Lord Hunter's Cinderella Heiress. Lara Temple

value simply because he was on Wellington’s staff. They should have realised a boy of nineteen was unlikely to be privy to staff secrets.’

      Hunter’s stomach clenched as his younger brother’s tortured, scarred hands appeared before him as they did in his nightmares, and his face—staring, shaking, wet with tears, begging for the release from mental and bodily pain that the opiates gave him and which Hunter had been forced to ration as Tim’s dependency grew.

      ‘That bastard would have continued torturing him anyway. But it was my fault allowing him to join up in the first place.’

      ‘That’s nonsense,’ Stanton said curtly. ‘You took better care of Tim than your parents ever did since the day he was born and he wouldn’t have lasted a day after we rescued him if you hadn’t nursed him. If there is anyone in this world who should feel no guilt over Tim, it’s you. I’m damned if I know why you do.’

      Hunter’s shoulders tensed as the memories flooded back. For two years he had tried everything he could to help his brother heal, but nothing but laudanum had succeeded in dimming the daily agony of his pain and his attacks of terror. Hunter would never be certain if that final dose was intentional, but he was as certain as he could bear to be. He remembered Tim’s words that night before climbing the stairs to his childhood room for the last time.

      ‘You’ve always been so good to me, Gabe. If there is any way to stop anyone else from going through this, you’ll do it, won’t you? You promise?’

      He would have promised Tim anything at that point, if only he had made an effort to... It was pointless. After the initial shock of finding Tim dead the next morning he had spent a year full of guilt and self-contempt that he had failed his younger brother, or worse, that he had somehow willed Tim to finish it because his agony was too much to bear, and yet worse—because he could only look ahead to years of servitude to a broken boy. Eventually he had dragged himself out of that pit with the help of Ravenscar and Stanton and their work at Hope House. But his grief and guilt and sense of failure clung. He had enough distance now to know that his pact with Tilney had been formed from the ashes of his failure with Tim. Bascombe, water rights and a young woman who was clearly in need of salvation and therefore likely to be grateful for what she could receive had been presented to him on a silver platter and he had taken them, platter and all, more fool he.

      ‘Are you still having nightmares?’ Stanton asked, dragging Hunter’s thoughts back with unwelcome sharpness. He could feel the sweat break out on the back of his neck and he rubbed at it, but nothing could erase the sick feeling of helplessness. He knew Stanton meant well, but he wished he hadn’t asked.

      ‘Sometimes.’

      ‘Since this piece of gossip showed up?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Both nights. The dreams were one reason he never stayed the night with his mistresses and another reason, if he needed any, why the thought of marriage was so distasteful. It was one thing keeping this secret from the women he chose to visit on his terms. He couldn’t imagine the strain of keeping his fatal flaw a secret from a woman living in his own home. The realisation that he would have to go through with this marriage was probably bringing the worst of it to the surface. It was bad enough having his friends know about them, but he could trust Stanton and Ravenscar with his weaknesses. The thought of that girl...of anyone seeing him while he was in the throes of those moments that left him soaked in sweat... It was unthinkable.

      ‘All the more reason to extract myself from this mess. I don’t think my bride would appreciate finding out about my less-than-peaceful nights. She’d probably run for the hills.’

      ‘If you found someone you cared about, you wouldn’t have to hide this from them,’ Stanton replied.

      ‘That will never happen.’

      ‘What? Loving someone or sharing your weakness?’

      ‘Either. What the devil are you talking about anyway? Love is just another name for dependency or lust and I’ve had enough of the former in my life and I’m quite content with what I have of the latter. I have no intention of aping my mother or brother by letting myself depend on anyone as they did on me. It didn’t do them any good, did it? Or me either.’

      ‘It doesn’t have to be such an unequal equation. I liked Tim and your mother, too, but they drained you dry, man. I don’t call that love.’

      ‘You go too far, Stanton!’ Hunter said and Stanton raised his hands in surrender.

      ‘Fine. I’ve no right to preach anyway. Aside from my parents I’ve never seen evidence of the fabled beast myself.’

      ‘You’re too cold-blooded to fancy yourself in love, anyway, Stanton,’ Ravenscar stated, swirling his brandy as he watched them. ‘And I’m too hot-blooded. So let’s put that topic to rest and leave Hunter’s Viking bride for the morrow and focus on our business. You’ll be pleased to hear I have found a reasonable location for a new house near Bristol. It belongs to a relation of mine who has seen the light and wants to go succour the poor in warmer climes than Gloucestershire. The only problem is that it is distressingly close to Old Dame Jezebel’s lair.’

      Hunter gratefully accepted the reprieve.

      ‘Your grandmother? Good Lord, she would never countenance a charitable institution within a hundred miles of her domain. She’ll never include you in her will if you do this.’

      ‘Since I am already permanently excluded from that honour, her outrage will be well worth it.’ Ravenscar winked.