His uncle’s casualness—the way he had so seamlessly taken possession of Alastair’s space—sent a bolt of rage through him.
The worst recollection slammed into him, along with other volatile emotions. Shock. Anger.
Pain.
His voice emerged deadly calm. “You knew where I was going.”
His uncle faltered for only a second. “I… well?—”
“What I don’t understand,” Alastair continued, stepping closer, “is why, if you wanted the title, you would wait so long take action.”
Ten. Long. Years.
For half a second, Alastair thought his uncle might deny it.
But then—his entire demeanor changed.
Any pretense of concern drained from Lord Calvin’s features, leaving nothing but cold, calculating ugliness. At the same time, a tension seemed to bleed from his shoulders—almost as though he was relieved to stop pretending.
“I never intended for it to come to that,” Lord Calvin said at last, his voice flat. Dead.
Alastair stared at him. “Then why?” His breath came rough.
His uncle’s expression twisted. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. And I refuse to allow you to taint the line with that… with that…” He waved a disgusted hand. “Boy.”
Boy?
Alastair went still. “What boy?”
“How you managed to find her after…” His uncle shook his head. “Do you think I haven’t known you were staying with them all this time? Your father was a fool to allow you to cavort with one of them. I won’t make the mistakes he would have. I won’t allow it. Do you hear me? I won’t allow it.” The older man practically spat.
A sharp chill lanced through Alastair’s veins.
Them?
What the devil was his uncle talking about? And what boy was he talking about? Surely his uncle didn’t meanGilbert?
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Lord Calvin’s voice was almost weary now, as if Alastair were the one causing him an inconvenience. “You had to go looking for her.”
His uncle exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disappointment. “After all I did to get rid of her, the matter ought to have been resolved long ago. Ten years, Alastair. Did you really imagine I’d allow her into your life again?”
Alastair’s fingers curled into fists.
“… ‘All you did to get rid of’… who?” Alastair prompted.
“Don’t be daft. Of course, I sent the Montgomerys away while you were with your father.” Alastair had sat with his father for the last week of his life, and then Alastair, too, had become ill.
“I wrote her letters.”
“Letters are easily… lost.” His uncle looked so proud of himself. “Besides, she and her family had already been evicted. Once I realized they had settled in London, I had a few of my men keep tabs on the family. That’s how I learned about the boy. But as long as she ceased to exist for you, the child wasn’t a problem.” He pointed at Alastair’s chest. “This is your own fault.”
His uncle’s words unraveled a darkness Alastair hadn’t realized he’d been living in.
Dear God, he had confided his feelings for Daisy to his uncle on more than one occasion. Alastair clenched his fists at his sides.
He’d told him that he would never stop searching for her.
After years of chasing leads that led nowhere, it was sheer luck that finally put him on the right path—luck, because an unexpected clue had fallen right into his lap.
