After the Abduction Read Online Free PDF

spreading your rumors.” If there truly were any rumors.
    “Well, somebody is,” Lady Rosalind protested. “And what if you’re wrong? What if he’s very much alive and hiding out in Sussex or London?”
    “Now see here, my brother isn’t—”
    “That’s another thing,” Juliet put in, her palpable anger slapping at his conscience. “You still haven’t told us why the world believes your brother to be your ward. I find that decidedly suspicious.”
    Deuce take it, she wasn’t accepting any of this. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian exchanged glances with his uncle. He’d known there was no way to avoid it, but damn if he didn’t hate laying out his sordid family history for them. For her.
    “I understand how you might see it that way,” he said stiffly. “Very well. You’ve been straightforward with me,so the least I can do is explain.” He gestured to the tea tray. “But you may want some fortification first. This is a long, involved tale.”
    To his surprise, Juliet did the honors, pouring tea for everyone. He couldn’t help watching her, despite the very real possibility that Knighton would read the avid interest in his eyes. But she was so dainty, so winning, so much like the girl he remembered…
    Yet entirely different. When had she become the brave creature who now met Uncle Lew’s gaze squarely when bringing him his tea? Who took charge of pouring the tea in the first place, instead of leaving it to her older sister? It was a conundrum that kept him watching her even when he shouldn’t.
    Juliet could feel Lord Templemore’s gaze on her, and she didn’t like it one bit. Because every time she tried to catch it, he glanced away. It was most annoying. How could she decide if he was really Morgan when he wouldn’t even look at her?
    With deliberate clumsiness, she dripped tea on his desk, yet not even that garnered her a glance. Did that mean he was indeed Morgan? Or just the reclusive sort they’d heard he was?
    Taking her own tea, she resumed her seat, eager to see what preposterous tale he offered now. She hoped it would be quite unbelievable; otherwise she’d have to accept that Morgan was dead, and that was impossible. She might want to throttle Morgan, but she didn’t wish him dead. Begging for her mercy perhaps, but not dead. So unless Lord Templemore convinced her beyond any doubt, she’d continue to believe that he himself was her kidnapper. Despite his rich surroundings and lofty station.
    Lord Templemore settled back into his chair wearily, as if the world weighed down his shoulders. Still holding that odd chunk of rubber, he worked it compulsively, squeezing and torturing it as he began to speak.

    “In the summer of 1788, my mother bore my father twin sons, but told him she’d only borne me. She paid the midwife to care for Morgan in secret. Then as soon as she could leave her childbed, she fled to the Continent, taking Morgan along.”
    “Goodness gracious, why would she do that?” Juliet asked suspiciously.
    “She said later that she took Morgan because she couldn’t bear to leave both children behind, and she figured that if Father had his heir, he’d not pursue her.”
    “But why flee in the first place?” Griff put in.
    Lord Templemore looked so highly affronted by the question, she marveled that he didn’t throw them all out at once. “That’s a private matter, sir, immaterial to your situation.” He paused, his hard gaze daring anybody to probe further. Apparently satisfied that his aristocratic hauteur had quelled their impertinence, he went on. “To avoid scandal, Father told the world—including me when I was old enough—that my mother died in childbirth.”
    That’s what they’d heard, too. Which explained why she felt so uneasy in this bastion of his power. It lacked a single touch of femininity. There were no vases filled with conservatory flowers by a fond mother, no delicate hangings stitched by a loving sister, no watercolor miniatures of family