“Hidden fire, as I suspected.” He hooked the lantern on the wall, revealing the room’s spartan interior. “To match that lovely hair of yours.”
When he reached toward her, she instinctively retreated until her back collided with brick. Her skin crawled as he captured a lock of her unpinned hair, stroking it between finger and thumb. His eyes were hard, reptilian.
“My son has apparently inherited my taste in women. I’ve always had a fondness for redheads,” he said with a smirk.
It took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying.
“Your son?” She stared at him in astonishment. “You can’t mean Adam…”
“Your husband didn’t tell you? I’m not surprised. The man is good at keeping secrets.” De Villier released her hair and stepped back. “I, myself, did not know that he still lived until recently.”
An icy hand gripped her nape. “I don’t understand.”
“In my impulsive youth, I married his mama, a beautiful opera singer named Seraphina. My papa didn’t approve of the match and disowned me. I took Seraphina to Italy; it didn’t take long for me to realize the mistake I’d made. I wasn’t cut out for living in poverty, for being a powerless nobody. Luckily, my papa offered me a way out. He’d found me an heiress to marry, one whose dowry would add considerably to the De Villier fortune. If I wanted back into the family fold, all I had to do was have the marriage annulled and return to London. The annulment was a bit tricky, given Seraphina’s resistance to the idea, but…”
His casual shrug conveyed his callousness. “Money makes the world turn, as they say. I bribed a few officials, got my annulment, and there was naught Seraphina could do about it. The matter was settled—or so I thought. Imagine my surprise when a sweep named Wiley and his wife came to me some years later, claiming that they had my six-year-old son in their custody. They’d met the boy on a boat from Italy, they said, his mother dying before they reached the shore. The boy had told them that he was coming to London to find his father, Anthony De Villier. Out of the goodness of their hearts, Wiley and his wife had taken the boy in and would return him to me…for a handsome reward, of course.”
De Villier paused, but Gabby already knew what he would say next. A man who’d so cruelly abandoned his wife wasn’t likely to show mercy toward his child.
Feeling ill, she said, “You didn’t pay the Wileys, did you?”
“Oh, I did.”
Gabby couldn’t hide her surprise, and De Villier’s smile widened, the look of a predator who enjoyed playing with his food.
“I paid the Wileys…to keep the brat out of my sight,” he said with relish. “As long as he didn’t cause me any problems, they could do with him as they wished. They operated a flash house and had other young boys they were training to be climbing boys and thieves. From what I understand, the brat fit right in.”
The notion of Adam being forced to labor as a climbing boy and to do worse things, things she could not even imagine, tore at Gabby’s heart. She’d always admired her husband’s drive and success, but knowing where he’d started from, the odds he’d beaten, pushed tears from her eyes. Then a new thought struck her. Her father had said that once Adam gained control of Billings Bank, he meant to call in De Villier’s loans: surely this could be no coincidence.
“Did Adam know that you’d paid the Wileys to keep him?” she blurted. “That you’d consigned him to this life of hell?”
“If the Wileys had done their job, everything would have been fine. But good help is hard to find, isn’t it?” De Villier sighed like a hard-pressed lord of the manor. “When he was nine, the brat escaped and made his way to my doorstep. He didn’t know, of course, that I’d paid for his maintenance with the Wileys; he thought I would take him in. Him—a dirty, ill-bred guttersnipe.” De Villier shuddered. “Worse yet, since he was conceived before the annulment, he might have a legitimate claim to my wealth, if he could prove the relationship. My family and in-laws would never have accepted him as my heir, especially with my wife being barren. I couldn’t let the brat destroy everything that I’d worked for.”
Premonition tightened Gabby’s throat. “What did you do?”
“I had Wiley take care of him. For good.”
“You ordered the murder…of your own son,” she said numbly.
“Twice, actually.” De Villier’s smile curdled her insides. “It came to my attention several months ago that someone was methodically gaining control over my debts. It took a while to peel away the layers of legal claptrap, but I finally discovered who owned all the banks that were so willing to give me money: one Adam Garrity. Why would this moneylender be so interested in my business, I asked myself? I had him investigated; once I learned his origins, I guessed his true identity. The damned Wileys had failed me once again, and somehow the brat had survived.
“This time, I hired a professional to take care of the problem. He followed Garrity to a skirmish, intending to make Garrity’s death look like the result of a clash between cutthroats. But my assassin failed too.” De Villier shook his head. “Luckily, your husband didn’t emerge entirely unscathed. His amnesia was nearly as good as having him dead and saved me the trouble of hiring yetanotherkiller. But, of course, good things never last. When I went to check up on Garrity at that ball, my gut told me he was a loose end I had to tie. Once he had his man-of-business digging into my affairs again, I knew I had to act. Which brings us to now.”
Understanding flooded Gabby, horrifying and relieving at once. The reason Adam wanted control of her trust wasn’t for money or power: it was for justice. He wanted to avenge his honor and that of his mama, rightly so. Moreover, knowing that his father—the man he’d crossed an ocean to find—had ordered his death, how could Adam trust anyone again? And then Jessabelle, his first love, had cuckolded him, her death burdening him with pain and guilt.
With growing wonder, Gabby realized what a miracle Adam was. After everything he’d gone through, he’d been a faithful husband to her and loving father to their children. And who he’d been during his amnesia…that had been real. The Adam unburdened by his horrific past, the one who knew how to love, who taught her to believe in herself: he’d been real. His love for her was real.
She remembered their fight:
You have no idea why I’m doing this,he’d said.
She’d responded,And I don’t give a damn.
With thrumming remorse, she realized how she’d misjudged him. If only she’d responded differently, perhaps he would have told her about De Villier, perhaps she wouldn’t be where she was now. And she did give a damn because she loved Adam and always would. God willing, she’d have the chance to tell him that.
“Now that you have the facts,” De Villier said smoothly, “I hope you’ll understand this inconvenience. Your husband is a dreadfully dogged and Machiavellian fellow. He’s waited and planned all these years to pounce and get his revenge…which, of course, I cannot allow. But your visit shan’t last much longer. After I’ve finished setting up the trap, I’ll send word to Garrity to come forthwith—mustn’t give him time to prepare, after all. Knowing his fondness for you—his sentimental nature always was his weakness—he’ll come straightaway, and I’ll put an end to this, once and for all.”
She knew De Villier meant to kill Adam to protect his interests. And he’d kill her as well. Adam was clever and would know that De Villier had set a snare for him, but she knew in her heart that he would come anyway.
