Anger flared in John’s eyes. “So Amelia and Mary are wrong about her.”
Cranston took a swallow of the drink, savoring the burn. The alcohol was already starting to dull his senses, so he needed to slow down. “It’s possible she came to regret her actions. My curiosity overcame my better judgment, and I looked into her current situation. Apparently, shortly after they married, Holbrook banished her to a small estate in the north and behaved as though he were never wed. I’d assumed he was disappointed she’d given him a daughter. That he could no longer perform in bed and had no use for her. But now I think he was angry when he realized he wasn’t the father.”
He lifted the glass and examined the way the light streaming through the room’s windows played on the cut glass, causing the liquid within to sparkle. He was about to down the rest of the drink but John was faster. His friend took the glass from his hand and set it just out of reach. Damn, his reflexes must already be affected.
“So she told you that you are her daughter’s father. How can you be sure she wasn’t lying?”
“I saw her.” His throat was suddenly dry, and it took more than a little effort to continue. “She has my eyes.”
John swore.
One corner of Cranston’s mouth quirked up, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Nothing about this situation was amusing. “I agree. Now can I have the rest of my drink?”
John led him back to the chair he’d vacated, and he actually stumbled. Damn, that whisky was quite good. Cranston would have to ask his friend where he could get some since he suspected he’d need it again in the future. It normally took more than two and a half drinks before he started to feel a drink’s effects.
He dropped into the seat without protesting. John watched him for a moment, no doubt assessing whether Cranston was going to leap back out of his chair again. When he remained, John settled back into his own chair.
“Before your thoughts become too clouded, you need to consider what you’re going to do now.”
Cranston barked out a laugh. “I’d hoped to completely obliterate all rational thought so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.”
The frown on John’s face told Cranston that he was serious. He and Ashford had begun calling John Sir Galahad when they were all serving together in the army because the man was incapable of seeing a woman in jeopardy without wanting to rush in and offer his assistance. He supposed that gallantry also extended to trying to help his friends.
Cranston scrubbed a hand over his face. “To be honest, I’d hoped that today’s meeting would be the end of my association with the woman. That I’d be able to put her firmly in the past. But now…”
“Now you’ve learned you have a daughter.”
Silence stretched between them. Cranston leaned back in his chair; his eyes closed as the girl’s face swam into his mind. She had his eyes. He was fairly certain that Abigail’s husband hadn’t had pale green eyes. If he were thinking clearly, he’d make arrangements to confirm that fact. But everything inside him was already screaming at him to accept the truth. He had fathered a child with Abigail and then purchased a commission and fled England. If he’d known Abigail was carrying his child, he never would have left. He would have moved heaven and earth to bind the woman to his side.
“Are you going to see them again?”
Cranston swore. They both knew the answer to that question. Of course he was. He’d just learned he had a daughter, had caught only a brief glimpse of her, but already every one of his instincts was screaming at him to protect her. To ensure she didn’t slip away from him the way her mother had.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he realized exactly what he needed to do. The only way to ensure the girl could remain a part of his life was to bind her—and Abigail—to him.
He opened his eyes and met John’s steady gaze. Apparently his friend already knew what he was going to say. “She’s my daughter, and she’s been without a father’s love up to this point. I aim to remedy that situation.”
John nodded. “I would expect nothing less. And Lady Holbrook?”
Cranston’s teeth ground together. “I’m not going to give her another chance to escape. It’s clear that she wanted me to know my daughter. Whatever else she might think of me, she knows I would never abandon my child.”
“You intend to marry her.”
Cranston rose and moved to the sideboard. “And this time she won’t be able to escape me.” He downed the rest of his drink and poured another.
“I’ll arrange to have a room prepared for you tonight and will send word to your valet that you’ll be here. I have a feeling you’ll be needing that room soon.”
His friend left the study, but Cranston knew he’d be back soon. He didn’t mind that John had just appointed himself his caretaker. After all, why else would he have come here? They’d had to watch each other’s backs often enough during many battles. He could drown his anger without fearing he’d be set upon while drunkenly trying to find his way home.
Chapter 8
It was ironic that the only friends Abigail had made since arriving in London just before the end of the season were the wives of Cranston’s best friends. Amelia, the Marchioness of Lowenbrock, and Mary, now the Viscountess Ashford. The latter was on her wedding trip with her new husband, and so Abigail had invited Amelia to visit.
Abigail couldn’t risk calling upon the marchioness if there was a possibility Cranston would be there. Their last two meetings hadn’t gone well. The man she’d once loved—whom she still loved—had ignored her for most of the wedding breakfast, and then yesterday…
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but the scene refused to leave her mind.
Cranston had been furious with her. Angrier than he’d been the day she’d told him she was marrying someone else. The look he’d given her had made it clear he would never forgive her for this betrayal. For raising his child as that of another man. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known at the time that she was with child because she never should have allowed her father to force her into turning Cranston away.
