Her heart felt as if it were being constricted in her chest. “How?” she managed, her voice hoarse. “How do you know?”
If Granville had dared to strike her son…
“He never smiles,” Edwin told her, his countenance grave. “And he speaks cruelly to the servants. After he visits, you are always sad. A nice man would not intentionally ruin the paper-hangings with ink. I would never do that to you, Mama.”
Thank God.He had not struck Edwin. Relief washed over her, so profound and violent that her knees trembled.
“I know you would not do that to me, my darling boy.” She held her arms open to him, and when Edwin moved forward, she folded him in her embrace. “You are a kind and wonderful lad, and I am ever so glad to be your mama.”
“I am glad you are my mama, too,” he said, holding her tightly.
She kissed his crown. “This shall be our secret, Edwin. We’ll not speak of it again.”
“Yes, Mama,” he said dutifully. “I promise I’ll not say a word to Uncle. But I do wish he would not be so mean.”
She wished the same, and then some. Oh, how she wished she were free of this terrible situation. Free to live her life as she chose, free to love Wolf. But there was no escaping the provisions Blakewell had left in his will. Her husband had been well-intentioned, she knew, unaware of what her brother was capable of. He had believed it important for his son to have the guiding influence of a peer rather than relying upon Portia.
On account of her past.
And now, she was well and truly trapped, without hope of happiness. Not for herself, and not for her son.
“May I keep your sketch of the flowers?” she asked Edwin, attempting to change the subject to happier topics. “I would dearly love to see it framed and hung on my wall.”
“Perhaps you might hang it over the ink stain,” her son suggested.
“Excellent notion, Edwin.” Smiling sadly, she kissed his crown again. “I shall do just that.”
* * *
“You are a publisher now, Tierney?”Hart asked, casting a glance around the room where their captor had brought them.
“I am whatever I need to be,” Tierney said smoothly, the brace of pistols he was using to coerce them still firmly trained on Wolf and his brother. “And you are asking questions when you ought not, Sutton.”
Wolf and Hart were seated in a room bearing printing equipment, the place pungent with the scents of ink and paper and machinery. Tierney’s henchmen had closed in on them in the alleyway, swiftly divesting Hart and Wolf of their respective weapons. Not even their hidden blades had gone overlooked. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and Tierney presided over them, looming like a beast of hell.
“What do you intend to do with us?” Wolf demanded, cursing himself for being foolish enough to allow himself and Hart to get caught.
Now, they were at the mercy of a man who was, if rumor and his pistols were to be believed, a deadly villain. A villain who had somehow caught their brother Logan in his tangled, dangerous web.
At least Logan had been spirited away without incident. But Wolf did not like being without the means of defending himself. And he certainly did not like having his damned hands tied behind his back as he stared down the barrels of two pistols.
“I thought we could have a little patter between us,” Tierney said. “Seeing as how you bloody Suttons are determined to haunt my business at every turn.”
Wolf tried to maintain his composure, to keep Tierney talking to give himself and Hart time to attempt to free themselves. Behind his back, the knots at his wrist were already loosening. “And what is your business?”
“A bit of everything,” Tierney responded coolly. “And my business ain’t none of yours.”
“Logan is our brother,” Hart growled. “Everything about him is our business.”
“Family is more than blood,” Tierney said with a shrug. “I reckon he can decide on his own what pleases him and what doesn’t.”
Wolf seized the opportunity in the conversation. “What do you know of family, Tierney? I don’t suppose you have any, do you? Or is it possible that you left your family the same way Logan left ours? That you changed your name and abandoned your sister?”
Something sharpened in the man’s gaze, but it was the sole evidence of a response to Wolf’s prodding queries.
Tierney blinked, remaining calm. “I’ve no notion of what you’re speaking about. I don’t have a sister.”
“No? Odd, that. I’ve been told you’ve a sister named Portia and that you once called yourself Avery,” he continued, daring to take the risk of angering a man who was threatening him with a pistol.
Because he had to.
For the sake of the woman he loved.
He wanted to get her the answers she deserved. Floating hell, he wanted to do so much more for her than that. He wanted to spend time with her that wasn’t mere stolen, fleeting moments. Wanted to get to know her son. To take the lad under his wing. To make Portia his in every way.
He swallowed against a rising well of emotion, forcing himself to hold Tierney’s stare.
“And who told you that?” Tierney asked, his jaw rigid.
Wolf had a suspicion the man was not as unaffected as he pretended.
“The lady herself,” Wolf drawled, feigning his own lack of concern.
He had no wish to cause problems for Portia, but there was only one way to discover whether or not Tierney was truly her half brother. And that was by leading the man along. Archer Tierney wasn’t the sort of cove to willingly offer information that might better be used to suit himself.