Unraveled (Turner, #3)

Smite frowned in puzzlement. “I implied you were unannounced. I did not say you were unwanted.”


The duke turned to him. “You don’t need to say it. All this time, you’ve told me that you won’t come to Parford Manor when my brother-in-law is about because the two of you have some quarrel you can’t sort out. But now I hear that you took brandy with Richard, of all people. Was it all just a ruse, then?”

“Oh, I objected to Dalrymple’s company,” Smite snapped, drawing himself up. “But what the devil do you mean, complaining of that? You’re always harping on me to give him a chance.”

“Couldn’t you have given him a chance last summer, when all the family was together?” The duke’s knuckles clenched. “I’ve been telling myself that it means nothing when you decline my invitations, that it isn’t me, it’s your quarrel with Richard. Obviously, that tale you gave me was a pack of lies.”

Miranda winced, and Smite stiffened. “I don’t lie.”

Parford must have sensed that he’d gone too far. He sighed. “You could try explaining matters to me. I have to hear everything from Mark. It…it hurts, a little, that you can tell Mark what the matter is and not mention it to me. I’m your brother, too.”

Smite shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t tell Mark. I never have to explain anything to Mark. He, unlike you, was present when everything relevant occurred.”

Parford flinched. “It’s down to that again? Will you ever forgive me for absenting myself when you needed me?”

“Needed you?” Smite snapped. “That’s always the problem. I’ve never needed you.”

“Oh, bollocks. You just shove everything I try to give you back in my face. All I want is to be a brother to you. Is it so hard?”

They’d forgot about her. They circled each other now, tense and wary as wolves, looking for a weakness in the other.

“You want me to be dependent on you,” Smite said. “You’ve always resented that Mark comes to me first when something is wrong.”

“I do not!”

“You do. When we were young, Mark would always go to you, and you would make things right.”

The duke paused. “I’d forgot that.”

“Then Hope died, and you left. And I became the one who protected Mark. I made sure he had enough to eat. I kept Mother’s eye from falling on him. I took it upon myself to make sure that she never, ever hurt him the way she hurt us. It was too late when you returned. Mark is mine, and there is nothing you can do about it. Don’t pretend this is about my failings, Ash. You’ve resented me since Mark first turned to me instead of you. You can’t stand that I took your place.”

There was a long pause. Then: “Mark is yours?” the duke asked.

There was a pregnant silence. Smite put his hand over his face and shook his head.

Miranda didn’t understand any of what she’d just heard. But there was one thing she especially didn’t understand. “Who is Hope?” she asked.

The way the two looked to each other, she feared the worst. He’d had a wife, or a sweetheart—but no. He’d been eight years old when his brother left. Far too young to be considering such matters.

Parford was the one who answered. “Hasn’t he mentioned her, then? Hope is—was—our sister. She passed away decades ago.”

Smite turned away. “Hope is your sister.” His voice shook. “She’s my twin.”

And on that pronouncement, he left the room.

“Well,” Miranda said. “That went...” She couldn’t think of a word sufficiently calamitous.

Parford stared after his brother. “It always does,” he sighed. “Tell him—no, never mind supper tomorrow; Richard will be over. And the day after, I’ve a meeting...” The man sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. The gesture looked so akin to something Smite might do, she frowned at him. “Tell him that I’d love to have his company two days from now. For tea. Conversation. Surely he can manage a few hours.” He glanced at her. “I wish to God he’d married you.”

“He would be ostracized,” she said in shock.

“Indeed.” Parford shrugged, and that faint hint of sarcasm in his voice seemed like a pale echo of Smite. “Because he isn’t now.”



SMITE COULD HEAR HIS brother leave, could hear Miranda’s soft footsteps trudging up the stairs. His head pounded. He didn’t know what to say to her.

So, he imagined her saying, you have a dead twin sister. Odd that you never mentioned her before now.

So. Care to explain why you claimed ownership of your younger brother?

Instead, she entered the room quietly and came to stand next to him by the window. She didn’t touch him, which almost made him cringe more—she’d learned that when he was upset, he couldn’t bear to have skin-to-skin contact.

“So,” she said softly.

He flinched.