Bile rushed into his throat at her words, and it tasted like guilt. It was an emotion he would forever associate with the man behind the heavy wooden door at her back.
“Shall I go in?” Some part of him willed her to tell him to return later, to inform him that his father was bathing or sleeping or eating.
“Yes. He’s been waiting for you.”
Another punch of guilt, like a blow to the gut. He steeled himself. There would be more blows as soon as he walked through the door.
Titus Hawkridge, Duke of Carthwaite, sat up in his bed, and though he was gaunt, pale, and more physically diminished than Gray had ever seen him, the man still managed to dominate the room with a commanding air. Like a king on his throne.
“You’re late.”
Gray offered one curt nod. One couldn’t be baited too early in a joust with the Duke of Carthwaite. Much as he did in bouts at his boxing saloon, Gray forced himself to hold back. Conserve energy. Wait for an opening.
“Were you detained, or was it merely your usual laziness?”
Gray tipped his gaze toward the long, arched window. Rain pattered steadily at the glass from blue-gray clouds the shade of a bruise.
“Blaming the weather?” his father scoffed. “How original.”
“How are you, Father? It’s been a long time.”
“Bah.” Carthwaite waved his arm, shooing Gray away, then yanked his bedcovers back as if he meant to stand.
The nurse shot forward at his father’s movement to assist the duke. “Careful, Your Grace.”
Gray hadn’t noticed that Mrs. Reed still lingered in the room. When confronted with his father, he’d learned to narrow his focus and allow nothing else become a distraction.
“I’ve still the use of my legs, woman.”
“Aye, of course, you do. You’ve always been a hale man.”
Somehow, Mrs. Reed had learned to salve his father’s ego without raising the man’s ire. A skill Gray had never learned. Or at least, one his father would never allow him to succeed at if he tried.
In one elegant motion, the nurse eased his father to a standing position with one arm, reached for his cane, and had the thing in his hand before he had time to straighten his back.
“Come closer, boy. I want a look at what I whelped.”
Gray braced himself for the man’s scrutiny, and those obsidian eyes that reflected nothing but more darkness scoured over him.
The left side of his father’s mouth hitched up in a sneer and then slackened the more he stared. A shiver shook his frame, and Gray glanced at the nurse.
“Yes, you should look away from me with those eyes.Hereyes.” The duke swallowed once and then again as if he had something stuck in his craw. He cast his gaze down and lifted a shaking hand to this throat. “It’s unnatural how much you resemble like her.” His head shot up, black eyes boring into Gray’s. “Especially considering that you killed her.”
“I’m sorry, Father.” There were no three words that Gray had spoken to his father as often as those.
He knew that no matter how many times he apologized, no matter how thoroughly he allowed the guilt of his birth crush him, it would never be enough for Titus Hawkridge.
And he anticipated the duke’s reply.
The exchange was a dance of feints and jabs like fighters performing in the ring, and they knew the steps by heart.
“Not sorry enough.” The old man coughed, and his whole body heaved. He waved off Mrs. Reed when she inched forward. “Now that you’re here, you know what is expected.”
Gray did, and though he thought the whole thing in poor taste, he knew saying so would get him nowhere.
“They’ll be assembled downstairs. Eligible ladies. All healthy. All biddable. All from impeccable stock.”
Gray winced at his father’s description of a gathering of noble ladies the way one might refer to a collection of racehorses available for purchase, but he’d always been thus. Callous and belittling, particularly about noblewomen and their worth beyond breeding. It was the only reason Gray was thankful he had no sisters—no siblings at all. More children would have given his father a chance to spread his cruelty around.
