A queer pang tightened Gavin's throat. To cover it, he sneered, "Then you'll know that where I come from murder doesn't warrant much of a reason. 'Tis as senseless as abandoning a boy and thrashing him within an inch of his life."
A muscle ticked in Morgan's jaw. A moment later, he said, "You want to know why I did it? Why I not only refused to help you, but beat you and left you in that cesspit?"
Yes."I don't give a damn."
"I did it because I was scared." Morgan looked at him, and despite the rage burning in Gavin, he knew pain when he saw it. "Three years I lived with Grimes. Days in the stacks, nights in a hell worse than that." The other man passed a hand over his mouth. "As time passed, I forgot to hope. Forgot... myself. I was just another one of the miserable, worthless mongrels willing to do anything to survive."
Gavin had been with Grimes less than a fortnight, yet he could still see the small, pale faces, lifeless eyes. His jaw tightened as he recalled his own fear. His own foolish vow:I'll never be like them.
"But a mongrel pushed too far can bite back." Morgan's smile held no humor, only bitterness. "I have no regret for my actions that night, save for what I did to you. I was terrified. All I could think to do was run. And you were crying, begging..."—his voice broke low—"and I saw myself. Saw my own stinking, helpless self, and I couldn't get away fast enough."
The other man looked away. Gavin did the same as alarming heat pushed against the back of his eyes. He heard himself say, "And the fire... ?"
"That is the one sin I cannot claim. I swear it on my life, on everything I hold dear," Morgan said in a gravelly voice.
Slowly, Gavin's anger receded. For the first time, he was able to look quietly into the pool of his past. The surface was… calm. In its reflection, he glimpsed the boy he'd been and another boy—one with a lost look in his grey eyes. They had both been powerless, undeserving of what fate had meted out to them. And somehow they had both survived. Studying the man he'd hated for so long, he was struck by a bewildering feeling of... was it kinship?
As the drive continued in silence, Gavin became aware of the clip-clop of the horses echoing the rhythm of his own heart. An organ that wasn't dead, thatcouldfeel love. For Stewart, the man who'd fathered him. For Percy, the only woman he'd ever loved. He'd lost one, but he would not give up the other without a fight.
"How... how did you move past it all?" Gavin said gruffly.
The marquess glanced swiftly in his direction, and Gavin saw that the man's lashes were spiked with moisture. Morgan seemed to mull over his response, before saying, "At first, I thought working my arse off was the answer. It kept me focused on the future, on making something of myself." He shrugged. "And then the title came. More money and power. I thought I'd risen above my past at last."
"Control," Gavin said with a nod. "A man can't have too much of that."
"I thought so too—and I was wrong. What I needed was the opposite. To learn to trust, open myself to another." Morgan's austere features softened. "In the end, 'twas my marriage that put the past behind me."
Gavin's throat clenched. Once he had Percy safe and sound, would she give him another chance? She was everything he needed—and blind fool that he was, he hadn't recognized it. How could he, when he had never known love before? But he'd make it up to her. He'd find a way, even if it meant tearing his heart open and showing her what was inside.
"You care about Percy, don't you?"
Under Morgan's scrutiny, Gavin's cheekbones heated. 'Twas one thing to consider falling upon bended knee in front of one's beloved and another entirely to admit such a thing to another man. Especially Morgan.
"What goes on between Percy and me is none of your business. I don't care if you're a marquess or her adopted brother or the sodding Archbishop of Canterbury," he muttered. "She's mine. And the minute I get the minx back, I'm going to marry her and to hell with what anyone has to say about it—and that includes Percy herself."
He crossed his arms. There was a pause.
"I'll take that as a yes," Morgan said dryly.
* * *
The Harteford residence was a Georgian mansion on Upper Brook Street. Gavin took scant notice of the luxurious surroundings, hadn't even a hat to toss to the crotchety old stick who opened the door. He scanned the marble foyer and the grand curving staircase, impatient for any sign of Percy.
"Are the Fineses here, Crikstaff?" Morgan said.
"Yes, my lord," the butler intoned. "The marchioness is entertaining them in the drawing room."
TheFineses. Both Percy and her mother were here, then. Relief flooded Gavin. He had to restrain himself from shoving his way past Morgan to get to Percy. It wasn't that he gave a damn about being impolite to his host: he had no bleeding idea where the drawing room was in the sprawling abode. So he was forced to follow Morgan's brisk lead down the hallway to the right.
He heard the laughter first. Then the sounds of a pianoforte…Christ.He cringed as notes splintered the air with ear-splitting discordance.
Morgan looked over his shoulder. A faint smile reached his eyes as he opened a pair of French-style doors. "Welcome to Mayhem, Hunt."
The mêlée was worthy of the market at Covent Garden. Two identical, tow-headed boys chased one another round the piano, pounding out notes as they passed and shouting cheerfully all the while. A brunette with a vexed expression was scolding them to stop whilst another lady—middle-aged and with a heart-shaped countenance and blue eyes that identified her as Percy's mother—tried to lure them to the sitting area with a plate of cakes. Meanwhile, Paul Fines sat flirting with a cool blonde who looked amused by the entire situation.
But no Percy.
"Where the hell is she?" Gavin said.
