Finn
Finn practically danced down the passage to the meeting spot behind the scullery. He dragged a hand through his hair, mussing up Peregrine Vale's pretty-boy waves. He felt more like himself than he had in weeks.
Elsie was there, polishing a silver tray. She looked up as he neared.
"Well?" she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper.
A slow, vicious grin spread across Finn's face. "It's done. The great war hero is broken."
He replayed the moment in his head. The look on Theron's face when he'd revealed his true identity. The way the blood had drained from his face. The dawning, horrified realization.
It was better than Finn had imagined it would be.
"He looked like I'd just ripped his guts out and showed 'em to him," he said. "Fuckin' priceless, it was."
He mimicked the Duke's stunned expression. "'Wh-what…?'" he whispered in a perfect, posh imitation, before bursting into laughter.
Elsie didn't laugh. "What did he do?"
"Nothin'," Finn scoffed. "Stood there like a bloody statue. I told him everythin'. About the letters. About his money troubles. About Daniel." He paced the small space, buzzing with adrenaline. "He's trapped. He knows one word from me and his whole world comes crashin' down."
"So what now?" Elsie asked. "The letters to Langley… you've sent them?"
"Not yet," he said. "I'm gonna let him sweat a bit first."
"And the boy? Julian?"
Finn's triumphant expression faltered. He hadn't thought about Julian. He'd had to block him out. Collateral damage.
"What about him?" he snapped.
"He cares for you. Thinks you're kind Mr. Vale. The hero who saved his life."
"Then he's in for a rude fuckin' awakenin', isn't he?" Finn's voice was cold. "This was never about makin' friends with little lords. This is about revenge. Don't you go soft on me now, El."
Elsie met his gaze, her eyes hard. "I'm not soft," she snapped. "You just make sure you remember what this is all for. Don't forget he is the man who sent Daniel to his grave."
"I won't," Finn promised.
***
Theron
Theron woke to the cold, grey light of dawn filtering through the windows of his bedroom. He stretched, letting out a yawn.
For a precious few seconds, his mind was blissfully blank.
Then the events of last night came crashing down on him.
He shot up in bed, the sheets pooling around his bare waist.
Peregrine.
No. Not Peregrine.
Finn.
He pushed a hand through his dark hair. The imposter's face was burned into his mind. The angelic beauty was still there, but it was warped now, twisted into an angry, hateful sneer.
"My name isn't Peregrine Vale. It's Finn Sullivan."
Theron threw off the sheets and swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor. He stumbled to the washbasin, splashing cold water on his face.
He looked up, staring at his reflection. The sharp angles of his face looked haggard. The faint scar that cut through his eyebrow seemed more pronounced. He looked like a man who had been defeated.
The Duke of Blackwood. A celebrated hero. A man of discipline and control.
A damn fool.
He had let Finn into his house, into his trust. He had let him near his nephew.
Julian.
How was he going to tell Julian that the gentle 'Mr. Vale' he looked up to was really a fraud?
"Every word, every touch. Every look I gave you. All a lie to get me right 'ere. In your room. In your trust. In your fuckin' bed."
It had all been an act. A meticulously crafted performance.
He had been so certain of the flicker of response he saw in Finn's eyes.
He recalled their last encounter. That desperate, shameful act against the door.
He gripped the edge of the marble basin, his knuckles white. He had been brought to his knees not by desire, but by a scheme.
"You killed my brother."
Daniel Sullivan.
He searched his mind, trying to put a face to the name.
Scythia.
The smell of mud and blood. The roar of explosions.
He was on his horse, rain lashing his face. Below him, the battlefield was a chaotic mess of screaming and dying. They were losing the ridge. The western flank was about to collapse, a catastrophic failure that would cost them hundreds of lives. A terrified young captain had galloped up to him.
"They're breaking through, Your Grace! We have to fall back!"
But falling back meant ceding the high ground, a death sentence for the entire regiment.
He needed a diversion. A charge to buy the main line a few minutes to regroup.
"Advance!" he'd roared, pointing his saber. "Take that gun emplacement!"
With a gasp, he returned back to his bedroom in Blackwood Manor, still gripping the basin.
He heard Finn's voice in his head.
"You really don't remember any of 'em, do you? The lads you sent to die. They were just numbers on a page to you."