Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(70)

“Perhaps you should tell me what has caused you to throw a tantrum in my library. Some bit of gossip Mrs. Florence told you, eh?”

Logan clenched his hands to keep from tearing apart the table and everything else within reach. He knew that he had colored with fury, and he longed to have the same impassive expression that Rochester wore. What had happened to the self-possessed Logan Scott of a few months ago? He had always been able to save his emotions for the stage. Now it seemed that they were bleeding into every area of his life.

“How the hell are you able to live with yourself?” Logan asked, his voice unsteady. “How could you have given your own son away to a brute like Jennings?”

Rochester set the magnifying glass aside with undue care. His skin took on a gray pallor. “Have you gone mad, Scott? I haven't a clue as to what you're talking about.”

“Let me refresh your memory,” Logan said savagely. “Thirty years ago you gave your bastard son to Paul and Mary Jennings, to raise as their own. The problem was, they weren't fit to care for one of your dogs, much less a child. For the next sixteen years, I was beaten to a bloody pulp more times than I can count, by my ‘father.’ You knew what was happening all that time, and you did nothing to stop it.”

Rochester's gaze finally slid from his, and he pretended to inspect the magnifying-glass frame as he considered how best to answer. Logan found himself seizing the old man's shirtfront, half-lifting him out of the chair until they were practically nose-to-nose. “You owe me the truth, damn you,” he snarled. “Admit that I'm your son.”

Rochester's face turned forbidding. “Take your hands off me.”

They remained in a frozen tableau for an endless moment, and then Logan's hands loosened. Rochester settled back in his chair, pulling down his rumpled shirt. “Very well,” he said. “I'll admit it…you're the bastard I sired by Nell Florence's daughter. And I could have done worse than give you to the Jenningses. I could have sent you to an orphanage and never given you another thought. Furthermore, I did not stand by idly while you were being abused by that lout Jennings. When the episodes became too violent, I threatened him with the loss of his land and the annuity I had agreed to pay him—”

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Logan wiped his hands on his coat as if they had been soiled.

“I have no doubt you feel you deserved more from me,” the old man said icily. “Indeed, at one time I had plans for you, until you insisted on taking to the stage. I would have done a great deal for you, had you chosen any other profession.”

“Now I understand why you've always hated the theater,” Logan muttered. “It reminds you of my mother.”

Rochester's eyes flashed with anger. “I gave Elizabeth a better life than she'd ever known before. And she would still be alive today if not for you. You were too large for her—she died because of your confounded size, gluttonous brat that you were.”

The accusation rang like a gunshot in the room. Logan nearly reeled backward from the impact. “Christ,” he said, feeling ill.

Although Rochester's demeanor was as callous as before, his tone softened as he remarked, “You couldn't help it, I suppose.”

Groping for the edge of the table, Logan leaned I against it once more, his blank gaze locked on the old man's face. “Have you ever told Andrew about me?” he heard himself ask.

Rochester shook his head. “I never saw the need. And considering his recent round of indulgences, I think it would do him harm to find out now. I haven't seen him sober in months. This could be just the thing to finish him off.”

“I don't blame Andrew for drinking. When Mrs. Florence told me that you were my father, I reached for the nearest bottle myself.”

“Nell…that interfering old cat,” Rochester said, stroking his chin and scowling. “I always knew she would make trouble someday. Why did she choose to approach you now?”

Logan wasn't about to explain anything about the situation with Madeline or his impending marriage. He would let Rochester find out from someone else. “I don't know.”

“Well…what will your next move be? Do you plan to stage some sort of reunion with Andrew and inform him that you're his half brother?”

Logan shook his head. “As far as I'm concerned, that will never come to light.”

Rochester seemed surprised. “I hope you're aware that even if I choose to acknowledge you, there is no legal right of inheritance for illegitimate issue—”

“I want nothing to do with you—not one bloody shilling.”

“If that's how you want things to be—”

“It's what you've wanted since the day I was born,” Logan said bitterly. “I'll be happy to honor your wishes. You have only one son. God spare him from your fatherly attentions.”

“I've done perfectly well by Andrew,” the old man retorted. “It's you who have made him into the drunken spendthrift he is today.”

Logan stared at him in stunned belief. “Me?”

“Don't think I'm not aware of all the times you've given money to Andrew. In your misguided attempts to help him, you've made the problem worse. He'll drink and gamble as long as he has someone to assume his debts.”