chance at happiness and she intended to grab hold of it and hang on with both hands.
Four
Ten days passed with only a few brief communications with Jonas McPhee. As Rafe waited for answers, he conducted his life as he had before, attending the usual soirées and house parties, spending most of his evenings at White’s, his gentlemen’s club, making an occasional stop of a more private nature, at Madame Fontaneau’s House of Pleasure.
In the old days, his best friends, Ethan Sharpe and Cord Easton, would have accompanied him, drinking and gaming, paying a visit to the ladies, though Cord had usually preferred the company of his mistress.
But Ethan and Cord were married now, happily so, each of them devoted husbands, and each with a son. Rafe intended his future would be the same. Though his marriage to Mary Rose wouldn’t be a love match, it was imperative that Rafe produce an heir. The Sheffield fortune was large, its land and holdings vast and complex.
Since he had no brothers, if he died without a son to carry on the name, the fortune and title would pass to his cousin, Arthur Bartholomew. Artie was a wastrel of the very worst sort, a dedicated rake whose main objective in life was to spend every guinea that passed into his hands. He whored, drank and gambled in excess, and seemed determined to debauch his way into an early grave.
Arthur was the reason Rafe’s mother had been so persistent in her efforts to see her son wed, and in truth, he couldn’t blame her. Like his aunts and cousins, his mother was dependent on an income from the vast Sheffield fortune to take care of her and the rest of the family. It was Rafe’s responsibility to see that the fortune passed into hands that would insure its existence for present and future generations.
To make sure that happened, Rafe was determined to marry and set up his nursery. He needed sons—more than one—to fulfill his duty. Beyond that, he looked forward to having a family of his own. He was ready for that to happen. Had been ready, he supposed, since his betrothal to Danielle, though after her betrayal, for a number of years the notion had been nearly abhorrent.
The memory sent his mind in that direction. He was still thinking of Danielle an hour later when he received a message from Jonas McPhee requesting a meeting that evening. From the tone of the note, Rafe believed he had uncovered important information.
It was almost nine o’clock when the butler showed McPhee into the study, where Rafe prowled impatiently in front of his big rosewood desk.
“Good evening, Your Grace. I had hoped to come earlier, but there were some last-minute details I needed to verify before I presented my information.”
“That’s quite all right, Jonas. I appreciate your being so thorough. I presume, then, that you have brought news.”
“I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”
At the words, Rafe’s stomach constricted. From the look on the runner’s face, he wasn’t going to like what Jonas had to say. He motioned for McPhee to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, then took his usual place across from him.
“All right, let’s have it.”
“To put it simply, sir, on the evening in question five years ago, it appears you were duped.”
The words drew the knot in his stomach even tighter. “In what way?”
“This acquaintance of yours, Oliver Randall, who was involved in the events that transpired, had apparently been harboring a secret animosity against you for years.”
“Animosity is a very strong word. We were friends. Never all that close, but I never sensed any blatant dislike on his part.”
“Were you aware of his feelings for your betrothed?”
“Yes. I knew he was in love with Danielle, that he had been for years. Mostly I felt sorry for him.”
“Until you saw them together that night.”
“That is correct. I found them in Danielle’s bedchamber. I found him naked in her bed.”
“There is no question he was there. A number of the guests who were attending the weeklong house party verified the events of the evening…as far as they knew. A number of them heard the commotion and ran down the hall to Miss Duval’s bedchamber. They saw you there, saw Oliver Randall in Miss Duval’s bed. All of them, including you yourself, came to the same conclusion.”
“You seem to be suggesting that all of us were wrong.”
“Tell me again how it was you found the note.”
Rafe allowed his memory to return to the painful events of that night. “One of the footmen brought it to me after supper. He said he had found it on the floor of Lord Oliver’s study. He said that he knew Miss Duval and I were betrothed and he didn’t believe what was going on between Miss Duval and Lord Oliver was right.”
“Do you recall the name of the footman?”
“No, only that I rewarded him handsomely for his honesty and vowed to keep his involvement in the affair a secret.”
“The footman’s name was Willard Coote. He was also paid quite handsomely by Lord Oliver, who instructed him to bring you the note.”
Rafe frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Oliver wish to be caught with Danielle?”
“It makes sense if you understand how determined Lord Oliver was to insure you and Danielle Duval never wed. I believe he hoped that eventually he might win her for himself but, of course, that never happened. Mostly, I think he wanted to hurt you as badly as he possibly could.”
Rafe mulled that over, his mind spinning, trying to fit the pieces together. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. Why would Oliver wish to hurt me?”
“There is no doubt he was jealous. But that appears to be only one of the reasons for his animosity toward you. In time, I should be able to discover the balance of his motivations.”
Rafe straightened in his chair, his mind swarming with images of Oliver and Danielle together that night. “That won’t be necessary, at least not at present. For the moment, what I need to know is if you are certain—without the slightest doubt—that Danielle Duval was innocent of the accusations made against her that night.”
In answer, McPhee dug into the pocket of his rumpled, slightly frayed tailcoat. “There is a final bit of evidence I can give you.” He laid the note Rafe had given him out on the desk. “This is the message the footman gave you that evening.”
“Yes.”
McPhee unfolded a piece of foolscap and set it down next to the note. “And here is a letter written by Miss Duval. I believe it provides the final proof.” Jonas leaned over the papers. “As you can see, Your Grace, the handwriting is similar, but if you look closely, you will notice it is not exactly the same.”
Rafe followed each line, assessing the similarities and differences between the letter and the note. There was no denying the handwriting, though close, was not quite the same.
“Note the signature.”
Again Rafe compared the two. The signature was definitely a better forgery, the letters practiced more often, perhaps, but again, there were slight differences in the script.
“I don’t believe Miss Duval wrote the note to Oliver Randall,” Jonas said. “I believe Lord Oliver wrote it himself, wadded it up to look as if it had been read and discarded, then ordered his footman to bring the note to you later that evening.”
Rafe’s hand shook as he picked up the letter McPhee had brought. It was from Dani, addressed to her aunt. In it, she described the awful events of that night and begged her aunt to believe she was innocent of the accusations made against her.
“Where did you get this?”
“I paid a visit to Miss Duval’s aunt, Lady Wycombe. The countess wished to cooperate