Page 83 of Cruel Hearts

He shook his head. “I’m losing track of which of those boys is courting you.”

I pressed my lips together, suppressing a laugh. If he had seen me on the dance floor at Wank’s nu-jazz room, sandwiched between Maxwell and Orlando, he would use a completely different word. “Cup of tea?”

“Let’s.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and steered me through the hallway and down to the kitchen.

* * *

Steam billowed out of the thick, ceramic pot, and I poured us both a cup and added milk. The time I’d spent at Templar Academy was like an episode of Scooby Doo, where the villain wore stupid costumes, trying to scare the public away from hidden treasure. But instead of costumes, it was bullying and bogus drug busts and instead of hidden treasure, it was a dirty little secret.

I walked across the kitchen to the huge wooden table and handed a mug to Mr. Burgh, who took a long sip. “What on earth is going on? Mrs. Campbell told me you disappeared from school yesterday, and now you’re claiming that Elizabeth Liddell is your long-lost aunt.”

“It does sound crazy when you put it that way.” I sat next to him on the bench. “Lady Liddell showed me an old paternity test that was supposed to prove you’re my father.”

Mr. Burgh shot to his feet, his eyes blazing. “That is preposterous! I would—”

“It’s a lie, I know.” I placed a hand on his arm. “I tore it up, and she said there were more copies in different locations.”

His face went slack. “What?”

“It’s fake. Mother already told me the truth.”

“You spoke to her on the phone?”

I shook my head. “Billy Hancock got shot, and he wanted to make peace with me in case he died.”

Mr. Burgh’s brows drew together. “You went to London?”

“Two of his boys came down to fetch me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” I blew out a long breath. “One of them got a bit grabby, so I fought back with the poker.”

Mr. Burgh looked me up and down as though checking for injuries. When he seemed satisfied, he placed a hand on my shoulders and lowered himself onto the bench next to me.

“Delilah,” his voice cracked. “I have never acted inappropriately with your mother. We may have had our differences in the past, but I never so much as raised a hand to her. Any suggestion that I did so is a malicious fabrication.”

I nodded. Maybe he felt the need to state his denial for the record. Mother’s threat to report him as an abuser if he didn’t drop his custody pursuit for me must have still hurt after all these years. I cleared my throat. “Mother said it was Father Neapolitan.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s my biological father.” I lowered my gaze into my steaming tea. “After a school skiing trip, he trapped her somewhere and raped her again.”

“I…” His mouth gaped open. “She never confided in me.”

“I think Father Neapolitan is the archbishop’s son.”

Mr. Burgh clapped his hand over his mouth. “You can’t go around making such claims.”

“Why not?”

“Because it looks like—” He jerked his head to the side and blew out a breath. “Don’t you see?”

“What?”

“If there’s any hint of Father Neapolitan being Lord Liddell’s bastard son, Elizabeth stands to lose everything.”

I took a sip of my tea. “But she’s the legitimate child.”