The woman had already given her more than enough, but Claire was on the edge of her seat, trembling with anticipation despite having barely touched her coffee. “Yes?”
“Robert!” Lady Wolfred grinned triumphantly. “His name is Robert Brooks.”
Chapter 12
Alastair waited a few minutes before peeling himself off the torture device that was the sofa. Claire was still gone—either having breakfast or doing her own investigation. Whatever, it didn’t matter. She obviously wanted time alone, and he wasn’t going to chase after her like some pathetic child or love-struck suitor.
The shower-bath was a gleaming brass contraption that ran water heated by the same boilers that powered the ship’s engines. He stood under the hot spray for a long time, letting it relax his muscles and clear his mind. Afterward, he put special drops in his eyes that he had to use once a month to keep the augmentation sharp, shaved and dressed in a gray merino suit, pulled on his shoes, and left the room in search of breakfast.
He found his mother instead, sitting alone in the dining room.
“Good morning, Mother.” He kissed her cheek. “You look lovely this morning.”
“Flatterer. Will you join your old mum for breakfast?”
He surveyed the table. “It looks as though you’ve already eaten.”
“I can still watch you—make certain you’re eating enough.”
Alastair rolled his eyes, but he joined her anyway. The only person who didn’t seem to want to fatten him up was Claire. Though, to be fair, she probably didn’t care how much he weighed.
The waiter brought him coffee, and he ordered eggs, sausage, toast, potatoes and a pot of strawberry jam. That was when he noticed the third coffee cup on the table. His mother had entertained another guest before him.
“I’m glad to see you’re eating,” she told him. “For a while there I was worried you might waste to nothing but skin and bone.”
Alastair arched a brow as he fixed his coffee. “So worried you decided to journey to America straightaway. If I hadn’t stolen away upon this ship, I wouldn’t see you for another two months.” There was no judgment in his tone, only good-natured ribbing.
“Such a cheeky boy. You get that from your father.”
“Mmm.” He chuckled and took a sip from his cup. “Lucky that’s all I got.”
She clucked her tongue, but otherwise didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she talked about her friend, Buella, with whom she was traveling to New York. Buella’s husband had taken up with a burlesque dancer less than half his age in Paris and was making a fool of himself across the entire Continent. So Buella had taken it into her head to go to America and perhaps take up with some businessman or an actor much younger than she was herself as well.
Alastair listened like the dutiful son, his gaze scanning the room the entire time, following each new person—anyone who might seem just a little bit off. Detached. Stanton Howard was a top-notch agent and actor, but he was also mad, and oftentimes mad people behaved in ways otherwise “normal” people did not.
His breakfast came, and he ate as he watched. His mother continued to talk as he worked, only now she talked about the trip they’d taken to New York as a family when he’d been down from school one summer. His father had called it a vacation, but he’d been there on Warden business.
“You’re so much like him,” his mother mused, her tone both dry and proud. “Always working. Even now you’re working. Couldn’t bear to sit with your back to the door, could you?”
Alastair wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m nothing like him at all.” He was loyal to his agency, for one thing. He knew his duty.
“I remember a time when you wanted nothing more than to be exactly like him. You couldn’t wait to sign up with the Wardens. You fretted for weeks that they might find fault with you and not take you. You and Lucas Grey were mad as a bag of cats until you were accepted.”
“People change, Mama. I changed. Father changed. If I work hard, it’s to atone for the mistakes he made.”
She regarded him a moment before dropping her gaze to her cup. He thought he spied a tremor in her fingers. “Your father wasn’t a double agent, dearest.”
“What was he, then?” And how the hell did she even know about that? She’d never said anything to him, not even when she had to know her son’s opinion of the man had been ruined by the papers he found in his father’s office and the things he’d heard from other W.O.R. agents.
“A good man trying to protect the woman he loved.”
Alastair frowned. Then it all became very clear. Damn it all to hell. “You?”
She nodded, suddenly looking her age. “I got myself into a spot of trouble. You know I did a bit of work for the Wardens myself in my youth.”
“Of course I know. That’s how you and Father met.”
His mother smiled. “Yes. And some time into our relationship—both professional and pessi
Alastair stared at her, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know that you had any part in it. I didn’t even know that you knew.”
She patted his hand. “I was a coward. I didn’t want you to know the truth about me. I feared it might change how you thought of me, but it’s time you knew the truth. I don’t want you to resent your father for my mistakes any longer. It’s been the great shame of my life.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because that young woman you have with you is a good girl in a very bad spot, I think. And she needs someone like you by her side if she’s to get through it.”
His heart gave a hard thump. “Mother, what are you talking about?”
“Claire. I had breakfast with her just before you arrived. She didn’t give me specific details—she didn’t have to. I know what a woman in danger of doing the wrong thing looks like. If you care about her, you need to help her.”
He tried to force a chuckle, but it sounded like a cough. “Care about her? I’ve known her only a few days.”
“I fell in love with your father the moment I laid eyes on him.”
“I don’t love Claire.” It was impossible. He liked her . . . sort of. Respected her, even, but love? No. He couldn’t love someone he couldn’t trust wholeheartedly, especially not after such a brief acquaintance.
“Maybe not yet, but you might, and wouldn’t you rather she be alive when you figure that out?”
His heart went cold in his chest. She had talked to Claire. “Tell me what happened.”
“She asked if I knew of any passenger traveling with a doctor. I told her I did.”
Sweet Jesus. “Howard,” he whispered.
“Howard? No, that wasn’t the name he used.”
“Did you give her the name?”
“Yes. It was Robert Brooks.”
Only a few times in his life had Alastair truly felt the blood rush from his head—this was one of them. He could feel it pooling in his feet. “The bastard’s using her brother’s name.”
“I assume from your tone and expression that this villain most certainly killed her brother before assuming his identity?”
He nodded. “I have to find her. She’ll kill him. Do you know where she went?”
“She said she needed some air. And to hit something.”
He wouldn’t put it past her to find Howard’s room and take his eyes out. He jumped to his feet. “I have to go.” Then, got size=almost as an afterthought, he kissed her on the forehead. “Love you.” Because he did love her, and because confessing to him couldn’t have been easy on her.
And because she restored his faith in his father. They’d talk about it in more depth at another time, but for now it was enough to know his father wasn’t a traitor.
That his father had been a good man.