Brogan felt the breath flee his lungs. I am your father, Ben. The truth festered inside him, and now Brogan could feel the ties of kinship revive between them. He took Drew’s chin in his hand, tilting his face so he might smile more deeply into those sincere eyes. The lad smiled back. Drew may not yet know who he was, but some part of Benjamin remembered.
The only course left to him was to find the proper moment and reveal himself. Then hope for acceptance, not only from Drew but Lorena, as well. Would they forgive him for believing, not unlike George Louder, that he could take what he’d felt was his by right, when all along he’d needed to earn their love?
Whatever had transpired between Abigail and the Huntleys, he was grateful to Nathaniel Huntley and Lorena for opening their home and hearts to the boy, for giving Drew the love he never would have received from Abigail. Together, they had raised him into a fine, brave lad.
The mystery behind it all, however, continued to eat away at him.
Lorena thanked him again for the day’s events and tonight’s reading, then rose to herd Drew off to bed. “Will you read to us again tomorrow, Captain?” she asked.
Brogan nodded, still thoughtful. “Aye, I shall. Sleep well now, both of you.”
“And you, Brogan,” she bid. “A very good night.”
14
Deep within the abyss of slumber that evening, Brogan was having a hard night. Dreams had dragged him back to the last time he saw his wife alive.
“The child is gone, Brogan. Do you hear me? Gone. How many more times will you have me repeat the words before their meaning sinks into that infernal thickness between your ears? Benjamin is gone . . . forever!”
Reeling from disbelief, he searched for a sign to the contrary, all the while fearing the worst. He scanned the parlor, furnished in Abigail’s ostentatious preference for dark floral chintz décor, heavy Empire furniture, and lacquered screens. Not a trace of motherhood remained. Abigail had rid herself of their two-year-old son.
Brogan steadied himself, straining against the rage coursing through him. He envisioned his son frightened and crying among unfamiliar surroundings, and his ire rose to where steam fairly blew out his ears. He clenched his right hand into a tight fist, then slowly unclenched it, his patience waning.
“Tell me where he is.” The words spewed forth as a plea, although that was not his intent. The last thing Brogan wanted was to sound desperate.
Abigail tossed back her head of silky golden curls and postured herself on the edge of the settee in a well-practiced manner that drew attention to her petite frame and the generosity of her endowments. Her dressing gown draped loosely off one shoulder, her skin a perfect alabaster. Six years his senior, she could pass for much younger than her actual twenty-nine years.
Suddenly her beauty disgusted him.
She raised her face to him in defiance, and even the dim lighting could not disguise the exceptional brilliance of her exotic blue eyes. “It is done. He shall be provided for far better than you or I ever could. I no longer have the means to care for an infant, and you, Brogan, most certainly do not. An occasional visit when in port does not make for a doting parent, as you may seem to think.”
Brogan winced at her harshness. By “means” she meant she no longer had any desire to care for Ben. She’d shown little love for the boy, and not for one moment did he believe her attempt at reassurance. Nay, he was not so naive as to trust the motives of anyone who’d condone a mother abandoning her son, anyone who’d agree to spirit away their child. “You believe Benjamin will benefit from the sponsor of strangers, more so than with a father who loves him? To grow up never knowing his origins, his own people?” It was a terrible fate. Brogan knew from experience—a loneliness that tore at the fabric of his being.
She glared back. “You needn’t worry. He’ll be well taken care of, I assure you. Very well.”
Ah, was this her true purpose revealed at last? She was a sly one, this woman. “I see then. It’s money, is it? You sold Benjamin for money?”
His mind grappled for something to persuade her to reveal the boy’s whereabouts. “You know you’ve no need of that money, Abigail. You are more than comfortable, and besides, I’ve been advanced to captain. It’s a captain’s wages I shall be sending you from now on. I’ve been sought in the service of a vessel under my own command. I promise, I shall return whenever and as often as I am able, but what else can I do? I must work; I must provide for my family and aid in the defense of our country.”
“Ah, yes.” She rolled her eyes, a twist of disdain on her lips. “You are to captain a privateer.”