Chapter Two
Talon’s release was arranged with breathtaking speed and efficiency. Sutcliffe and the warden engaged in a brief conversation, there was an exchange of funds, and then Talon found himself outside the prison walls for the first time since his arrest.
The moon hung heavy and full in the starry sky. For a long moment, Talon just stood there, staring upward, inhaling the crisp night air. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
“Come along, lad.” Lionel, the footman, laid a broad hand on Talon’s shoulder and steered him toward the fine carriage waiting just beyond the gates. “You’re free now. There will be plenty of time for stargazing later. Right now, we need to get you home.”
Home.Talon swallowed back a bitter retort and climbed into the luxurious compartment beside the earl. As the carriage rumbled through the deserted streets, he let his mind drift back to his twelfth year, to his mother’s last, painful words…
“I’ve never been able to give you the life you deserve,” she told him as she lay dying of fever. “You’re a Lord’s son, Talon. Your father is the Earl of Sutcliffe. You were meant for better things.”
The Earl of Sutcliffe. He stilled, shocked to the core. Even in his wildest dreams, he’d never dared reach that high.
“Are you sure, Mama?” He was afraid to believe in her, even now. How many times had she promised him a better life? How many times had those promises turned out to be nothing but lies?
“Go to him. Don’t let him turn you away.” She gave him one last, tremulous smile, and then she slipped away.
“No.” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he held her lifeless body and stroked her limp, dark hair. He tried to imagine a time when it had not been dirty and tangled, tried to imagine her as a rich man’s mistress instead of a poor man’s whore.
What was he to do, traipse over to St. James Square, pound on the earl’s front door and demand his rightful place as a son of the house?
Not bloody likely. They’d take one look at his dirty face, ragged clothes and skinny body and laugh their arses off. He had no proof, nothing but his mother’s name. Even if her claim was true, it was unlikely the Earl of Sutcliffe would remember a woman like Maggie Montgomery.
But through the terrible days that followed, long after his mother had been buried in a pauper’s grave and the landlord had stolen what few belongings she’d left behind, it was all he could think about.
What if it was true and he did nothing? What if he was meant for something better than the dirty, violent streets he called home?
What could it hurt to try?
He finally gathered his courage and asked around until someone directed him to the earl’s enormous Palladian mansion. Once there, however, he knew he could never actually knock on the imposing front door.
He turned to go, but then the door opened and a young boy emerged. The lad was a little younger than Talon, small-boned and pale, dressed like a little lord. There was an expression of utter boredom on the boy’s face as he sat down on the wide marble steps and stared at the traffic on the busy street.
A brother? Talon stared at the boy, his heart thundering in his chest, the sting of tears burning his eyes. He’d always wanted a brother.
Before he could think better of it, he darted across the street, climbed the steps and dropped to his knees before the lad. “Is Lord Sutcliffe your father?”
The boy scooted backward, his eyes widening in fear. He tightened his hold on the toy soldier in his hand until it broke, the head bouncing down the stairs and rolling away. “Go away. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“I need to know.” Talon’s voice rose in desperation. He knew he’d never have another chance. “He’s my father, too. My mother told me he was.”
“You’re lying.” The boy shook his head in denial then jumped to his feet and raced to the door, throwing it open and darting inside.
Talon followed, dashing past the wide-eyed butler, careening to a stop inside the grand marble hallway. His surge of bravery dissipated when faced with the reality of his surroundings.
He’d never seen such grandeur. Dozens of gleaming white columns rose toward the domed ceiling, while ivory statues twice the size of men guarded the huge oak doors that led in all directions.
“Father, Father, come quickly!” the boy yelled up a grand curving staircase, darting nervous looks in Talon’s direction.
After a moment, a tall, dark-haired gentleman appeared on the landing.
Talon swallowed, suddenly terrified.
“Daniel,” the earl said at length. “Why is there a beggar child in the hall?”
“He says you’re his father.” Daniel’s thin voice was angry and tearful. “Tell him it’s not so. Tell him you’re my father.”
Sutcliffe laughed, a harsh, unfriendly sound. His icy gaze returned to Talon. “I’m your father, am I, boy? Where is your proof?”
