“I owe you an apology.”
I blinked.
“We’ve met for twelve minutes.”
“Not for anything I’ve done to you.”
He looked toward the doorway where Adrian had disappeared.
“For what I taught my son.”
I didn’t answer.
William’s hands rested on the cane.
“His mother understood people. I understood obligations. When she died, I thought keeping him busy would keep him steady.”
My chest tightened.
“He learned that very well.”
“Yes.”
Regret crossed the older man’s face.
“Too well.”
Then he said something I had not expected.
“I don’t want him in London.”
I stared.
“He thinks you do.”
“I asked whether he would consider it.”
“Adrian seems to hear requests from you as assignments.”
William gave a weary smile.
“That may be my fault.”
“Have you told him you don’t want him to go?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Pride.”
