She flinched.
“The closets were the worst,” she rasped, drawing her eyes up to Damien’s hard expression. “The darkness, the smallness of the space. It shrank in on me as if it were going to disappear and take me with it.”
“Caroline,” Damien said after she went silent, “Why did you not tell Adrian about this? Or Nora? Elara especially. She would have helped you.”
Caroline shook her head.
“Even before Evander went missing, their family was having enough troubles. Nora, as you might remember, had always been of a frail constitution. Though it certainly was Evander’s absence that pushed her off the edge.”
She took a steadying breath and went on.
“Elara and I... We found our own way to deal with our problems. That is partly why we started to sneak out at night. We wanted to help find Evander, yes, but we also needed to be someone different than who we were forced to be during the day.”
Not wanting to talk about it anymore, Caroline pressed her lips shut and closed her eyes.
“All of this. What your stepmother and stepsister did to you... That is why you were drawn to the orphanage?” Damien’s deep voice broke through the silence. “Why are you so very gentle with George?”
Opening her eyes again, Caroline nodded.
“All children deserve love and care,” she replied, a hint of steel in her tone. “No matter if they are orphaned or illegitimate. I understand that George’s presence might not be ideal for you, but he is not at fault. He needs to be cared for by his father.”
Damien’s jaw ticked as resentment glittered in his eyes.
“I have already told you, Caroline. George is not my son,” he stated pointedly.
Growing exasperated with such a ruse, Caroline sighed and shook her head.
“How can you say that? There is no point in lying to me; this is not even a real marriage. Besides, you cannot deny that he looks like you. And everyone knows that you were a rake when you were younger.”
“We merely share the same hair color. One could say that he also looks like you,” Damien countered, ignoring her slight.
For a moment, Caroline faltered.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“He might have my dark hair, but his eyes? His eyes are the same color as youreyes, Caroline. Does that mean he is yours?”
“Do not be ridiculous!” she hissed, sitting up again. “Several people share the same eye color. It does not mean that we are related.”
“Precisely,” Damien replied quickly. “Resemblance can happen among strangers at any time. Just because he shares the same hair color as I does not mean I am the father. Though I suppose he could be Jeremy’s.”
Caroline looked at him questioningly.
“Who is Jeremy?” she asked.
Damien’s hardened gaze softened a little as she said the name, and she realized that whoever he was, it was someone Damien cared about.
“He is my little brother,” he confessed. “Though when I think about it, it is highly improbable. He was always drawn more to parties and adventures than to books, but he was in boarding school before he set out on his Grand Tour.”
“So he is traveling now?” Caroline asked.
“Yes, I have written to him to come home. In the meantime, I have my men looking for the woman who brought George here. George told me, before he became too frightened to speak with me, that he was born in October five years ago. I have my solicitor searching through birth records in every town and hamlet in England as well as Scotland.”
Caroline studied him intently for a long moment.
“You truly do not believe it, do you?” she asked. “You are thoroughly convinced that George is not your son.”
Damien frowned, a brief look of offense passing over his handsome features before settling back into a mask of resolve.
