“Drat it, you halfwit, how many times have I told you to knock?” His father’s hands were around the woman’s waist. “Get out!”
Alaric fled. The memory shifted, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. The smell of stale whiskey filled his nostrils. “It will be our little secret, do you understand, boy? Your mother does not need to know.”
He could hear crying in his mind. It was his mother. He knew that now. In that memory, he was older—a man, fully grown and powerfully built. His father was slumped on the floor with a bottle of whiskey beside him. In the corner, a maid was scrambling for clothes, while his father motioned for her to come back to his side.
Alaric’s lip curled. “Get out.”
He did not bother to look at her face. She was one of many, and Alaric knew there would be more. That was the sort of man his father was.
“You do not give orders in my house. I am the man here, boy.” His father tried to get to his feet and swayed ominously.
“You are a drunk, a pathetic, lecherous rake who is a disgrace to our family name,” Alaric spat.
“You sanctimonious little–” His father’s words were cut off as the man lunged toward Alaric.
He stepped out of the way easily. His father swore. “You think you are so much better than me? Just you wait. Once you have had a taste, you will see. You are my son. You share my hunger. That is what men do, boy.”
“That is what dogs do,” Alaric growled. “I will never be like you.”
His father’s laughter echoed in his mind. “You already are.”
“Alaric? Alaric?” It was a woman’s voice.
“No.” Alaric breathed in, lavender filling his nose. The world snapped back into focus, and he found himself staring at Catherine.
He blinked hard, his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He set his knife and fork on his plate, not wanting her to see how much his hands were shaking.
His jaw was clenched so hard he feared his teeth would break, but he did not know how to relax his face.If I do, I feel like I will howl with rage.
“What happened?” he could see Catherine’s eyes traveling over his body, inspecting him as though looking for some sign of illness.
“I...” A part of him wondered if he should tell her the truth, that he had remembered the kind of man his father was, but then he heard his father’s words. ‘You already are.’
“I do not like talking about my father.”
“I see.” Catherine’s eyes darkened, and an unreadable expression crossed her face.
“I did not mean to slip from the conversation like that.” Alaric took another deep breath, feeling his heart settle into a slower, steadier beat. “My father… he was not a pleasant man, and I have no wish to speak of him further.”
“Is that why you do not wish to claim Oliver as your son? He reminds you of your father?” Catherine asked.
“No.” The word came out harsher than Alaric had meant it, and he sighed. “It is because he is not.”
But what if he is my father’s?His father had died five years ago. What if he had sired another son?He certainly had enough lovers. I expect I have at least half a dozen half-siblings I do not know about.The thought made him sick.
He needed to find out more, but who would know? More importantly, who would tell him the truth? The servants had made no mention of his father’s lecherous ways, though it was clear they had no affection for the man.
A thought struck him, and Alaric added, “Though I think I may have thought of a potential lead to explore.”
“Oh?” Catherine tilted her head to one side.
“I will write to Hale and invite him to join us for a day. There are things he may know, but I cannot risk asking him in a letter.” Alaric held out his wine glass for one of the footmen to refill. “Who knows, he may be able to help me recover more of my memories.”
Catherine’s fingers tightened around her cutlery, and Alaric noticed that her smile did not quite reach her eyes. “Perhaps. I am sure it will do you good to see an old friend.”
“He feels more like a brother to me. His estate is not far from here, and our fathers were close.”Until mine seduced one of Hale’s father’s servants.Alaric put the thought from his mind. “We were together nearly constantly. We went to Eton and then Oxford, and he even joined me on my tour.”
“He was at our wedding, I believe, though I did not get a chance to speak to him.” Catherine tapped a finger against her mouth. “He was the only person you spoke to, even though we had a crowd of well-wishers.”
