The American Heir(27)

Being reminded of my childhood gave me clarity. Haley was right-I had no   right to squander our child's inheritance. It was up to them to decide   what to do with it.

My father raised an eyebrow. "You don't want it, you say? If that's true, why didn't you bring security with you?

"You don't seem particularly surprised to see me. And you obviously   weren't expecting a dangerous intruder or you'd have sent security to   handle it. Could it be that you're afraid you'll lose the castle and   title if it's discovered that I'm still alive?"

His accusation hit too close to home. I didn't want him to be discovered. Not yet. We had unfinished business.   





 

I pointed an accusing finger at him. "And if you wanted the title only,   you'd have gone public as soon as the Dead Duke died and staked your   claim. If you don't want the title, you must want money."

"You don't give me much credit." He shook his head. "You disappoint me,   duke. I thought you were brighter than that. How do you think the Dead   Duke got rid of me?"

It was apparently a rhetorical question. He answered before I could open my mouth to respond.

"He made it worth my while. And ensured I didn't burn through my payout.   I have enough to last until I die and live quite comfortably. It's   doled out as an allowance. But you can't have everything." He laughed   again. "The old man didn't trust me to manage my own finances any more   than he did to manage the dukedom."

I didn't respond. On this point the Dead Duke and I were in total   agreement. My father would have lost the estate within a year at most.

Thorne must have known about this arrangement between the Dead Duke and   his true heir. Which was why Thorne hadn't denied that my dad was still   alive. His attitude and manner had all but warned me to back off the   matter and let sleeping secrets lie.

"No matter," dear old Dad said. "I won't live much longer. Not long   enough to cause you terrible trouble, anyway." He sounded surprisingly   amused. "Since my time on this earth grows short, there's no reason to   take the title away from you. It will be yours in a few months anyway.   Well before the courts can make any sense of a dead man coming back to   life." He clasped my shoulder.

I shook his hand off and jerked away from him. What did he expect?   Whether he was really dying or not was of little relevance to me. As far   as I was concerned, he was an unpleasant stranger. I had only the   natural sympathy any person has for someone who was dying.

Reading my face, he sighed. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather   remain dead. It's much more fun. I can haunt this place at my leisure."

I stared him down, fighting my warring emotions. If he really was dying,   I should have felt more compassion for him. Or at least checked to  make  sure the condition wasn't hereditary. As it was, I wasn't certain  this  wasn't another scam. "If you don't want money, why are you here?"

"Isn't that obvious?" His gaze held mine. For once he looked completely   serious. There was something desperate in his eyes. "I wanted to meet  my  grown son, my only child. My legacy. Make my peace with you. Once  I'm  gone you'll be all that's left of me, Riggins.

"For a while, anyway. Until my grandchild is born." He paused, suddenly   thoughtful and contemplative. Finally, he sighed. "I've never been much   of a father-"

"You haven't been one at all-"

He held up a hand to silence me. "True enough. But in my middle age, I   find I have a strange desire to know my grandchild and pass on a few   life lessons. Fate is going to deny me that. The best I can do is meet   my grandchild before I go. I want your word you'll let me see the baby."

I bit my tongue to keep from exploding. When negotiating, especially with a family terrorist, never show your weakness.

He laughed softly before I could answer. "I see myself in you. Conniving   must be hereditary. You're trying to puzzle out how to outwit me."

I wasn't flattered.

"You don't want me to see my grandchild. That's plain enough to someone   like me. What are you afraid of? I don't have enough time left to   corrupt the little bugger."

"I don't owe you anything." I tried to swallow my anger. It left a   bitter taste in my mouth. "I have no reason to trust you to keep your   end of the bargain."

He stared me down. "No, I suppose not." His grin was quick. "You don't   think I've reformed. I can't say as I blame you. I'm not sure I have,   either. But running out on a grandbaby is different than deserting a   son. A grandchild isn't the same responsibility, but it is my second and   last chance at making things right."

He paused. "It's a fair bet you'll be making. You agree to let me see   the baby. I agree not to make myself known. If the doctors are right,   you'll never have to pay out on your end of the bargain. They don't give   me more than a few months."   





 

He shook his head. "My doctors scolded me for hard living and blame it   on that. The smoking and drinking. The womanizing, maybe, too." He   sighed, shaking his head again and wearing a small smile. "Those pompous   medical professionals have warned me that my heart may not be strong   enough for sex. If that doesn't sound like a commercial for male   enhancement drugs-" A fit of coughing mixed with laughter clipped his   words.

I didn't find it uproarious at all.

He pulled out a tissue and wiped his mouth. "Warnings won't stop me. I'd   rather die in the act than abstain." He winked. "If sex doesn't kill   me, I have advanced, incurable lung cancer and cirrhosis of the liver.   One of those will do the job for you soon enough. I can't go back on my   word even if I want to. I don't have enough time left."

I didn't give a damn about his health, except to hope he wasn't lying   about dying. "It's a comfort to know I can always kill you with a   well-timed visit from a prostitute. I always knew sex could be used as a   weapon, but this is a little extreme."

He laughed. "I see you have my wicked sense of humor." He paused and   became serious. "Promise me I can see my grandchild, and I'll stay dead   until I really am."



Haley

I hurried to the Ghost Tower to confirm my suspicions. The outside air   was chill and the grass and ground cold through my thin slippers. I   clasped my robe tightly at my neck as I ran toward the tower.

It wasn't easy running with the extra weight and girth of the baby. I   felt strangely off balance. My body was growing too fast for me to get   used to my new shape at any given moment. As I ran, or maybe jogged was a   better description, I held my baby bump with one hand, feeling like my   baby was sloshing around in there. One thing was certain-I didn't have   world-class running form.

I was breathing hard by the time I reached the tower. And was warm and   flushed from the brief bout of exercise. My heart stopped as approached   the door and found it flung wide open.

I hesitated on the doorstep, listening and trying to hear as my heart   galloped back into action and my hands trembled. I'd come woefully   unprepared to meet either human or supernatural foes.

I glanced around, looking for a weapon, and found only a few pebbles. If   I hadn't been panicked, I would have laughed at the absurdity of   thinking I could fend off anybody with a few pieces of gravel.

The baby kicked, reminding me I had more than myself to think about. I   gasped and leaned against the outside wall. There was only one thing to   do.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and called security. "The door to the   Ghost Tower is standing wide open." I sounded both breathless and   desperate. "Come immediately. But be careful. I think the duke may be   inside."

A security camera over the door moved until it zoomed in on me.

"We have you on camera. Stay where you are, Your Grace," the guard in the control room said. "I'm sending help."

I hung up. Of course, I probably should have done as he said. But   Riggins was in there. What was he up to? What if he needed me? What if   he needed help now?

I slipped inside and stood in the main room, listening for a clue. At   first I heard only the frightening sounds the tower was known for. The   creaks and groans of age. The musings of the ancient stone walls that   heightened its reputation for being haunted.

I was about to call out when I heard, very faintly, echoes of voices   volleying down the stairwell. Two male voices, to be exact. One of them   was Riggins'.

I restrained myself. What if this other man was dangerous?

I took a deep breath to give me courage and quietly mounted the stairs.   The stone stairs were worn smooth and slippery, grooved and sloping in   the centers from the thousands of footsteps they'd borne. Rutted like   roads that needed resurfacing.