The door opened, and she strolled in, her face lit with a smile. Both he and Charlotte favored their father, inheriting his dark hair and cobalt-colored eyes.
“I see Lucinda informed you I am here.”
Was that strain in her voice?
“She did.”
Charlotte closed the door and faltered. “I sat for a while with Mother in the drawing room. I fear she is not very pleased to see me.”
“Nonsense. You are always welcome at Belgrave Manor.”
She visibly swallowed and rested a hand on her gently rounded stomach. Her eyes were wounded, and his heart froze.
“Is the baby unwell?”
“No such calamity, I assure you, dear brother,” she said with a smile that wobbled.
In her eyes, he spied shame and pain. He held open his arms and she rushed into them.
“There now,” he said. “Just tell me what’s the matter this time, and I’ll sort it out.”
“It’s John,” she murmured on a sob. “I…I’ve heard rumors that he has a mistress.”
That bloody blackguard. Oliver had warned him when he handed his sister over into his care how precious she was to be treated.
“Rumors are vile things, and you know, oftentimes, they are incorrect.”
She burrowed even closer against his chest, silent tears jerking her shoulders.
“I confronted him, and he refused to have any such discussion with me. He was angry, and he left for Town. I packed my trunks and came here. Oh, Oliver, I cannot go back, my heart and my pride have been broken.”
He kissed her hair. “I’ll go and see him.”
She pulled from his arms. “Will you?”
“Yes. I’ll leave first thing in the morning for London. And I’ll not return without him. And I promise you, if somehow there is a mistress…”
She flinched as he rubbed soothing strokes on her shoulder.
“If there is another woman, and I doubt it highly, for John dotes on you, I promise he will put an end to it.”
By any means necessary.
His throat tightened at the trust with which she peered up at him. With a soft sigh, she clutched him in another fierce hug.
“I can imagine what Mother has told you about duty and whatnot. But you’ll stay here for as long as need be.”
“Thank you, Ol. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he murmured. “I’m sure you are weary from your journey. You should wash up.”
There was a now a happy light in her eyes that he was well pleased to see. A few seconds later, he was once again alone, restless energy coursing through his veins. If the viscount truly had a lover, his gentle and trusting sister would be shattered for a long time yet. And he would have to be harsh with a friend, perhaps even breaking a bone or two to get his message across.
Oliver scrubbed a hand over his face, ruthlessly suppressing the violent thoughts.
Ignoring the need to enter the hidden passages once more, he exited the library and made his way down the hallway to the winding staircase that led to the west wing. Several minutes later, he reached a room only he had the keys to. Dipping into his pocket, he withdrew the key and opened the door, then stepped into his dark room. He sauntered to the drapes and tugged them open, washing the room with sunlight. Several paintings graced the walls, all unbearably erotic drawings that he had done.
He strolled over to his latest work, frowning at an anomaly he spied. The lady drape