “If you’d like, I can hire some men to discover what happened to Mrs. Proctor, to find out if anyone saw her leave the house or if she’s been reported staying at any of the nearby inns.”

“You think she might still be alive?” Peyton whispered, hopefully.

“I think too many people have come back from the dead lately to write her off so soon.”

“I would appreciate that very much.” Her voice choked. “Thank you.”

Without another word, he left, following after Crewe to carry out his part of the plan.

Peyton locked the door after him, then leaned back against it to give the troubled thoughts spinning through her head time to settle. But none did. Even in the quiet stillness of the old warehouse, her pulse pounded with an anxiousness she couldn’t ease, and her skin tingled as if from the electricity of an approaching storm.

Wasn’t that exactly what their plan was—a storm ten years in the making? On the distant horizon, she could hear the first low rumbles of thunder.

She pushed herself away from the door and went downstairs to find Devlin.

Stopping in the doorway of his training room, she leaned against the doorframe and watched as he methodically moved through a series of footwork and arm movements with a foil inone hand and a long dagger in the other. His body was bare except for a loosely fitting pair of trousers cinched tightly at the waist. The sheen of sweat covered the hard muscles in his chest and shoulders, and the muscles in his back rippled as he swung both foil and knife in deliberate movements. He moved fluidly, every position controlled, every breath carefully measured.

He turned and saw her, and he froze mid-step, the foil extended in his right arm and the dagger poised behind his head. Slowly, he lowered both weapons and straightened from the lunge.

“All done planning, then?” He set the weapons back into the rack along the stone wall. “Chase and Crewe have left?”

“Yes.”