The Heiress - Lynsay Sands [2]
“Oh dear,” Lisa breathed. “Something must be terribly wrong.”
Suzette grimaced at the vast understatement. This just was not like the Cedrick Madison who had raised them. Obviously, there was something terribly wrong. Their father was without a jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his hair a ruffled mess. He also lay with his head on his arms on the desktop, obviously asleep, or passed out. She couldn’t be sure which.
Swallowing the lump that worry had lodged in her throat, Suzette pushed the door closed and moved toward the desk, saying softly, “Father?”
“He is just sleeping, isn’t he?” Lisa asked worriedly as they paused at the front of the desk.
Concern growing at the question, Suzette leaned forward to nudge her father’s arm and was immediately sorry she had. He did respond to it, rearing upright and then dropping back in his seat, but the man they were now confronted with was even less the Cedrick Madison they knew than they’d first thought. This man had bloodshot eyes, a sallow complexion, and a couple weeks’ worth of facial hair that held bits of food caught in it. He also wore a shirt that obviously hadn’t been changed in a while, but was a wordless menu of the meals he’d half eaten lately. He smelled atrocious.
Suzette retrieved a hanky from up her sleeve and held it to her nose so as to avoid the smell.
“Papa?” Lisa breathed with disbelief.
Cedrick Madison blinked at them owlishly, confusion on his face. “Damn me, what’re ye doin’ here?” he asked, his voice faint and bewildered as his bleary gaze slid from Suzette to Lisa, and then he peered around with uncertainty. “Where’m I? Did I come home, then?”
Suzette’s mouth tightened grimly. Every word the man spoke was accompanied by the scent of spirits, and he was very unsteady in his seat. It was Lisa who gently said, “You are in your office in the London townhouse.”
Cedrick Madison’s shoulders slumped slightly with disappointment. “Then ’twasn’t a dream? It happened again?”
Suzette felt her heart stutter in her chest and dread begin to gather at the last question. “What happened again? What the devil is going on, Father?”
“Oh,” he sighed the word on another waft of whiskey-soaked breath and ran one hand wearily through his hair. “I’m afraid I may have got us into another spot of bother.”
“Not gambling again, Papa?” Lisa asked with alarm, and he nodded miserably.
“How bad is it?” Suzette asked grimly. The last time, he’d gambled them to the edge of ruin and only Christiana’s marriage to Dicky had saved them from falling into that sad pit of shame.
“Bad. As bad as last time or maybe worse,” he admitted, shamefaced, and then sounded bewildered as he added, “I dunno how’t happened. I didn’t mean to. I just—” He shook his head in misery. “But I did, and then I tried to fix it. I’ve approached everyone I can think of who wouldn’t let the secret out. I’ve begged to borrow. I’d even steal if I could. I just can’t seem to fix it.”
Suzette stared at him, horror, betrayal and fear rising up in her like a wave, and all churning up a foamy topping of rage that roared through her. Hands clenching, she dug her nails into her palms and growled, “You never had any papers to sign at all, did you? You’ve never had to come to town to sign papers before. It was all just a ruse to get you to town. The truth is, you came here to gamble. That was why the sudden trip to London. Wasn’t it?”
“No,” he protested at once, standing on obviously shaky legs. “Langley wrote. He was concerned about your sister. He said he suspected Dicky was mistreating her. He said he had been turned away from the house three times and was worried about her. He knew Dicky couldn’t turn me away and wanted me to check on her. I swear.”
Suzette merely stared at him with disbelief. Robert Langley was a neighbor and family friend, and usually a trustworthy source of