“Well, Father,” Adam said, entering his father’s bedchamber without knocking, ignoring the protestations of the footman who stood outside the door at all hours. “I have been to the cottage on the Roberts land.”

A brief look of astonishment flashed across the old man’s face before he turned on his side away from Adam and replied curmudgeonly, “Well, why should I care where you go?”

“Because I am your son,” Adam replied flatly. “Although it seems, I am not your only son. Or at least, for a time I was not.”

The Duke did not turn to look back at Adam, nor did his body betray any reaction to these words other than to grow very still.

“You do not deny it,” Adam said. “Why?”

“Why should I?” the Duke said. He still did not turn back to Adam, but his voice had grown heavy with emotion. “Are you accusing me of some sin, boy? I am ashamed of nothing.”

“Ashamed of nothing,” Adam replied angrily. “Not ashamed of fathering a child by a woman who was not your wife?”

“I wanted Mary to be my wife,” his father said. “I wanted it more than anything. I loved her deeply, and she loved me, and we kept ourselves apart for a long time and suffered greatly for it. I wanted her to marry me and cared nothing about her low status, about who her father might or might not have been.” He sighed a rattling noise that seemed to cost him a great deal of pain and energy.

“But I was bound by a vow that I made to your mother before she died, that I would never wed another. We loved each other ardently, and it made me believe that marriage is solely for those in love. I think you know me well enough, boy, to know that I always keep my promises.”

Adam was a little shaken by this revelation, but he responded, “You did not keep the spirit of your promise, it seems. The fact that you did not marry Mary Warwick and only made her your mistress does not excuse you. I do not believe that when my mother asked you to make such a promise that she intended for you to behave as you did.”

“Perhaps not,” his father replied. “Perhaps I have trespassed, but my trespass is against your mother and not you, and I will account for it to her when we meet again in heaven. I have no need to apologize or explain myself to you, not after what you did.”

“I did nothing!” Adam replied in astonishment. So carried away had he been by the shock of his father’s secret life that he had almost forgotten the allegations that had been laid at his own door.

“Do not lie!” the Duke thundered. Suddenly he had sat up in bed, and his eyes were flashing in anger as he looked at Adam. All his weakness seemed to have evaporated, although his body was still frail. “Do not lie to me, boy, or you will repent of it! I know very well that you have known of Mary and Freddie for a year, that you were jealous, and that that is why you killed them.”

Adam was too astonished to reply.

“Did you think that I would marry her and that some of your inheritance would go to Freddie, or did you merely resent the money that I spent caring for them? I assume that the motive was to do with money, but perhaps you killed them out of some darker jealousy. I know not!”

Tears were running down the old man’s face and disappearing into his silvery beard.

“He was a wonderful little boy,” he said softly, his voice beginning to crack. “He reminded me so much of the way that you were when you were his age — so lively, so inquisitive. How can I look you in the eye, knowing that you were responsible for snuffing out that precious light? Why should I ever see you again, knowing that the son I raised to be decent and honorable is capable of the cruelest villainy?”

“I could never kill a woman or a child,” Adam said, his breathing shallow and his mind racing, but the instinct to defend his own honor overrode his other feelings. “Whether they were your mistress and child or two complete strangers, I could never do it. How can you not believe me when I tell you this, Father?”

“You were seen at the lake doing the deed!” The Duke, at last, turned his eyes on Adam, and Adam was surprised to see that his expression was one of pure beseeching. “Why do you continue to deny it when you were seen? If you came to me and confessed your sins and begged my forgiveness, then that would be one thing, but the worst thing in the world to me is that you continue to lie, even though you must know that I know the truth!”

“Who saw me?” At this, true anger began to enter Adam’s voice, an emotion that he would never have allowed himself to direct toward his father before now. “Tell me that, at least. Do I not have the right to know who I am accused by? This is sheer falsehood, Father! Someone is lying to you, and you will not allow me to confront them!”

“You have proven yourself to be violent against innocents,” his father replied, his cracked old voice shaking with equal anger. “I would be a fool indeed to reveal the identity of your accuser to you.”

“Then how can I defend myself?” Adam’s voice was rising to a thunderous level.

“You care only to defend yourself and nothing for my pain!” his father burst out. “You cannot fathom my loss, boy, and you continue to insult me, and insult their memory, by refusing to confess to what you have done!”

“I cannot confess to a crime that I did not commit,” Adam said, his voice shaking with pain and anger. “I am sorry if my refusal to do so causes you even more pain, and I can see, Father, that you are indeed in terrible pain. If I could alleviate it then I would, but I will not tell a lie in order to do so. My conscience forbids it. You raised me to be honest, even when it is difficult, and so I must be. I am sorry, Father.”

He could not bear to continue this conversation any longer, and he left the room, with the words “Since you refuse to believe my word of honor, Father, I will find some proof.”

Standing outside his father’s bedroom, Adam found himself breathing heavily, as though he had just been engaged in some great exertion.

He leaned against the wall to catch his breath, doing his best to make sense of what had just taken place.

In some strange, distant way, Adam actually felt that at last his questions had been answered. It had seemed so strange to him, so difficult to believe, that his father had sided against his own son in the deaths of two apparent strangers.

But they had not been strangers. Freddie was his father’s son too and his own little brother.

The memory of that day came to him suddenly, so suddenly that he was obliged to drop into a nearby chair. The terrible memory of the two bodies laid out on the side of the lake — the little childish face, marble-pale with the blond curls sill damp.

His brother. His kin.

He had always longed to have a brother — elder or younger, it had not mattered to him. He had only wanted a companion, one with whom he could share one of the deepest of all bonds that existed for mankind.

He had had a brother. He had not even known.

He rose to his feet and began to pace distractedly up and down the hall. He wished that there was someone — anyone — to whom he might be able to unburden his heart, to ease his agitated state of mind.

Of course, the someone that he truly wanted was Miss Miller. He felt confident that one look from her dark eyes, one kind word from her lips, would alleviate a good portion of his pain.

But he knew that he had no right to make that demand of her, not until he had redeemed himself and proven worthy.