Beyond A Wicked Kiss by Jo Goodman

and a few seeds of gray, the colonel's shock of black hair was not conceding either to his illness or his advancing years.
    Blackwood lowered his gold-rimmed spectacles over the bridge of his hawk-like nose and regarded West with a surprisingly gentle smile and an invitation to proceed.
    "Everyone is gone?" he asked.
    West nodded. "I have just now come from bidding farewell to South's parents and North's mother. Lady Winslow and Sir James left only moments before."
    The colonel was not surprised that East's family had also lingered. It had been like that since West's own mother died when he was yet at Cambridge. Long before then, a connection had been made to each of the other families, perhaps, Blackwood thought, because West was, for all intents and purposes, fatherless. No less a personage than the dowager Countess of Northam had been moved to call the duke a bloody bastard, championing West even though she still took umbrage with him for breaking the nose of her son when they were but boys at Hambrick.
    The corners of Blackwood's mouth were lifted as he considered the temper and aggressive posture that had put West in conflict with every one of his schoolmates. He wondered what he would have made of young Evan Marchman if he had known him in those days. Would he have been as rigidly uncompromising as the Hambrick house masters, or would he have seen past the boy's fiercely held fists to the pain and confusion that made him so belligerent?
    West did not recline in his chair. Instead, he sat forward slightly and rested his forearms on his knees. His fingers were loosely intertwined, and as was often his habit, he lightly tapped the pads of his thumbs together. He did not engage in pleasantries, but came immediately to the point.
    "Why did you never tell me you visited him?"
    Although the colonel had no difficulty divining West's meaning, the question still surprised. "I have never thought it necessary to apprise you of the names of even a quarter of the people I visit. Why should this have been different?"
    "Do not pose a question to me that you can answer yourself."
    Blackwood gave West a sharp look over the rim of his spectacles. "Actually, I am not certain I can answer it. Being Westphal's son did not entitle you to know every occasion I had to visit him. Indeed, given the estrangement between you, it seemed to me that you would be uninterested in my dealings with him."
    "It is a different matter when you used those occasions to discuss me."
    "I have never thought of you as someone prone to exaggerating his own importance. We also discussed things wholly unrelated to you."
    West would not relent. "But you did share my activities with him."
    It was rare that Blackwood hesitated, but he did so now. "Sometimes," he said finally. "Yes."
    West straightened a little then and sat back. He did not know there was more hurt in his glance than there was accusation. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why tell him anything at all about me? Have you been as forthcoming to Lord Redding about South's activities over the years? I cannot imagine that you have ever informed North's mother about the things he has done, and continues to do, for you. And East? I am quite sure he would not thank you for apprising his—"
    "I take your point," the colonel said. "And you are right. I have made it a point to say very little to others."
    "Then why? Why would you—"
    "They have never wanted to know. Lord and Lady Redding. Sir James and Lady Winslow. The dowager countess. All of them are more at their ease not knowing the particulars, and they will tell you as much if you press them. The duke wanted to know, and to the extent that he could be informed, I informed him. Your father was highly placed in the government, West. He came within a hairsbreadth of being made prime minister after Perceval was assassinated, and he had many supporters this last time around. Do you imagine he could not have found out whatever he liked? I should think you would prefer that