Page 31 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

“Yes, desperate for fame and money, no doubt. I bet it’s all some con.”

I dragged a hand through my hair. “They both said they approached their mothers about you, but they refused to help. They didn’t want to know.”

Ezra’s mouth contorted. He shot a guarded look around his opulent sitting room. “Yes. Well, we know why that’ll be. It’s all a tissue of lies. Or the four of them are secretly in on it.” He let his hands flap in frustration. “I don’t mean for this to sound dismissive, Bailey, but there are some very mercenary people out there; convincing too.” He tried to smile. “I know you only meant well, but in all likelihood, they aren’t who they say they are.”

I eyed him. “I appreciate that, Ezra, but for what it’s worth, I think Toni Rushmore and Jules Maddox could’ve capitalised on this years ago if they’d wanted to. I’ve told them nothing.”

Ezra’s tanned face froze. He gawped over at me for a few seconds. “What?! What did you just say?”

I blinked at him. “What part?”

“The names,” he faltered. His expression carried an odd look. “The names of the girls’ mothers. Tell me them again.”

I repeated the names Toni Rushmore and Jules Maddox.

Ezra’s expression was stricken. He looked lost in his own world for a time.

I gave Ezra a meaningful look. “Both these young women said you’d named their mothers in your autobiography and that you said you’d had affairs with both of them?”

There was a charged silence. He struggled to look me in the eyes. “My God.” Then he gave the briefest nod of his head. “Yes. I did name Jules and Toni.” He paused. “And I was involved with both of them.” He shot me a look. “They were intelligent, gorgeous women.”

A dark cloud settled over his features. His hands tumbled over each other in his lap. “And that’s definitely who they said their mothers were? You’re sure?”

“I’m certain. They showed me birth certificates.”

I moved to speak again, but Ezra cut me off. “That doesn’t mean I’m their father though.” He shook his head, hurt and confusion rearing in his eyes. “I don’t know what to think right now and that includes about you too, I’m afraid to say.”

I blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“I thought you were different, young lady. Everyone has always wanted a piece of me in some way or another, but I thought you were open and honest.”

“Ezra,” I began, “what are you talking about? You know you can trust me. You always can. I haven’t told anyone anything and you know that.”

The light from Ezra’s huge windows cast shadows across the pale carpet. “What do you get out of this?”

I frowned at him, hurt. “What do I get? What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, glowering. “I imagine that trying to get a fledgling business off the ground nowadays isn’t cheap.”

His implication twisted in my chest like a knife. Did Ezra believe I offered to help Caroline and Laura for my own ends? That I would then go to the press and sell the story of the acclaimed elder statesman of the British acting world discovering he had two grown-up daughters?

Ezra didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to. The furious glint in his eyes answered my question.

It was ironic. He wouldn’t be contemplating the idea of me bleating to the press for money if he knew who I really was.

Hurt lodged in my throat. My mouth opened and closed a few times, resentment alight inside me. After what I’d been through with Declan. Now, I was being accused of betraying Ezra’s trust? “How dare you!” I ground out finally. The insult burned in my chest. “How could you even think that I’d even contemplate doing something like that. I told those two women I’d never seen you. I protected your privacy, just as I promised.” I swallowed. “And I even tried to find a solution by suggesting a doppelgänger… You know nothing about me, Ezra. If you did, you’d see how alike we are in many ways.”

My voice was on the brink of cracking. “I’ve been let down by a lot of people in my life and I understand what that feels like; how you feel like you can’t trust anyone again; how you have to build this barrier around yourself, as that’s the only way you won’t get hurt…”

I drew up. I’d said enough. I knew how important it was, to find out who you were, what you wanted to be and how you were going to get there, but I halted my tongue. I couldn’t tell Ezra that.

Ezra raked a hand over his grey hair. His tone was dismissive. “Yes. Well.” He let out a self-conscious cough. “How old are they? Twenty-eight? Thirty? They must be about your age. They should have a sodding good idea who they are by now.”

“Oh, come on,” I snapped back. “That’s not fair and you know it.” The next sentence shot out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Indignation and hurt were swirling around inside of me like a typhoon. “And anyway, that’s rich coming from you.”

“Meaning?”

I dropped my voice lower, in case Jackson or Mrs Watson were in the vicinity. “You’re a famous actor with a very successful career and yet you leave London and move to a little Scottish town whose major claim to fame is a historical tree?”