He waited longer, pacing across the carpet. Where were they? When five more minutes passed, he opened the door to the hallway.
“Come now.” Farnsworth leaned down, holding out a sugar biscuit as bait. A sullen-faced lad gave the butler a defiant glare, but he took a single step forward. “It’s all right. Come here, please,” the butler crooned.
“Good God, Farnsworth. The boy isn’t a dog. Cease treating him like one.” Stephen couldn’t believe his butler was behaving in such a way.
“My lord, he won’t listen.” The butler straightened, and predictably the boy disappeared behind a door.
“I shall handle this.” Stephen strode toward the bedchamber. When he tried the door handle, it was locked.
“The key, if you please, Farnsworth.”
“My lord, I am terribly sorry. I shall have to fetch it.” The butler scrambled off, grateful to escape.
For a moment, Stephen listened outside the door while pondering his next move. Treating the boy like a child would not work. Instead, he knocked.
“Go away!”
That was to be expected. Any proper opponent would be foolish to simply surrender. But he, of course, had the proper incentive.
“You wish to leave my house, do you not?”
A pause. The strategy was not a move the boy had anticipated. “Yes.”
“I suggest an exchange of information. You tell me what I wish to know, and I will see to your departure.” He did not mention where, but school was a likely prospect. The boy needed an education, after all.
A longer pause.
The door clicked and opened slightly. Stephen hid his smile of victory. It would not do to upset the balance just yet. He needed answers, and he was counting upon the child’s honesty to get them.
Stephen entered the room while a pair of young suspicious eyes watched him.
“Roland, is it?” he began.
“My name is Royce.” The boy sent him a hard look and crossed his arms. “And I don’t like you.”
Stephen shrugged. “I can’t say as I like you much either.”
His response seemed to meet with Royce’s approval. The lines had been drawn, the enemy lines established.
“Sit down.” He gestured toward a footstool, but Royce refused. Stephan began with, “How long have you been living here at Falkirk?”
“Since February.” The boy’s attention moved to the door as though he were planning an escape.
“Your aunt brought you here?”
The boy’s face softened at the mention of Emily, then grew defensive. “She sent for us, yes.” He fidgeted, looking down at his hands. “You’re very tall,” he said suddenly.
“Do not change the subject.” Stephen resumed his interrogation. “Why did your aunt marry me?”
Fear swept across Royce’s pale, thin face. “I don’t know.”
He pressed the boy. “I think you do. You’d best tell me the truth.”
The boy’s attention lowered to the floor, and he clenched his fists. “I want my papa.”
With a sigh, Stephen gentled his tone. “I was sorry to hear about your father.” He reached out to the boy, but Royce bolted for the door.
Stephen caught him before he could flee. The child’s shoulders trembled, and he broke into sobs. “I want Papa.” Tears ran down his cheeks, and Royce fought to free himself.
