A Study In Seduction(92)

She took a step back. He took a step forward.

“Do you honestly think Lydia will tell you the truth now?” Dr. Cole asked, his tone both kind and slightly condescending. “Even if you confront her with the document, she has no reason to tell you the truth about your father. Are you quite certain my name is not written there?”

“Quite certain.” Jane’s fingers tightened on the paper, crumpling the edge into her palm.

“May I see it, please?”

“What for?”

“This concerns me as much as it does you, Jane. I’ve a right to see the certificate of my daughter’s birth.”

“Why weren’t you present when the document was registered? Why are you not listed as a parent?”

“I was not there because Lydia left without telling me where she was going.” A tension seemed to infuse Dr. Cole’s body, dissolving the warmth in his eyes and replacing it with impatience. “Had I known where she was, of course I would have insisted upon being included.”

“Did you intend to marry her?”

His mouth twisted in a manner that made Jane think of an uncoiling earthworm. “It is not your place to ask questions regarding my relationship with Lydia.”

“It’s my right to know the truth of my parentage.” Jane wished she could somehow believe the truth was different, that Dr. Cole was not really her father. She wished she could believe something hadn’t happened between him and Lydia. Something horrible.

She looked behind her, hoping an exhibition worker or curator would be close by. No one was there, and her view of the rest of the exhibit was blocked by a large display case.

Jane turned back to Dr. Cole. His expression was tight, the throb of a vein in his neck betraying his growing irritation.

“Give me the document, Jane.”

She shook her head. Fear pushed against her chest. She didn’t know why he was so keen on taking possession of the document, but she suspected that once she handed it over, she would never see it again.

Dr. Cole took two long strides forward, the suddenness of the movement like the strike of a snake. He reached to snatch the paper from her grip. Just as his fingers grasped the edge of the document, Jane yanked it from his reach. Thrusting it back into her pocket, she turned and ran. His low, guttural curse ripped through her ears.

Not daring to try to move past him, Jane headed for the narrow back staircase leading up to the gallery. As she passed the natural history display, she ducked around a diorama featuring mounted birds. Grabbing the document from her pocket, she shoved it behind the spread wings of an eagle before heading to the gallery with the intent of reaching the stairs on the other side that led back to the main floor.

Glass-fronted cases, desks, tables, and bookshelves packed the spaces of the gallery. As Jane maneuvered around them, she tried to look over the railing to find Mr. Hall, but there was no sign of him amid the massive displays.

Panic shot through her. If he’d gone home already… no. Mr. Hall wouldn’t leave without her.

Jane quickened her pace, not daring to look behind her as she skirted around a table piled high with scrolled maps. She was halfway across the gallery when her foot caught on something. She fell hard to the floor, a gasp jamming in her throat. Pain shot up her right wrist as she tried to break her fall with her hands.

Keep going. Keep going.

With a panicked sob, she tried to push herself to her feet. Then a man’s shadow fell across her, long fingers curling around her arm. Dr. Cole spoke through gritted teeth, his grip tightening to the point of pain.

“Foolish girl,” he hissed.

Jane tried to scream. No sound emerged before his hand clamped over her mouth.





Chapter Twenty-Seven




Alexander startled, taking a step away from her. Fresh, raw pain coursed through Lydia’s chest. She averted her gaze but felt the shock that held him immobile.

“Your… your daughter?”

Lydia nodded, experiencing a sense of relief at having finally told him the truth. No matter how he reacted, at least she no longer bore the burden of such a secret.

“But Jane is—”

“Eleven. She was born when I was almost seventeen.”

She lifted her lashes to risk a glance at him. He remained still, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his expression rigid.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“It is not a pleasant story.” She paused. “Far from it.”