Page 101 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“Duchess,” he greeted. “How good to see you.”

She was faintly out of breath from her mad, impolite dash through the halls. Edwin and Daphne exchanged long, meaningful looks. If she hadn’t been so desperate to get out her news, she might have paused to glower at them.

Christian’s face, of course, did not change. However, his eyes seemed to brighten, lingering on her with a slow, intent look that made her stomach flutter.

“Enough pleasantries,” she huffed, waving vaguely at Daphne and Edwin in a way that she hoped would indicate a greeting. “Christian, you and I must talk.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “I’ll greet my guests and then⁠—”

“No,” she interrupted firmly. “It is important. Now.”

CHAPTER 28

Christian led the way down the hall, fighting not to turn to look back.

Like Orpheus and Eurydice, he thought wryly. Desperate to look back but knowing that looking back would ruin everything.

At last, they reached their destination, a small reading room set just up the hall from the ballroom. It was kept open during parties in case anybody needed to retreat from the crush for a moment or two.

If anybody was in there now, Christian fully intended to throw them out. Politely, of course, but firmly.

The reading room, thankfully, was empty. A candelabra burned on a low table, with bookshelves and chairs arranged neatly around. He turned to face Thalia. She was twisting her fingers together, staring off into the distance. He tilted his head, waiting for her to look up at him.

“Well?” he prompted gently. “What is it you had to speak to me about?”

She stared at him for a moment.

“I’ve been wondering how to explain this all day,” she murmured, half to herself. “But now that the moment’s here, I don’t know where to begin.”

Christian took a step closer, carefully taking her hand in his own. “I know we have had our differences,” he said carefully, “but really, Thalia, I⁠—”

“Your son is alive,” she blurted out.

He blinked. The words echoed in his head for a moment, their meaning gradually coming together. His mouth had gone dry.

“What?” he croaked. “What did you say, Thalia?”

She swallowed, meeting his eyes squarely. “Your son is alive, Christian. Laura was right. They did not die in a carriage accident. I suspect that there was never an accident. I guess that your father sent his oldest, most loyal servant along with them to make sure they kept to their end of the bargain. Sophie lived, Christian. After she died of a fever, her son went back to England. Back to St. Sarah’s. He’s there now.”

The world tilted around Christian. He staggered, nearly collapsing onto one of the chairs.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed. “How… how could this be?”

“The boy told me the story. I checked the facts with Sister Abigail, and they’re all true. But of course, they don’t know that you’re his father.” She let out a ragged breath. “He’s at the orphanage. You’ve met him already.”

My son.

Christian curled his hands into fists, fighting down the tide of emotion. Anxiety, terror, delight, relief, excitement—they all swirled together, producing a dizzying, nauseating effect. His gaze focused on Thalia again, and a pang of affection rolled through him. Stepping forward, he reached out, cupped her cheek, and leaned in to kiss her.

Her hand came up, fingertips pressing against his lips and gently pushing him back.

“No,” she said, quietly but firmly. “Not because you are grateful to me, Christian.”

“That’s not it.”

“Nevertheless,” she insisted. “I’m not sure my heart can take it. I’m going back to my brother’s house, but I want you to come to the orphanage tomorrow and meet your son.”

“And will you be there?”