“I’m simply shortening Wingate’s agony,” Nick replied, with a nod to the lawyer. “You won’t turn away blood.”
Nick was, of course, correct. Gabriel St. John, seventh Marquess of Ralston would not deny his sister, regardless of his deep-seated desire to do so. Raking a hand through his black hair, Ralston wondered at the anger that still flared at the thought of his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in decades.
She had been married at a young age—barely sixteen—and had borne twin sons within a year. She was gone a decade later, escaped to the Continent, leaving her sons and their father in despair. For any other woman, Gabriel would have felt sympathy, would have understood her fear and forgiven her desertion. But he had witnessed his father’s sorrow, felt the pain that the loss of a mother had caused. And he had replaced sadness with anger. It had been years before he was able to speak of her without a knot of fury rising in his throat.
And now, to discover that she had destroyed another family, the wound was refreshed. That she would bear another child—a girl no less—and leave her to a life without a mother infuriated him. Of course, his mother had been correct; he would do right by his family. He would do what he could to atone for her sins. And perhaps that was the most maddening part of this whole situation—that his mother still understood him. That they might still be connected.
He set his glass down, resuming his place behind the wide mahogany desk. “Where is the girl, Wingate?”
“I believe she’s been placed in the green room, my lord.”
“Well, we might as well fetch her.” Nick moved to the door, opening it and sending an unseen servant to retrieve the girl.
In the ensuing, pregnant silence, Wingate stood, smoothing down his waistcoat nervously. “Indeed. If I may, sir?”
Gabriel fixed him with an irritated look.
“She is a good girl. Very sweet.”
“Yes. You’ve mentioned as much. Contrary to your clear opinion of me, Wingate, I am not an ogre with a taste for young girls.” He paused, one side of his mouth kicking up. “At least not young girls to whom I am related.”
The arrival of their sister prevented Gabriel from taking pleasure in the solicitor’s disapproval. Instead, he stood as the door opened, his eyes narrowing as he met the eerily familiar blue gaze leveled at him from across the room.
“Good Lord.” Nick’s words mirrored Gabriel’s thoughts.
There was no question that the girl was their sister. Aside from her eyes, the same rich blue as her brothers’， she shared the twins’ strong jaw and dark, curling hair. She was the image of their mother—tall and lithe and lovely, with an undeniable fire in her gaze. Gabriel cursed beneath his breath.
Nick regained his composure first, bowing deeply, “Enchantée, Miss Juliana. I am your brother Nicholas St. John. And this”—he gestured to Ralston—“is our brother Gabriel, Marquess of Ralston.”
She curtsied gracefully, rising and indicating herself with a delicate hand, “I am Juliana Fiori. I confess, I was not expecting—” She paused, searching for the word, “I gemelli. My apologies. I do not know the word in English.”
Nick smiled. “Twins. No, I imagine that our mother did not expect i gemelli either.”
The dimple in Juliana’s cheek was a perfect match for Nick’s. “As you say. It is quite striking.”
“Well.” Wingate cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the rest, “I shall take my leave, then, if my lords have no further need of me.” The little man looked from Nick to Ralston, eager to be set free.
“You are free to go, Wingate,” Ralston said, his tone icy. “Indeed, I look forward to it.”
The lawyer exited, bowing quickly, as if afraid that he might never escape if he tarried too long. Once he had left the room, Nick consoled Juliana, “Don’t let yourself be fooled by Gabriel. He’s not as wicked as he seems. Some days, he simply likes to play the lord of the manor.”
“I believe that I am the lord of the manor, Nicholas,” Ralston pointed out dryly.
Nick winked at their sister. “Four minutes older, and he cannot help but hold it over me.”
Juliana offered Nick a small smile before turning her clear blue gaze on her eldest brother, “My lord, I should like to leave.”
Gabriel nodded. “Understandably. I will have your things brought to one of the chambers above stairs. You must be weary from your travels.”
“No. You do not understand. I would like to leave England. To return to Venice.” When neither Gabriel nor Nick spoke, she continued, her hands moving in time with her words, her accent thickening as emotion crept into her speech. “I assure you, I cannot comprehend why my father insisted I come here. I have friends at home who would happily welcome me—”