He hated the next paragraph. Detested the words. His fingers shook as he poured from the decanter, spilling some of the scotch across the table.
The child was the result of a brief indiscretion with a gentleman who no longer had any interest in her and would not welcome a child. She was adamant on that fact. Under the guise of friendship to her late husband, I invited her to visit one of my remote estates to grieve. I gently told her there was an orphanage nearby should she require their services. Her response was to ask me to post a letter to her cousin in New York. I know she returned to London because Amanda told me of Lady Masterson’s garden party, but there was no talk of a child. A child I now suspect is yours.
His entire family teased Leo about his liking for Lady Masterson. It wasn’t a secret. Amanda had probably mentioned it to Marcus when she returned to Cherry Hill after Marcus’s health took a turn for the worst. He must have made the connection shortly before he died.
Leo had told no one what the letter contained. Not even Tony. The news of Georgina’s deception had shaken him to the very core of his being. He’d been so bloody incensed by what she’d done, keeping the news of a child from him if he’d come across her immediately after, Leo might well have strangled her.
Instead, he’d thrown himself into running Elysium. Then when he’d finally sought her out, she’d been gone. And Leo had slowly started to unravel.
He’d tried, unsuccessfully, to forget her and the grief over his father in every bottle of scotch he could find. Invited women to his rooms but found little desire to bed any of them and always ended up sending them away. He drank alone in the garden. He hadn’t even gone to Cherry Hill when his nephew had been born.
She must have known I was your father, but she never once confided the truth to me. It pains me to tell you I have no idea what happened to your child.
Marcus’s own grandchild.
Such deceit, Georgina.
Leo pressed his forehead into the desk and sucked in a breath, smelling the scotch soaked into his skin. His father could have stayed silent on the matter of Georgina. Leo would never have known. Certainly, her behavior when she returned to London gave no indication of what she’d done. Having a bloody garden party. Floating about Elysium to play cards with Tony and Maggie. Calling on Amanda and the girls,his family, sipping tea and eating biscuits. Avoiding Leo. Yes, he’d told her he didn’t want a bastard. And yes, he’d also mentioned the apothecary. But now this child, this part of Leo, was alive in the world. She had no right to keep such a thing from him.
He’d been locked away in his rooms for weeks, it seemed, his only companions a continuous stream of scotch and trays of food which he sometimes picked at, allowing the hollowness inside him to grow until it filled his entire chest. Now it broke apart. Shattered. Taking Leo with it.
“I want my child.” It was the first time Leo had uttered those words out loud.
Christ,I’ll have to cross the fucking ocean.
Georgina wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t go marching into Manhattan with a child on her hip, not after going to such lengths to hide its existence. Remarriage was really the only option if she meant to adopt her own child. She was very clever. Much more intelligent than anyone but Leo had ever given her credit for.
Another man might, even now, be touching that magnificent bosom. Or telling her she smelled like spring.
A snarl came from him.
If she thought for one bloody instant Leo would allowhischild to be raised by another man, Georgina was very much mistaken.
Marcus hadn’t allowed it. Leo wouldn’t either.
His nose wrinkled as he caught another whiff of his clothing, the darkness edging into his vision again. A bath might be needed. Along with a tray of food. Which he would eat. It had been hard-fought, his decision. Change was difficult. The scotch hadn’t helped as much as he thought it would. The thought of crossing a large expanse of water made his stomach heave and his fingers tremble.
“I want my child,” he said again to the empty room.
At any rate, Tony was bound to show up at Elysium sooner rather than later. Someone, probably Peckham, that worthless cur, had written Tony that Leo hadn’t been himself in months, not since the duke’s death. Elysium was suffering. The staff was growing disgruntled. And as of late, Mr. Murphy barely left his rooms, leaving the running of the gambling hell to Peckam and Smith.
Tony had enclosed Peckham’s letter in the note he’d sent, informing Leo he would return to London within a fortnight. And he wasn’t pleased to be leaving his duchess and his newly born heir.
Yes, well, I’m not pleased my child is a bloody ocean away.
Leo pushed himself up, ignoring the alarming way the room spun; the fireplace seemed miles from him. He stumbled to the door, bumping his knee and tripping over a pile of books. Opening the door a crack, he saw Jones standing guard at the top of the steps. Motioning Jones over, Leo ignored the one-armed man’s wince at catching a whiff of him.
“I think we can both agree I need a bath, Jones. No need to be so blatant in your opinion. And send up some food. Something to drink other than scotch.”
“Tea?” Jones asked. “Perhaps I should send for a physician.”
“Tea is fine. No physician.” Leo shut the door in the man’s face then opened it again. “Food first.”
His stomach pitched in an unpleasant fashion again as he shut the door once more. It was probably the scotch and the lack of food, but Leo thought it the knowledge he’d have to be on a ship. On the water.
One more reason to be furious at Georgina. Having to chase her across the ocean. He hated the ocean. Sheknewthat.
“I want my child,” he whispered. Leo had never thought he would say those words.
