Still, he experienced two seconds of doubt.
It was possible, he supposed, that a small amount of his seed had somehow made its way...
Had Daisy given birth after leaving Woodland Priory?
She was not above a lie in order to protect what was hers. But Gilbert had said his birthday was in autumn—which didn’t add up.
Unless that was part of the deception. A false birthday.
She had told him everything. Of course she had! Gilbert washer brother.
But his uncle had cultivated some misguided idea that Daisy’s brother was a threat to the “sanctity” of the Lovington dukedom.
And the more distance Alastair could set between the two, the safer Gilbert would be.
“Even if he was my son, he wouldn’t be legitimate. He wouldn’t inherit.” Surely his uncle comprehended this. The laws were quite clear when it came to these matters.
Alastair rolled his shoulders.His uncle was wrong.
Not that Alastair wouldn’t have been proud to call the young man his son, but his feelings on the matter would not have been legally relevant.
While Alastair was wrestling with the possibility that he could be the father of a ten-year-old boy, his uncle had retrieved a file from the desk drawer and tossed it down forAlastair to open. It had been compiled by Alastair himself and contained every note or piece of evidence he’d collected over the years while searching for Daisy.
The last time he’d read it, he’d locked it in his safe.
“But the boyislegitimate.” His uncle slapped open the front page. “And the proof is right here. A marriage certificate.”
Alastair blinked at the familiar souvenir from his youth and would have burst out laughing if not for the fact that his uncle had used this to justify murder.
He and Daisy had drawn up the very unofficial document one summer afternoon when they’d pretended to marry. A mere game. They had also drawn up treasure maps, secret magic spells and all manner of foolishness that could spring from the imagination of youth.
“I failed to find verification at any of the local churches, but I couldn’t risk that it was authentic.”
And that was the moment Alastair turned livid. Leveling an ice-cold stare across the desk, he spoke very softly. “Believing I was hiding a secret son, a secret heir, you decided… to kill me?”
There was a look in his uncle’s eyes that told Alastair he was only partly right.
“It never would have been an issue if you’d only stayed away from her. I told you long ago she was a mistake. You should have listened to me then.”
But Alastair had no time to waste.
His uncle knew where Daisy lived.
His uncle believed Gilbert was Alastair’s legal son. He’d seen the two of them together recently. And he’d hired corrupt officers to do his bidding.
But, most alarming of all—Alastair had left the two alone this morning—unprotected.
Even as tension coiled through his muscles, the door burst open.
Two officers of the new police force stood on the threshold.
Alastair’s entire body snapped to attention, a surge of raw instinct flooding his veins. His mind flashed to the cellar, the cold bite of iron shackles, the sickening crunch of fists against bone.
Every inch of him sharpened, poised to strike first or flee if necessary. His gaze flicked over their uniforms, assessing their stance, their expressions—calculating the odds. Were they in his uncle’s pocket? Had they come to finish what their predecessors had failed to do?
“Where are Officers Brown and Giles?” His uncle demanded in a voice that was both frustrated and alarmed.
Brown. Giles.
