But now he knelt before Rowan. And he took one of Rowan's hands and folded it between his own. “Do you know why I brought you off that ship and into my home?”
He’d never thought about it. “My father asked you to, I suppose. Or you found me a nuisance on your ship. I was too young.”
“Wrong on both counts. Your father never once broached the subject. Why would he? He did not know he would die so soon. I took you because of your spirit, because when you first boarded the ship, fresh from the loss of your mother, you devoted everything you did to her. Everything was done to please the woman who had loved you. And to please the father who kept you by his side. You only pleased me to please them. Even though you weremycabin boy. And I admired you for it. You can tell much about a man by knowing whom he dedicates his life and actions to. And when your father died, I watched you break into a million pieces. I watched you lift your face to the stars, as if that's where all the pieces of yourself had gone, following your father to some inky, heavenly home.”
“You were dead in spirit if not in body, and I thought… this is a boy who needs softness. This is a boy who deserves a family. Lavinia and I could not have children of our own. We knew that by then. And from the moment I set you in front of her, she loved you as much as I did. So when you came home from school with your face ripped open and not even a single tear on your cheek, asking tostayhome, we let you. A heart so young should not suffer so often as yours had.”
“It was fine. I survived. I could learn how and what I wanted to at home. The scar is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It goes much deeper than the skin. We should have pushed you. But we let you hide away in the townhouse with your tutors, going to Angelo's and Jackson's, no one knowing who you were, and you happy about that, you refusing to meet our friends or their children, refusing to meet anyone.”
“You’re making it sound more dramatic than it is. I’m a simple fellow, not made for social life. Even if I was, I don’t belong in thecircles you frequent, but my education puts me out of reach of the circles I used to belong to.”
“Seahorse shit, my boy. Some people are not made for social life. I myself am not made for bows and curtsies and cravats.” He tugged at his own. “I thought buying the hotel was your own way of joining the world. It wasn't, was it? It was just another way to disappear farther into the shadows. No more. Get dressed. You stink like a day-old fish in the sun. You're coming with me to Fredericks.” The admiral pushed to his feet and braced his hands on his hips.
Rowan held his gaze steady on the older man as he stood, yanking the bottle off the table. “Yes, sir.” He retreated to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.
“Excellent!” the admiral called cheerfully from the other side of the door. “I knew you would see reason. I'll call Poppins for a hip bath.”
Rowan slammed the whiskey bottle down on the table beside his bed without taking a sip. He hadn't really wanted it, had taken it only as a show of defiance, only because he knew the admiral was right.
By the time he finished the hip bath, dressed, and met the admiral downstairs in the coffee room, he felt very much like the fool he was.
“Looking much better,” the admiral said. “Feeling it?”
“Not a bit.” Rowan scratched the back of his neck. “I am grateful to you.”
The admiral led the way out of the hotel, speaking only once his first foot hit the street. “I don't want your gratitude. Neither does Lavinia. We simply want you happy.”
That was likely no longer possible. Clouds hung low in the sky, dark and obscuring the sun’s light. Thank goodness. If he sneezed, he’d think of Isabella, how cute she looked when he did so. Sneezing now made him think of kissing.
Damn. He hadn’t even sneezed, and he was thinking of her.
When wasn’t he thinking of her?
He followed the admiral down the street, sinking his hands deep into his pockets and hunching his shoulders, trying to figure out how to say the words without saying them. Nothing for it. “I think… that I have been afraid to think of you as my father. I thought it might displace my father.”
“Never. I am simply one of the two you have been blessed with.”
“Blessed. You think highly of yourself, sir.” He managed a weak laugh, then dug deeper. “I think highly of you as well. I…” He swallowed. “I love you.” He smashed the last two words together.
The admiral blushed. “Don't make me cry, Son.” He slapped his cheeks, making them redder, and blinked quickly beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Now tell me all what happened.”
And Rowan did, each footstep that led him closer to coffee relieving him of some of the soil-heavy weight he’d carried the last few days. “I pulled out the gun. Unloaded. And I demanded he let me check his pockets. I had a cravat pulled up high, a great coat on, and my hat down low, hiding well enough. He did not recognize me, though we’d spoken mere minutes before. I knew exactly where he had hidden the damn thing because I'd seen him hide it there. But I had to pretend to search his other pockets first. He tried to stop me when I put my hand in his waistcoat pocket, where he kept the letter, but I grabbed it and lunged away. That's when he got bold. I suppose he would have preferred to be shot rather than lose that letter. When I didn't shoot, he slung a fist at me. I ran. Thankfully, he's not very fast. Mr. Haws is not injured. Neither is his daughter. Scared, though, likely. He probably considers the loss of the letter the biggest blow. The letter is where it belongs now. But… I cannot feel as if I’ve done right.”
“He may not be injured, butyoureye is black. Come, Rowan… you could have injured him a little bit. After that.”
“I just wanted the damn letter. Nothing else.”
“The man was scheming against someone who did not deserve it. He would have bought higher status for himself and his daughter at the happiness of another man and by threatening to ruin that man’s sisters. Do those with money and titles, like Clearford, often abuse their power? Yes, unfortunately. But I have known the young duke to be a good lad if misguided at times. He’s carried much responsibility on his shoulders and from a young age. I think you did right.”
The admiral had a finely tuned sense of justice. He would not lie or soften the blow if he’d thought Rowan had done wrong.
“Now.” The admiral stopped and glanced at a sign hanging over the street. “Here we are at Fredericks. Best coffee in London. Youknow”—he pushed open the door and let Rowan enter the large, raucous room first—“it's owned by a lord. A duke’s second son, in fact. Maybe we'll see him here tonight. He’s a jolly fellow. Likes to rub elbows with the clientele. Unlike you at the Hestia.”
Rowan stopped just inside the door. “That’s not true.”
“It is. You keep yourself locked away up top and only come out when you must. Almost as if you think you're too good to say good morning to a guest.”
