“Impossible.” But even as Damien spoke, doubts crept in. Dominic’s relapses had always seemed to coincide with moments when Damien’s guard was down. The timing of his departure for London, despite explicit warnings…
“And then there’s Lady Laura,” Croft continued with casual cruelty. “Though I suppose calling her Lady Laura is rather outdated now.”
“What about Laura? If you’re holding her against her will—”
“Holding her?” Croft laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “My dear duke, she came to me willingly. You see, she had rather pressing reasons to seek my protection.”
“What reasons?”
Croft beamed, his smile dripping with malice. “Didn’t you know? She had a child out of wedlock. The child is three years old now—a lovely boy with his father’s eyes.”
The theater spun around Damien as the implications crashed over him. Three years old. Which meant… “No,” he whispered.
“Oh yes,” Croft said with obvious relish. “Conceived shortly before your departure for Asia, I’d imagine. Rather changesone’s understanding of why she refused to accompany you to the Orient, doesn’t it?”
Before Damien could formulate a response, Croft melted back into the crowd of intermission visitors, leaving him standing frozen beside the curtain, his mind reeling with revelations that shattered everything he’d believed about the past three years.
Eleanor’s soft touch on his arm jolted him back to awareness. “Darling? The second act is beginning.”
Damien looked down at her concerned blue eyes, her beautiful face unmarked by the devastating knowledge that had just been thrust upon him. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the crushing weight of betrayal and knowledge.
Laura had been pregnant. With his child. While Damien had been resenting her refusal to accompany him, she’d been carrying his baby. But he’d asked her… he’d made sure, had confirmed about her courses. God, could it be true? Could he be a father?
“Damien?” Eleanor’s voice carried genuine worry now. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I’m fine,” he managed, though his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Simply… the heat in here is rather oppressive.”
Throughout the second act, Damien sat rigidly beside Eleanor, his mind churning with questions and doubts. He played his part when required—applauding at appropriate moments, acknowledging greetings from other boxes—but inside, he felt as though he were drowning.
When Lord Cadogan approached during the final intermission to discuss a potential endowment for Eleanor’s hospital, Damien summoned enough composure to engage in the necessary negotiations. His years of diplomatic trainingserved him well, allowing him to present the charming and persuasive side of him while his inner world crumbled.
“Your lordship is most generous,” Eleanor said warmly as Lord Cadogan departed with promises to consider their proposal. She leaned toward him and whispered, “That conversation alone could fund our expansion plans.”
“Indeed,” Damien replied, but his tone lacked its usual warmth. The careful distance he maintained felt necessary—how could he touch her, hold her, love her with his usual passion when everything he’d believed about himself, his family, his past might be lies?
The carriage ride home passed in tense silence, broken only by Eleanor’s occasional attempts at conversation about the evening’s success. Damien responded with perfunctory politeness, his thoughts consumed by Croft’s revelations and their implications.
“All right,” Eleanor said finally as their carriage turned onto their street. “What did Lord Croft say to you?”
Damien’s hands clenched into fists in his lap. “What makes you think—”
“Because you’ve been a different person since intermission,” she interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever he told you has clearly upset you greatly. What was it?”
For a moment, Damien considered telling her everything—the claims about Dominic, the revelation about Laura’s child, the growing doubts about everything he’d believed to be true. But the words stuck in his throat, too raw and uncertain to voice.
“He told me things about my family that I need to process,” he said finally. “Things I’m not ready to discuss.”
Eleanor studied his profile with concern. “And you’re inclined to believe them?”
“I don’t know,” Damien admitted. “That’s what I need to determine.”
“Then let me offer you some advice,” Eleanor said softly. “Lord Croft is a master manipulator who profits from other people’s pain and uncertainty. Before you accept anything he’s told you as truth, investigate thoroughly. Don’t let him poison what matters to you with convenient lies.”
Her words washed over him like a splash of cold water, jarring him awake from the spiral of doubt and self-recrimination. Eleanor was right—of course she was right. Croft had every reason to lie, to sow discord and confusion in his life.
But the seed of doubt had been planted, and until Damien could prove or disprove Croft’s claims, it would continue to grow, threatening everything he held dear.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I need to learn the truth before I allow his words to influence me.”