When he continued, he was whispering. “She hated him for betraying their contract. Ducal mistresses were to be paid handsomely in their retirement. They were to be given row houses in Earl’s Court, and two thousand pounds a year, and an open account on Bond Street. But he gave her none of those things. Instead he punished her.”

The old duke had punished every woman he’d ever interacted with. He’d been a brute. Grace opened her mouth to tell Ewan just that, to help ease the pain he clearly carried with him.

Before she could, he continued, “He punished her because of me.”

“No.” Her head snapped up as the word flew from her lips. “You weren’t—”

He stopped her. “He left her a single trunk of clothing. And do you know,” he said, not looking at her, “for years, when she would tell me this story, I thought she told me about that trunk to point to my father’s sympathy. The dresses, decorated with pearls and shot through with gold—all sold by the time I could understand what pearls and gold meant.

“I always hoped she told me that story to underscore his humanity—knowing what life he was sending her to. One that she hadn’t chosen.”

She took a deep breath. God knew Grace had seen the best and worst of the Garden, but since the Bastards had started running the Rookery, they’d done their best to ensure that people who found their way there could make their own choices.

Choice made for honest work. And safe.

And it was too rare that women were afforded it.

Ewan went on, “But now, as a grown man, I know it had nothing to do with his humanity. He was furious. And he wanted her to live every day for the rest of her life with that trunk full of aging silks, and remember what she’d given up. Because of me. He wanted her to regret me.”

She shook her head. “She didn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said, forcefully, unwilling to let him win on this count. “I know it because I’ve lived in the Garden longer than you have, and I’ve seen more here than you ever did. And I know that women who don’t wish to have children don’t have to have them. I know your mother knew that—and how. And that is why I know she made a choice.”

She put her hands to the sides of his face, willing him to hear her. “The duke didn’t leave her with nothing, Ewan. He left her with you. Her choice.”

“And what good was I?” he said, anger flooding his tone. “She died here, in this place with nothing but the memory of her choice. I wasn’t even here.”

Grace nodded. “She did, and I dearly hope your father is rotting in hell for that and a thousand other things. But you didn’t die here.” She had tears in her eyes. “You didn’t die, Ewan, and that is the gift she gave you.”

He was lost to thought for an age, until finally, Grace could not stop herself from filling the silence and telling him her own story, softly. “I went looking for her, you know.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“She was already gone,” she said. “Fever.”

“I know,” he replied. “She died while we were at Burghsey. He took pleasure in telling me that one night, not long after you’d left; I hadn’t taken his beating with enough contrition.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, waving away the words. “Why did you come after her?”

“I thought if only I could . . .” she started, then trailed off.

“Tell me.”

She could not have denied him anything in that moment. “I thought you might come back for her.”

He swallowed at the words. “I couldn’t.” The same thing he’d said earlier.

Grace refused to let him look away. “You couldn’t come with us. You couldn’t come back for her. Tell me.”

“You were all in danger,” he said, his chest tight with guilt. “And I was the reason why. He knew where you were.” The hate in the words was like ice, spreading cold through her. “At least, he told me he did, and I believed him. And he told me that if I ever left, he’d find you and do what I had failed to do.” He stopped. “What I would never have done.”

Understanding dawned. “He wanted me dead.”

“Yes.”

“And he wanted you to do it.”

“My final task,” he said. “To kill you.”

The placeholder. “To eliminate any possibility of anyone ever discovering that you weren’t the true heir,” she said.

“Not just that,” he said. “To make sure that I had no one left.”

Grace’s heart pounded at the words—confusion and anger and sadness warring within her, because that had been the result even though she lived. She and Devil and Whit had run, and what had happened to Ewan in the balance?

“Title first, last, and always,” he said. “Heir, first, last, and always.”

Her mind raced, playing over that moment, years earlier. Him coming for her, blade in hand. Whit on the floor, ribs broken. And then Devil, blocking him. Taking the blade.

Ewan had pulled the punch.

“Devil’s face.”

“I miscalculated,” he said, the words barely sound. “It was never intended to be so long. He came at a different angle than I expected.”

“Intended.” She met his eyes. “Expected.”

He did not look away. “I had to make it look real.”

“For your father to believe it.”

He shook his head. “For you to believe it.”

Confusion flared. “Why did that matter?”

“Because I knew that if you didn’t believe it, you’d never leave without me.” He watched her for a long moment, and then added, “I knew that if you didn’t believe it, you’d never stop trying to get back. And you would never be safe from him.”

It was the truth. “I would have fought for you, Ewan. We all would have.”

“I know. And he would have taken everything from you.” He paused, his hands coming to her hair, toying with it as he said, “And in that, he would have taken everything from me. I could not be the reason he punished another person I loved.”

His meaning flared, hot and angry and devastating. That monster of a duke had stolen his mother’s future. Because of Ewan. And then he’d threatened Grace’s.

“So you stayed.”

He nodded. “I stayed, and I lived the life he asked of me, and every few months he would trot out some new piece of information about you.”

She shook her head. “Why? Why not just kill us?”

“Because if you died, he lost his hold on me. Your safety was the only way he could keep me in line. To ensure that I understood that you survived by his will. And my own actions.”

“Because he knew what we all knew. That you were good.” How often had they said it, she and Devil and Whit, as they sat in the dark, dank streets of the Garden and wondered what had happened that had turned him against them.

“I am not good.”

He was, though. It had never occurred to them that he’d made a sacrifice.

“You came for me after he died.” Not to destroy her. To love her.