Page 43 of A Daring Pursuit

His head tilted to one side, lines creasing his forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” she whispered. She glanced about the path he’d guided her down. It followed the cliffs to the edge of a forest.

“You must sit. You’re as pale as chalk,” he said, leading her into the shade of the forest to a fallen log. “You should have taken Docia’s carriage.”

Geneva couldn’t breathe. The tightness of her corset manacled her ribs until spots blinded her. “No. No, I’ll be fine. Just… give me a moment.” Her usually emboldened voice came out wheezing.

Another gust of wind blew from the cliffs, bringing with it a whiff of dampness. Dark clouds moved across the sky, muting the brighter sun from earlier. It put a sudden chill in the air, punctuating it with an ominous foreboding.

Julius. If he was who she thought he was, they indeed deserved to use one another’s given names. He lowered beside her, and his brows furrowing in a concerned frown. “Tell me.”

“Who—” She cleared her throat, faced him fully, clutched her hands tightly in her lap, and tried again. “Who is your… mother?”

His frown smoothed away. “The previous Lady Pender, of course. She died giving birth to me. I-I never knew her.”

The vast, swirling greatcoat…

Geneva’s gaze fell to the ground. She unclenched her fists, wrinkling her borrowed dark skirts and flexed her fingers. She took his hand. “Julius…” She lifted her eyes. “I-I think you may—I think… It’s possible—” She swallowed.

“What?” The concern in his eyes had her faltering.

“Oh, Julius, I have this memory. I was only five. But I think… I think you may be my… mybrother.”

He jumped to his feet, his lips parted in disbelief, hurt or… or was it outrage searing his expression? “That’s impossible. I look like my brothers,” he bit out. “I’m an Oshea.”

“You have every right to be angry, but—” She held his gaze and refused to let go. “But you also look remarkably like my…mymother.”

The world seemed to stop. Frozen in a different reality. Julius had turned to marble. Not a single peep from a bird, nor chirp from a cricket touched her ear. The wind stilled, leaving the sky darkened by the hidden sun. No leaves rustled. No dust stirred. Only the waves of the ocean crashing against the rocks penetrated the thick, damp atmosphere.

“We shall see about that.” The thick fog of his anger was impenetrable. He spun on the path and darted through the trees.

“Wait…” Her voice trailed, watching helplessly as he disappeared in the foliage. She stumbled to her feet with tears blurring her vision, only to trip again, felled to her knees and coming face to face with one of Stonemare’s footmen whose name escaped her. Just the night before, he’d served drinks to the guests. Now, he lay on his back, staring up into the trees.

But it was the large, red stain over his heart that had her whispering, “Dear God.”

*

Noah knew heshould be in the ballroom with guests. But to his irritation, Lucius had departed Stonemare straight from Father’s graveside. Noah had entered the vestibule, only to find the new Earl of Pender carrying his own bag down the stairs.

“I have something to take care of.”

Mirth rippled over Noah. “Cornwall?”

Grimacing, Lucius ground out, “Yes. Let Isabelle and Julius know, would you?”

Lucius hadn’t waited for a response. Rathbourne’s news of his daughter’s condition had truly rattled his brother.

Noah was tired and conflicted and something else that he lay entirely at the dainty feet of Geneva Wimbley. He entered the study and went to the desk, plucked his spectacles from his pocket, and slipped them on. Looking up at the paintingof his father staring down with that familiar smirk, Noah contemplated on the complication and complexities that had so troubled his father. A great sadness filled him at the waste, the loss that would remain forever out of reach, leaving behind questions that now would always linger as mysteries. He drew in a long, slow breath and, closing his eyes, murmured a wistful prayer for Father’s eternal peace.

Alas, his father had never been much of a father to Lucius, Julius, and him. It was Sander who’d filled that void for as long as Noah could remember.

Shaking off the morbid memories, Noah pulled the painting away from the wall, exposing the safe behind. As far as he knew, no one but Father had ever utilized it. Perhaps Sander had on occasion, but considering the dust and the difficulty of turning the key in the lock, it had been quite some time since anyone had thought to look inside. He juggled with it until the inner mechanisms caught and allowed the key to turn. He tugged at the opening until it creaked under the pressure he applied.

Inside, he found stacks of vowels and ledgers and coins and jewels. He pulled out the top ledger with one goal in mind: to see if Miss Wimbley happened to have been a beneficiary of Father’s rare generosity. Of which Noah had his doubts. Father had not been renowned for handing out gifts. In fact, the only gift Noah had ever received hadn’t been a puppy or a kitten, but an actual baby. Noah flipped through the pages, noting that most of the entries were applied to the massive gambling debts Father had accrued. There was nothing to indicate tuition for Julius, but then Uncle Sander took care of those matters as man of business of the titles and estates holdings.

It took ten minutes before Noah’s insides tightened with an apprehension he couldn’t explain. The notation was toward the back of the book. One entry scribbled almost ineligibly,Greensley Fucking School. Next to that was an exorbitantamount, which meant his father had likely paid the entire amount upfront.

From behind him, the study door burst wide, hitting the wall. Julius flew in, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild as a raging storm.

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