Page 43 of Cruel Games

“I’d better be.” It wasn’t like the headmaster was a fire-breathing dragon.

I stepped forward and knocked. My heart clattered in my chest like an out of control firecracker. Did I want him to be my grandfather? There was no family resemblance, either mentally or physically. The man was so suave and upper class, while I was so… My shoulders drooped.

Before I could finish that thought, Mr. Burgh opened the door. His features brightened when our eyes met, which was telling considering our last conversation had ended with me storming out.

“Miss Hancock. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, not even noticing Gideon at my side.

I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Elizabeth Liddell just announced to the whole academy that we’re related. Is that true?”

His mouth dropped open. “How did she—”

“Is it?”

Mr. Burgh stepped aside and widened the door. “You had better come in.”

Something washed over me just then. It was a mix of sadness and relief and a feeling of completion. Maybe it was like how families fretted over a missing person, not knowing what happened to them for years and discovering that the person had died and finally getting closure.

Gideon placed a hand on my arm. “Good luck. I hope you get some answers.”

Warmth filled my chest. I’d never told him anything about Mother or Billy Hancock in case he rejected me for having been brought up by a criminal lowlife. His acceptance and support meant more to me than I could convey in a smile.

“Thanks.”

I stepped into Mr. Burgh’s office on legs so numb I couldn’t feel my feet. After a few steps, my knees gave way, but the headmaster held my arm and guided me to one of the leather seats in front of his desk.

He pulled out the seat next to mine and wrapped one of my clammy hands between his larger hands. “Lilah, I don’t know how Elizabeth Liddell got hold of that information, but it’s true. Abigail is my daughter.”

My head dipped, and I stared at my lap, my senses drowning in a swirl of confusion. I’d always thought we had come from the lowest of the low and dredged ourselves up. Just like Sammy and Billy Hancock.

How could Mother have come from a man like Mr. Burgh?

“Why?” I croaked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you’re my grandfather, why was I brought up by an abusive criminal?”

Mr. Burgh’s brows drew together. “He touched you?”

“Not the way you’re thinking.” I sniffed. “When I was little, he would drag me to the kennels at the bottom of the garden, dangle me over his guard dogs, and make them bark. The more I screamed, the more they’d jump and snarl.”

Mr. Burgh’s face turned ashen, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Lilah—”

“He would laugh and threaten to feed me to the dogs if I didn’t behave.”

“What about your mother?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “The first times I told her she was too high to care. Even when I got older, she was in and out of rehab, and I barely saw her when she was straight.”

“Sorry. It was hard to get information on you from your stepfather.”

“Why didn’t you bring me up?” I asked in a tiny voice.

“We tried to take custody of you shortly after you were born, but your mother lied to social services and told them I had abused her.” He stared at our joined hands. “She had been furious about our handling of her underage pregnancy.”

A long sigh slid from my lips. Unfortunately, I could picture Mother cutting off a close relative out of anger. “Who is my father?”

“The only reply she gave me was too outlandish to be believed. It was probably one of the boys at the academy, but nobody came forward to take responsibility.”