Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
The butler, whom I didn’t recognize, reappeared but disappeared down the staircase at the back of the hall. However, my father had followed in his wake.
Obviously fully recovered from testicular cancer.
He looked like he’d never been sick.
With a heart like his, Stephen Cavendish should have been a balding, fat, ugly little man. Instead, I got my height and lean but strong physique from him. That was where the similarities ended. Sebastian looked more like him. Dark hair, black eyes. Eyes like the fucking devil. I had my mother’s fairer complexion and coloring.
Stephen Cavendish was almost sixty-one years old, had just battled cancer, and yet he didn’t look a day over fifty. He was, regrettably, a very handsome man. Until you looked a bit closer at his insides.
His dark gaze moved from me to Sarah, and I had to fight the urge to stand in front of her, block her from his regard. “You must be the writer I’ve heard so much about.”
I stiffened. Sebastian had been talking.
My father scowled at me. “My son doesn’t keep me updated on his life, so I have to find other ways. I must say I’m extremely surprised to see you here, considering you couldn’t be bothered to visit me while I was recovering from cancer.”
Rage suffused me, but Sarah’s hand tightened in mine, bringing me back. Centering me.
Somehow, for my sake and hers, I had to let this go.
But first, he needed to know why.
“We need to talk,” I replied, gesturing to his study. “Shall we?”
He couldn’t quite mask his curiosity. “All right.”
Sarah squeezed my hand again. “I’ll wait out here.”
I nodded, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles before reluctantly releasing her. She didn’t look at my father as she eased onto the chaise near the front door.
My father stared at her a little too long for my liking, and I moved in front of him, blocking her from view. “Lead the way.”
As soon as we were inside, he closed the doors and rounded me to sit behind his desk. It reminded me of the times I’d gotten in trouble at school, and he’d brought me into his study during the school holidays to lecture me on my behavior. Sometimes those lectures had been accompanied by a smack across the face.
I shoved out the old memories.
“I must say, she’s rather lovely for someone of such commonness.”
I stiffened. “Excuse me?”
My father glowered. “I can see the appeal, Theodore. Truly. But you do know that her mother has a criminal record and is a drug addict. Her father was a farmer.” He spat out the last word like it was filth.
Sebastian had done a lot of talking.
“You didn’t know.” He sat back smugly. “I thought not.”
Only a year ago, I would have been enraged by his smugness. By his judgment of Sarah.
Now … now I saw a pathetic man who cared about things that didn’t matter in the real world. Who derived pleasure in control and humiliation.
He was a sad piece of shit.
And I wouldn’t let him pull me into his games anymore.
“I know about Sarah’s background,” I told him calmly. “I know everything about her. Also, I’d quite like to take this moment to remind you that your ancestral estate survived off the backs of farmers for centuries.”
He rolled his eyes and waved off my comment. “Yes, but my ancestors would have had someone shot if one of their children was discovered courting a farmer’s daughter.”
Courting.
I grunted. “I wish you would join the rest of us in the twenty-first century. And I’m sure once you do, this little piece of information will delight you. I could not care less about Sarah’s mother or where she comes from. It won’t stop me from marrying her one day. If she’ll have me.”
“Then you’re an idiot, but that’s nothing new,” my father scoffed. “And you’ll grow bored, like always.”
“Like you, you mean? What’s it now, Father? Marriage number ten?”
He glowered. “Don’t you dare speak to me in such a disrespectful manner.”
Sighing, I shook my head. His study was filled with leather-bound books in reds, greens, and browns. A large window overlooked the gardens, the walls covered in rich paneling, and old worn carpets worth a fortune decorated the wooden floors. Leather chairs with metal studs. It was like something from the past. And that was the world my father lived in. Some forgotten heyday of the aristocracy, of gentlemen and privilege. Where the viscount was master of his home, his staff, and his family.
He was utterly detached from reality.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you about the appropriateness of my girlfriend. I came here to tell you why we haven’t spoken in a decade.”
My father waved his hand. “Oh, do tell. I’m sure I’ll enjoy this fictional examination of our past. It’s what you’re good at. Writing little imaginary scripts.”