Page 54 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

“She toyed with his heart, persuaded him to shower her with jewels and trinkets he couldn’t afford, and encouraged his drinking. By the time she’d had enough of him—bled him dry—Dom said he was a wreck.”

“A wreck?”

“His drinking had become excessive, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. Then, one night he disappeared. Dom and the rest of our set all thought he’d found solace in the arms of a harlot, but they found him two days later.”

“Where?”

“By the river. Dead. His head split open.”

His eyes glistened with moisture, and he turned his head away.

“He’d been in a fight. We found a witness who said that he’d started a fight with three men over a street whore. To think of it! My best friend, heir to an earldom, killed in a drunken brawl! From the day I learned of his death I vowed never to drink again, to keep my wits about me lest a woman of her caliber seek to ruin me.”

“Oh, Adrian—I’m sorry.”

“The report ruled it an accidental death brought about by excessive consumption of liquor, but I know who the real culprit was, and I hope she burns in hell for what she did to him.”

“The real culprit?”

“It was her,” he spat, his mouth twisting with hatred. “Dom told me that her father arrived in London seeking Will out, trying to blackmail him over some child. Will threw the man out and got roaring drunk the same evening. That witch, Miss Graham, had been spreading her legs for half of London, and she then tried to foist her brat onto Will.”

Sophia’s stomach tightened and a wave of nausea overcame her.

“Miss… Miss Graham?” She shook her head. “Dear Lord!”

“Do you know her?” he asked.

“I-I know of her…”

“Slippery little slut—she disappeared into the country and was never heard of again. I expect there’s some poor unsuspecting baronet with a gold-digging wife in a country pile somewhere, blissfully ignorant of the fact that his wife is a harlot, and he has a cuckoo in the nest.”

“A-a cuckoo?”

“Miss Graham’s bastard.” He let out a cold laugh, and she winced at the hatred in his voice—hatred directed at her son, even though he didn’t realize it.

“Whatever you think of the mother—the child is innocent,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “With that creature for a mother—and no knowledge of who spawned it—the brat should elicit our pity.”

Anger swelled inside her. How dare he make such cruel assumptions about her son!

“You are too hasty to judge the child,” she said. “For all you know Lord Blackstock might have been the father…”

Her voice trailed away, and, recognizing her mistake, she suppressed a cry, and lifted her hand to her mouth.

He froze, and his expression hardened.

“How do you know my friend was Lord Blackstock?” He shook his head. “I don’t recall telling you his title.”

“Y-you did, I’m certain of it,” she said, taking a step back.

“No,” he said, quietly. “We both know I didn’t—and the expression on your face confirms it, Mrs. Black…” he curled his hands into fists, “…or should I address you as Miss Graham?”

“Adrian, you must understand, I…”

“Just tell me the truth,” he said. “That is what you profess to value, is it not—Miss Graham?”

He stepped away from her, and she shivered at the onset of cold in her body, and the hatred in his voice as he spat out her name.

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