Page 13 of Juliet's Touch

Eric steadied his voice. “Say your piece.”

“’Tis a private matter,” Fletcher said.

If the man thought to lure him somewhere without witnesses, he should rethink his plan. “You can say it here, or sod off,” Eric said.

Fletcher’s resolve did not falter. With a confident lift to his chin, he stepped closer. “As you wish. I work for your father, and he wants to meet you.”

Eric’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have a father.”

“Imagine that,” one of the dumbbell curlers said.

“Everyone has a father,” Fletcher said. “Just some of us know who he is and some of us don’t.” He shrugged. “You have been blessed with a chance to meet yours.”

Beyond befuddled, Eric stood in the middle of the gymnasium, gawking like a pudding-headed fool.

Eric sat in the back corner of a tavern, a mug of ale in his hand, and a thief-taker seated across from him.

“So, you see,” Fletcher said, “the marquess kept detailed records of his indiscretions. He hired me to track down his by-blows so that he can apologize for abandoning them. I’m unsure if you’re aware, but Chesterhill is extremely wealthy, and if you are willing to meet with him, he intends to compensate you generously. I assure you, he has no intentions other than assuaging his guilt and doing right by the children he sired, then abandoned. At first, I struggled to find you because his records indicated he paid your mother to set herself up in a small cottage outside of London. It seems she never did that.” Fletcher’s voice softened. “I’m sorry to hear of what truly befell her.”

His mother would never have abandoned Auntie and the other girls. So what had happened to the blunt, if the marquess had indeed given it to her?

Eric swallowed the lump in his throat. “And how do you know for sure that I am one of his bastards?”

“Besides the records indicating he often sought the company of Cleopatra at The Pink Petal and some letters your mother wrote to him, you look like your half-siblings. You have differentcoloring, but the resemblance is unquestionable. I ought to know since I am married to your half-sister.”

Dumbfounded, Eric stared at his apparent brother-in-law.

“I know ’tis shocking,” Fletcher said.

Startling, inconceivable, and unexpected.

Caroline Bisoff, a pretty barmaid approached, with a second mug of ale for Fletcher. Her belly was round with child, and her gaze was filled with affection for Eric. Luckily, the baby was not his. He had not lain with Caroline in almost two years. He had not bedded anyone before Caroline, or since the last time they were together. She’d been besotted. He’d been lost and fighting his demons.

“Thank you.” Fletcher handed her coins. “A little something for the babe.”

“Thank ye, sir.” She smiled at Eric. “Would ye like another, too?”

“No, thank you,” he said.

She smiled down at her belly. “I got married. His name is George, and he works on the docks.”

“I’m happy for you,” Eric sincerely said.

She deserved love. He simply hadn’t been the right man for her. Hell, he wasn’t the right man for any woman. The intimacy required in a relationship made him want to run for the hills. More importantly, if he ever treated a woman he cared about the way men treated prostitutes, he couldn’t live with himself.

“I heard you left the docks,” Caroline said. “Heard you are a champion fighter. I’m not surprised. I knew you would make your dreams come true.” Smiling warmly, she brushed her fingers over his forearm, then moved on.

Fletcher raised a brow. “I won’t ask.”

Good. Because his past relationship was none of the investigator’s business.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Fletcher asked.

One very important question. “Is Chesterhill missing fingers?”

Fletcher’s brow furrowed. “No. He has ten fingers, two hands, two feet, and one head. Why do you ask?”

Eric shrugged. “No reason.”