Passion's Mistral (15 page)

“And in gratitude, you became one of her male escorts,” she said, pretending not to take the hint.

“You want to know about that?” he asked, his tone as sharp as hers had been mocking.

“How much did she charge for you at that age?”

Julian squeezed his eyes shut. “Silkie, she never sold me to other women. She didn’t even touch me until

she considered me old enough. By then, I’d gotten over the reason I’d run away in the first place.”

“Which was what, exactly?”

“My uncle’s and father’s molestation of me,” he replied.

Silkie tried to turn over in his arms, wanting to face him but he wouldn’t allow it. He kept her back to

him.

“D-did your mother know?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think she ever did. They were very careful to hide it from her. I don’t even think she

suspected they were abusing me.”

He told her of his childhood. Of how his father and uncle had hurt him, degraded him, abused him in

ways he could not discuss. Of how he had tried twice before to run away only to be caught and punished

in such a brutal manner he had spent several days in bed. Of how his mother had stood by witnessing his

chastisement that day, yet unaware of the real reason he was being punished. He told her of his misery

and his self-loathing and how he felt unloved and unwanted. Of how his mother often ignored him most of

the time, foisting him off on the servants to be cared for.

“I spent a lot of time by myself when my father and uncle were in London on business. I would go out to

the woods and lay under this old tree, staring up through the branches, watching the fireflies.”

“That’s why you had this bed built?”

“It was the one place I felt safe,” he replied.

She clutched his arms, trying to pass her sympathy onto him in touch.

“Celeste took care of me,” he explained. “She showed me the love I had not known since I was a very

small boy.”

“I’m sure your mother loved you in her way,” she said.

“My real mother, yes,” he said quietly. “Not the one who adopted me.”

The knowledge of who he really was surged through Silkie’s mind like a freight train speeding through the

night. She jerked around, pulling out of his arms, sitting up to stare down at him. “You’re…you’re…”

“Patrick Sean O’Reilly,” he said in way of an acknowledgment. “If you really want to see the birthmark,

I’ll be happy to show it to you.”

“You knew all along why I was here!” she accused. “You knew your mother was looking for you!”

“Not exactly,” he defended. “I knew I was adopted but never knew who my birth parents were. I

certainly didn’t know she was looking for me. If I had, I would have contacted her long before now.”

“But you knew why I was here,” she said.

“Something didn’t sound right with the background information Dr. Carstairs provided us. I had Henri

check you out. That’s when he found out who you worked for, why you were at the Cay and who had

hired you.”

“How did you learn all that?” she said, her brows slanted.

“Ross Bennis really likes his bourbon, doesn’t he? Buy him enough shots and he’ll tell you who shot

Kennedy, I imagine.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Silkie mumbled. “Greg needs to find a new partner.”

“Greg needs his ass kicked,” Julian growled.

“Well at least it didn’t come as too much of a shock for you,” she said, ignoring his remark. “I guess your

adoptive parents had told you already that you were adopted.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. They would never have admitted something like that. It wasn’t in their best

interests for anyone—especially me—to know I wasn’t their real son.”

“How did you find out then?”

“By eavesdropping,” he admitted. “And it’s true what they say—an eavesdropper never hears anything

good about themselves when they sneak around and listen in where they shouldn’t.”

She touched his face. “What did they say?”

“I believe my father’s exact words were, ‘I didn’t want the brat to begin with. I despise the little bastard.

I can’t wait to get him out of our lives.’”

“Oh, baby,” Silkie said, her throat clogging with tears. “How old were you?”

“Eight, nine,” he answered. “Old enough to understand what it meant when my mother said they should

have gone to an English orphanage instead of an American one because an English boy would have

suited them better.”

“How awful that must have been for you,” Silkie whispered.

“I don’t know if I was more upset at learning I was adopted or that I was a Yank,” he said with a snort.

“Why did they come to America?” Silkie queried. “How could an English couple—?”

“I didn’t learn the particulars of my adoption until I met Celeste. She hired a private investigator to look

into it. He couldn’t find out who my real parents were because he never found any records of my birth. I

suspect Albert paid enough money under the table for those records to disappear. I don’t know where I

was born—”

“Iowa,” Silkie supplied. “Riverside, to be precise.”

Julian groaned. “A Midwesterner. How unsophisticated can one get?”

Silkie punched him lightly. “Hey, I was born in Council Bluffs, Iowa!”

“The detective Celeste hired went to England and, after spreading around a rather large sum of money,

gathered quite a bit of information from Bellington servants.” He chuckled nastily. “Albert must have been

rolling in his grave when those servants gave out information I’m sure neither he nor his brother knew

they were privy to. I wasn’t the only one listening at keyholes.”

They were silent for a moment then Silkie asked how he came to be adopted.

“Albert Bellington’s family knew what he was. He was head over heels in debt, very close to being sent

to jail for buggering little boys. His grandfather found him a bride, Edwina Cullford Simpson, and forced

him to marry her. Edwina was in love with Albert’s brother Clive but Clive was no different than his older

brother—a sodomite of the highest order. Edwina was the heir to a vast fortune and both brothers

needed that money. They wanted a baronial estate, money to spend lavishly on their male lovers and the

respect being allied to the Simpson name could give them. As a wedding present Edwina’s parents gave

her a mansion Albert promptly named Bellington Hall and Clive moved in with them.”

“Were they…. Did they…?” Silkie bit her lip, unsure of how to ask the question that nauseated her.

“I always thought so but I don’t know for sure,” Julian replied.

“Albert didn’t love his wife, I take it,” she said.

“He despised her.”

“And she loved Clive.”

“To this day I doubt she knows he prefers males.”

“Then why did they want children?”

“Edwina was an only child. At her father’s death, she inherited a vast amount of money. There was

money in the Bellington family as well. More than in the Simpson’s but Albert’s grandfather refused to

give either of his sons the inheritance because he knew they would go through it like a hot knife through

butter. The only way Albert would ever see the Simpson money was to produce a male heir for his

grandfather.”

“Edwina couldn’t have children?”

“Didn’t want to,” Julian told her. “So they took an extended holiday in America, privately looking for a

child to adopt.” He clenched his teeth. “Lucky me that they found me, huh?”

“I’m surprised Albert’s grandfather didn’t object.”

Julian laughed mirthlessly. “He never knew,” he said. “The Bellington family was told Edwina was

expecting and the physician warned travel was not recommended. That is why she supposedly gave birth

in the States rather than in England.” He plowed a hand through his thick black hair. “She and Albert

took pictures of her with a pillow under maternity dresses so the old man could see her in the family way.

Albert’s grandfather passed away before the happy event took place.”

“That is awful,” Silkie proclaimed.

“It was in the will that the heir to the Bellington estate was to inherit on his twenty-first birthday. If that

heir died before inheriting, the money would go to numerous charities. If he died after inheriting the estate,

his next of kin—meaning my father—would get eighty percent of the money.” He sighed deeply. “I doubt

I would have survived all that long after I inherited.”

Silkie’s eyes widened. “You think they would have had you murdered?”

“That’s exactly what they tried when they sent that man after me in New Orleans.”

He told of opening his door one evening to find Clive standing there with another man. The shock of

seeing his “uncle” was surpassed only by the attempt on his life.

“I had turned twenty-one a few months earlier. How they found me, I have no idea. Apparently Clive

wanted to make sure I never saw a penny of the money I was entitled to. His hired killer came after me

with a knife as good old Clive stood there watching, smiling like a jackal.” Julian scooted up in the bed,

leaning back against the wide headboard that resembled a thick tree trunk. “They didn’t count on me

knowing how to use a knife, too.”

It had been Celeste who had taught him many things as he grew up—how to make love to a woman,

how to run a brothel, how to protect himself. Henri had helped him to hone his skills, teaching him dirty

tricks even Celeste didn’t know.

“I never went anywhere without a switchblade. New Orleans’ red light district isn’t a particularly safe

place. Clive’s killer and I fought, I wound up gutting him and would have gone after Clive, too, but the

son-of-a-bitch stabbed me in the back with his knife he took out of my kitchen while I was fighting with

the man.”

“You lost a kidney, didn’t you?” she asked softly.

“I almost lost my life,” he countered. “I think he thought he’d killed me.” He narrowed his eyes. “He

should have stayed around long enough to make sure.”

“Lucky for you he didn’t,” she reminded him.

“Henri found me and took me to the doctor Celeste used to take care of her employees. Within an hour,

I was on her jet and on the way to Jamaica where I had the surgery.”

“She covered up your murder of the—”

“No, she never had a chance to. She would have if she could have but Clive called the cops and they

were all over my apartment before Celeste’s plane ever left the runway. A warrant was issued for my

arrest, he told them he would testify I attacked the man without provocation and that’s why I can’t ever

go back to the States.”

“She brought you here.”

He nodded. “She owned the island back then. We’ve since worked out a deal whereby I purchased the

Cay from her. I’ve owned it for the last fifteen years.”

“I can only imagine the price you paid for it,” she muttered.

Julian grinned. “I suppose you can but you’d most likely be wrong.”

“You aren’t lovers?” she demanded.

“We have been. I won’t lie to you about that, but I haven’t lain with her in over six months. I had decided

to end it a year before that.” He shrugged. “But she can be a very persuasive woman.”

“I’ll just bet she can,” Silkie said, her mouth twisted.

“I was waiting for you,” he told her.

“You didn’t even know me,” she countered.

“No, but I knew I’d recognize you when we met.”

“You—”

“Shush,” he said, reaching out to cup her cheek “The past—yours and mine—is in the past. From this

day forward, it will be just the two of us.”

“You don’t think she’ll try to keep you?” she asked. “I know I would if I was her.”

“She’ll be happy for me,” he said, pulling Silkie toward him. His lips closed over hers drowning out any

further words she would have spoken.

As his body slid over hers, his hands molding her body to his, the phone on the bedside table chimed

softly.

They ignored it.

Henri put the receiver down and stood tapping his pen against his lips. Julian needed to know his uncle

was on his way to meet with Celeste, but he would also need to be told they had an informer in the

Bellington household. Until now, Henri had seen no reason to tell Julian that tabs were being kept on the

family. For Julian’s safety, that had been a decision Henri had made himself several years earlier.

“You’ve learned about Miss Trevor and you don’t like it, eh, Celeste?” Henri said aloud.

“Why do you suppose she contacted his uncle?” Christian, Julian’s housekeeper inquired. He was sitting

with his feet propped up on the corner of Henri’s desk, sipping a Manhattan.

Henri frowned. Sometimes he forgot Christian was about. He looked thoughtfully at the man who had

been his lover for the last twelve years. “I don’t remember telling you that she had.”

Christian’s eyes shifted away from Henri’s. “You must have,” he said, flicking lint from his white linen

britches. “How else would I have known?”

“How else, indeed?” Henri replied. He sat down at his desk and uncapped his Mont Blanc to write

something in his notebook. He looked at the word and smiled slowly.

“Henri?” Christian inquired. “You didn’t answer me.”

Recapping his pen, Henri leaned back in the chair, rolling the gold cylinder between his index fingers and

thumbs. “Why do I think she contacted Clive Bellington?”

Christian nodded as he took another sip of his drink.

“Well, I imagine she thinks she will be able to find a way to get Julian onboard his yacht and off the

island. If she can get him to Kingston, she can have good old Clive threaten him into being a good little

boy. Perhaps Clive will make threats against Miss Trevor. Since Julian has become very enthralled with