Scandal of The Season. Christie Kelley
the end of the bed, sat on the edge and looked up at him. “Why did I leave you and your sister? Why did I leave your father? Why did I come here and set up such a house?”
There was only one more important question. “Does Father know?”
A delicate shudder visibly rolled through her body. “Yes,” she whispered.
Anthony clung tighter to the bedpost. It was one thing for one parent to lie and deceive her child, but quite another when both parents were in collusion to betray their children. But his father would never do such an underhanded thing. He must have only recently discovered the truth of her deception.
“How long has he known?”
“Almost from the day I left.”
Anger broke through his drunken haze. “He’s known you were alive and did nothing to save you from this life?”
His mother laughed softly. “I know you may find this difficult to believe, but my life has been far better away from your father than with him.”
“How can you say that?” He finally released the bedpost, stood in front of her, and hoped the world would stop spinning soon. “Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”
“I couldn’t, Anthony. I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” he all but yelled. “You’re the one who needs protecting.”
“Why is that?” She swept her arm around the room. “Look around, I am quite safe here.”
“You make your living by…by…”
“By what, Anthony?”
“Lying with any man who would pay you.”
She reached out to clasp his hand but he pulled it away. Her dainty shoulders drooped. “I only lie with the men I wish to be with.”
“And that is supposed to make me feel better?”
She shrugged. “I suppose not.” Slowly she stood before him, barely reaching his shoulders. He had not realized just how small she was…petite, with dark blue eyes that flashed in anger at him. “You have no idea what I’ve been through with your father. When the time is right, I shall be happy to tell you.”
“Then tell me now,” he growled.
“No. This is not the time. You’re intoxicated, and you’ve had far too much of a shock. You need to go home and think about what you discovered tonight. And when you are ready, I shall explain everything to you.”
“I’m supposed to just leave here and accept the fact that my dead mother is actually alive and well, living as a prostitute?”
Her face whitened. “I am not a—”
“Oh? You run this house. You already said that you lie with whomever you please. You are a strumpet.”
Before she could try to deny her profession again, he strode to the door and then down the stairs. He passed a footman on his way up the steps with a bottle of fine brandy on a silver salver. Anthony grabbed the bottle and ran from the house of horrors.
He raced down Maddox Street until he nearly collapsed at the side entrance to St. George’s Church. After sitting down on the brick step, he opened the bottle of brandy and gulped a large amount down.
She was alive.
After almost eight years to the day, she was alive.
How?
How had his mother kept herself from them all these years? Hadn’t she cared about her children, if not her husband? She was alive. The past eight years had been a complete farce, which made him nothing but a fool for believing everything Father had ever told him.
A prostitute.
A common strumpet.
His mother was no better than a lightskirt. And even worse, his father had known all along. His father had lied to him…and his sister. Genna didn’t even remember her mother. His sister had been only two when the whore had left two days before Christmas. If it ever came out that their mother was alive and living as a prostitute, his sister would be ruined.
Genna must never discover the truth.
A cold December rain dampened his breeches. He pulled his legs in under the archway of the stoop and took another long draught of the stolen brandy to chase the chill away. He couldn’t go home drunk and furious. First, he had to determine exactly what he would say to his lying father when he confronted him.
He’d never felt so lost and alone in all his life. Not even when his mother had died. He shook his head. But she wasn’t dead. She left them to go sell herself to anyone who would have her. He dropped his head to his knees.
How could she have left her children? Left him?
The rain turned to a steady downpour as he sat there drinking the brandy. His mind turned hazy as he watched the carriages drive by his spot. Suddenly something, or rather someone, stumbled over his feet in an effort to be out of the rain.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “You almost spilled my brandy.”
Blinking, he tried to get his eyes to focus on the small body huddled in the opposite corner. The fresh scent of oranges washed over him. It was her. His orange blossom. The woman he’d truly wanted tonight.
“Doesn’t appear to be much left in the bottle,” she replied, holding it up.
“Help yourself.”
“I intend to.” She held the bottle up to her lips and drank some down.
Fascinated, Anthony stared at her slender neck as she tilted her head back and drank from the bottle. “Who are you?”
“No one.” She handed the bottle back to him. “Thank you.”
“Why are you here?”
She laughed softly. “The same reason as you, to get out of the rain.” She shivered and her teeth chattered.
He pushed the bottle back toward her. “Drink.”
She accepted it back greedily. “Th—thank you again. It’s helpin’ me get warmer.” She sipped some more before asking, “What’s yer name?”
He hesitated just a moment. “Tony,” he said, although only Genna called him that. “Why were you out selling oranges so late tonight?”
“I was trying to sell all the oranges. Today wasn’t a good day.”
“No. Definitely not a good day,” he agreed, staring at the basket half full of fruit. The Christmas season was never good. Everything bad seemed to happen then, at least to him.
“Did you lose too much gamblin’ tonight?”
“How did you know I’d been gaming?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Isn’t that what most young bucks do? It’s either gamblin’ or whorin’.”
Maybe she wasn’t the innocent she pretended to be, he thought. “Actually, I won a substantial sum tonight,” he said, pride lacing his voice. “What do you do with your money?”
“You mean the measly amount I get by sellin’ oranges?” She pressed her lips together. “I just try to get ahead.”
He shifted and his shoulder collided with hers. A jingle of coins rang from the pocket in his coat. “What if I offered to buy the rest of your lot?”
“I don’t take charity. I work for the extra money I need.”
“Hmm, a woman with scruples.” He inched closer to her warmth. “I like that.”
“I should get home,” she whispered.
“Don’t.”
She turned her head