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“Sebastian, darling, Mama and Papa will come and see you later,” Atalanta said.
“I don’t want Papa!” the boy cried. “I hate him!”
“Now, young sir, you shouldn’t be saying that,” Lizzy chided. “Apologize to your Papa.”
Sebastian looked up at Devon and shook his head. “I shan’t!”
Pain stabbed at Devon’s heart. Dear Lord—his son was afraid of him!
“Take him away, Lizzy,” Atalanta said. “He’s overwrought. He’ll feel better after some sweet cocoa.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lizzy bobbed a curtsey and swept Sebastian into her arms. The boy placed his head on his nursemaid’s shoulder and popped his thumb into his mouth as she exited the room.
Atalanta squeezed Devon’s hand. “Take no notice of the words of the undeserving,” she said. “We, neither of us, have sought Easton’s good opinion.”
His head told him that his wife spoke the truth—but his heart whispered in his mind—that he would always be the Beast of Belgravia. He would carry that name until the day he died, and his family would suffer for it.
