He bared his teeth, sinking them into the footman’s palm. Swearing, the servant jerked his hand away, and Anthony shouted, “Anthony De Villier, I’m your son! My mama was Seraphina Hale—”
The footman backhanded him, making him see stars. “Shut your filthy gob, you rabid mongrel—”
“Bring him here,” an imperious voice commanded.
His vision clearing, Anthony saw that a tall, well-built gent now stood in the open doorway of the study. The man’s hair was the shade of bleached wheat, the clipped waves gleaming around his handsome, chiseled features. In contrast, his eyes were the black of coal and the only feature he and Anthony had in common.
Anthony’s heart thumped against his ribs.This toff…he’s my father?
“Beg pardon for the intrusion, Mr. De Villier,” the butler said hastily. “This brat barged in from the street, and I was about to contact the police—”
“I’ll deal with it,” De Villier said.
“But, sir, he’s a street urchin. There’s no telling what he could do—”
De Villier looked at Anthony. “Did you come to do harm, boy?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Follow me.” De Villier turned and walked back into the study.
An instant later, the footman’s grip loosened, and Anthony jerked free. He followed De Villier’s broad back into the study, turning briefly to stick his tongue out at the glowering servants. Hah. Soon they would be answering to him…and the notion filled him with impossible hope.
Have I come home…at last?
“Close the door behind you.”
At De Villier’s command, Anthony shut the heavy door, gawking at the opulent space. He’d cleaned the chimneys of many a fine house but never had he seen a study as grand as this one. It evensmelledrich, a mix of oiled leather, fine tobacco, and lemony beeswax polish. The shelves that reached from the floor to the soaring ceiling were filled with books—a luxury denied Anthony for the past three years, although his mama had taught him his letters. His boots sank into a carpet softer than anything he’d slept on.
Tall windows stood to the right of De Villier’s massive mahogany desk, the long velvet drapes pulled back to offer a view of the gardens. De Villier seated himself behind the desk. Anthony remained standing on the other side, belatedly remembering to doff his cap.
“You have something to say to me?” De Villier had his head idly propped against his left hand, his elbow resting on the arm of his studded wingchair. Once, Anthony had found a gentleman’s magazine in a rubbish heap, and this cove looked like one of the bleeding fashion plates.
Now’s your chance. Tell ’im who you are.
Twisting his cap, Anthony said in a rush, “My mama was Seraphina Hale. I was born in a village in Tuscany, lived all o’er Italy ’til I was six. Mama told me my father died afore I was born, so it was just the two o’ us. We got by all right. Mama was a fine singer, see, and ’er performances kept a roof o’er our ’eads and food in our bellies. But one day, she started to cough and couldn’t stop.” The memory flashed of his beautiful mother withering away in a dirty cot, blood-stained handkerchiefs strewn around her like crimson petals. With ease borne of practice, he tucked away the grief. “She told me it was time that I knew the truth: that her ’usband wasn’t dead but ’ad left ’er—and ’e didn’t know about me…’is son.”
“And you believe thatIam this husband and father?” De Villier drawled.
Anthony gritted his teeth at the indifferent response. When Mama had told him about his father, he’d been angry: what sort of faithless whoreson would abandon his own wife? And why hadn’t his mama gone after the cad and demanded that he provide for her and their unborn child?
Pride and passion led to my downfall, Anthony, his mama had whispered.Don’t be like me.
“Mama said that you are,” he said in flat tones. “When she learned that she was dying, she sold all we ’ad to get passage to London. We arrived ’ere three years ago, but she died afore we made it to shore. Her last words to me were to find you.”
She died because you left ’er to fend for ’erself and your son, you blackguard. Because she worked ’erself to the bone and couldn’t afford a decent doctor. Because she spent everything she ’ad to get me ’ere to you.
“Three years ago?” De Villier lifted his brows, which were oddly dark like his eyes rather than fair like his hair. It gave him a hawkish, predatory look. “It took you that long to find me?”
Anthony reined in his rising fury. “On the ship, Mama and I were ‘befriended’ by a sweep named Wiley and ’is mort. After Mama died, the Wileys said they would ’elp me. They lied.” He gestured at his sooty clothes. “For the past three years, I’ve been one o’ their climbing boys.”
Among other things.He thought it best to keep his criminal activities under wraps.
De Villier’s gaze turned considering. “You have proof of your connection to this Seraphina Hale? To me?”
For the umpteenth time, Anthony cursed himself for being a gull and handing over the signet ring to the Wileys. Risking his life more than once, he’d snuck into the Wileys’s rooms in the flash house to look for his lost treasure. He’d never found it. No doubt the Wileys had pawned the ring years ago, disposing of the stolen goods…and Anthony’s future along with it.
If living in the stews had taught him anything, it was this: an eye for an eye. Anthony had an excellent memory, never forgot a wrong. He would get his justice…eventually. He wasn’t the same fool he’d been at six. Now he understood the importance of self-control, discipline, biding one’s time.
