Page 18 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

Bastard or lord, every man has hisprice.

B ram was running late. Lady Eleanor’s elegant home was in a vastly different neighborhood than his bachelor rooms. He’d used a hackney, but had chosen badly. He was carried to Grosvenor Square by the slowest, oldest, most rheumy hack he’d ever seen. But it was better than walking, so he’d tapped his foot, kept patting his pocket, which held a blank piece of foolscap, and counted the seconds until he could get to the tea.

He wasn’t invited. He knew that. The last person Lord and Lady Cavener would accept was a known bastard. But as he’d stewed in his rooms, he realized that there was no way he could avoid this meeting. Bluebell and her grandparents were an explosive combination. She was headstrong, and they were arrogant. He doubted that even Eleanor could keep the situation polite.

So he’d rushed over, cursing the slowest hackney in London, and then slipped in the servants’ entrance. He didn’t want to intrude if he wasn’t needed. He’d walked into the hallway in time to hear Bluebell baldly state her identity. And he’d stayed quiet there—with Seelye balancing the tea tray beside him—as they’d listened to the horrifying scene. Lord Cavener was a big man in a temper. Which meant he had to interfere.

Bram pushed into the room when the man ripped the sketch out of his wife’s hand. He heard the crash as the frame splintered and used his deadliest tone, praying that it worked.

“Touch that page, and I will hurt you.”

Everyone froze—for a second. He saw the women look at him, their eyes a mixture of confusion, hope, and sparkling adoration. That last was from Bluebell, and it terrified him as much as it warmed him. What if he couldn’t stop this debacle?

And sure enough, the earl ignored him. He made a show of lifting the sketch in his fist. Fortunately, he was slow, and Bram was there at nearly the same instant. He grabbed the earl’s wrist and dug in his thumb at the vulnerable place just beneath the palm.

“Put it down,” he said, his voice crisp enough to be an order from a commanding officer. The earl had been in the military. Perhaps he’d respond—

“You bastard,” the earl growled.

Bram couldn’t tell if it was a curse or a statement of recognition. Either way, he twisted his hand, forcing the earl’s wrist into an untenable position. The paper slipped, and Bluebell grabbed it and began to smooth it out.

No, it wasn’t Bluebell. It was the countess, her hands shaking as she tried uselessly to fix a rip with her finger.

Then the earl shoved him hard. The earl’s weight was equal parts fat and aging bones. It was a simple thing to stay steady against such a force. And within seconds, Bram had twisted enough to get the man to sit down. Or collapse, depending on perspective.

And once the earl was seated, Bram showed his lips into a semblance of a smile.

“I believe you wanted tea, did you not, Lady Eleanor?”

His sister’s eyes were huge, but she was equal to the task. After a quick double-blink, she gripped the bellpull and rang. She needn’t have bothered. Seelye was already there, maneuvering to set down the tray.

“Here you go, my lady,” the butler said as he walked briskly into the room. Who knew the man could move that fast? Seelye spoke with extra animation. “Cook has found some delightful cucumber at market. She says they are quite crisp.”

“Thank you, Seelye,” Eleanor said with a bright smile. “I understand cucumber is the earl’s favorite.”

“Oh yes,” said the countess, her voice so breathy, there seemed to be extra air in every syllable. “He does like cucumber. And two dollops of cream in his tea.”

The earl grumbled deep in his throat and made to rise. “I will not—”

Bram clapped a hand down on the man’s shoulder, keeping him firmly seated. “I had not meant to intrude,” he said dryly. “But as the earl insists on dragging this conversation into the gutter—”

“Mr. Hallowsby, please,” Eleanor interrupted. “Tea is no place for such talk.”

Bram frowned. That had been entirely his point. Especially as the earl was gripping the sides of his chair hard enough to make the slender wood creak. “And so I will remain to be sure that—”

This time it was the countess who interrupted. “Teatime is really a ladies’ place, don’t you think? The men are obliged to sit and listen to us chatter.”

Had he just been told to sit down and be silent? Like a boy in short coats? Apparently so. He consoled himself that the message had been for the earl as much as himself. But still…

He eased off the man’s shoulder but stayed standing directly beside the chair.

Which is when the man rounded on his wife, his expression fierce. “I will not have you upset,” he said. His glare encompassed Bluebell, Lady Eleanor, and most especially Bram. “I will—”

“I know, my lord,” interrupted his wife as she gestured for the teacup. She took it from Eleanor with a smile before firmly setting it in her husband’s hand. “Two dollops of good cream. I know you’ll love it.”

The earl stared at his wife, but he didn’t throw the porcelain cup back at her. And then she set a cucumber sandwich in his other hand. And there he was, sitting rigid with fury, with a teacup in one hand and a cucumber sandwich in the other. Then his wife turned to Bluebell.

“You are quite pretty.” She looked at the sketch of Bluebell’s mother. “The eyes are the same, I think. But the bone structure is much stronger.”

“Mum said I favor my father in that.”

“Yes, the Cavener nose is distinct.”

Bluebell’s eyes widened, and she pressed her hand to her nose. Personally, Bram thought it one of her best features. Not the flattened button that most women seemed to want, but a strong beacon of direction. It fit her character.

“And the ears, too. I remember looking at Oscar’s ears and finding them delicate. His hands were all his father’s.” She glanced at the earl, but he hadn’t moved, and his fingers were hidden beneath the food. “Do you study like he did?”

Bluebell lifted her shoulders. “I try, but there’s been little money.” There was a bite of accusation in her tone.

“But you managed an education,” cut in Eleanor gently. “Bram said you have a man’s knowledge of agriculture and a lady’s way with possets.”

“That’s how we survived. We had a garden, of course. Everyone does, but I began mixing possets for Mum when she got the headache. They were good, I sold them.”

“Commerce!” spat the earl.

Bram’s voice was excruciatingly dry. “And how else were they to live, abandoned in Hull with no money and denied her birthright?”

“Now, see here—” began the earl, but Eleanor stopped the tirade with a cluck of her tongue.

“Really, Bram, I know you were taught better manners. Cease harping at him.” She smiled brightly at Bluebell. “What of mathematics? Do I remember that correctly? You studied that, and Latin, too.”

Of course, Eleanor remembered correctly, but Bluebell nodded. “Cyphering came easily to me, so I managed the money—”

The earl released a strangled sound which was cut off by his wife.

“The cucumber is excellent, don’t you think, Reuben? I vow our own cook is too heavy-handed with the dill. Go on. Take a bite.”

And to Bram’s shock, the earl took an obedient bite. Steady, precise, military-style bites until the sandwich was finished, though he glared at everyone while doing it.

“What I really enjoy,” continued Bluebell, “is philosophy. I couldn’t understand it in Greek. I tried, but it was too hard to learn on my own.”

Eleanor set down her teacup with a click. “I should think so.”

And the countess blinked back tears. “Oscar tried to teach me Greek. I could never make heads nor tails of it. But he loved it so.”

“That’s what Mum said. He would read to her in Greek because she liked the sound of it. She said he had the most beautiful voice when he read.”

“Oh yes,” the countess agreed. “He did.” But then she frowned. “I don’t understand. Why do you say there was no money?”

“Because there was none. A Christmas gift ever’ year that paid our rent. But how we lived and ate…” She shook her head. “We had to find that on our own.”

The lady looked down at her hand. “And still you managed to learn philosophy and mathematics. Amazing. Did your mother teach you?”

That apparently was too much for the earl. He stiffened and swallowed his last bite. “Of course not. An ignorant chit, if there ever was one.”

Well, that was progress. He’d all but admitted to the relationship, if not the marriage. But Bluebell didn’t hear that. Instead, she stiffened at the insult to her mother.

“Mum could read and write and taught me the same. She had other knowledge—practical bits on how to keep a house and serve tea.”

The countess brightened considerably at that. “You know how to serve tea?”

“I know the steps,” Bluebell hedged. “But I never did it except for my mum. And we didn’t stand on formality often.”

Meanwhile, Eleanor set another cucumber sandwich in the earl’s hand. “But how did you learn the other things?”

“There was a tutor who came through ever’ few weeks. Mum washed his clothes in exchange for teaching me.” She smiled, flashing her dimples. “He would use me to shame the boys into studying. ‘How can a little slip of a girl know so much more than you?’ he’d say. It’s a sad state when a—” Her voice caught, and Bram’s gaze left the earl to study her expression. She was pressing her lips tightly together, and that told him all he needed to know about the rest of the sentence.

But the others didn’t.

“Go on,” the countess prompted. “A sad state when what?”

Bluebell shook her head. “It’s not important.”

The hell it wasn’t. That was why they were here in the first place. “It’s a sad state when a bastard girl of no account knows more than a boy,” Bram said.

The countess’s eyes widened in horror, but it was Eleanor who released a heavy sigh. “Bram, please. I’ve asked you not to—”

“It’s what they said, isn’t it, Bluebell? You weren’t even allowed to use your real name, were you? How old were you when you found out your true name?”

She looked at him, and he saw misery. He saw an entire lifetime of being slighted and abused simply because her father hadn’t been there to protect her. He knew. He’d experienced some of the hatred, but at least he’d known his father. He’d felt some kindness from the man. And some protection. Which was a good deal more than Bluebell had ever gotten.

“Just tell them the truth,” he said softly. “It’s why we’re here.”

So, holding his gaze, she nodded. “Everyone called me Bluebell. It was just a few months ago when I learned I had more of a name. Mum told me everything this winter. She said…” Her gaze shifted to the earl, and it turned hard and cold. “She said that she and my father were married right and proper in the church, but that the earl was a cold and angry man. He’d had her shipped off to Hull, quiet-like. A few coins every Christmas to pay the rent, and only if she never told anyone of the connection.”

She looked at the countess, her eyes bright with anger. “Mum changed us from Ballenger to Ball. I was christened Maybelle Ballenger in secret, and we lived.”

“But there’s always been a shadow,” Bram continued for her. “Everyone in her little village thinks she’s a bastard. Do you know what that’s like? To live in a little place like that and never be treated as an equal? Laughter is the easiest of the problems. Without a father, people try to take advantage. There was no one to defend them, you see. A woman and a child alone with no money and no family. Do you know what happens?”

They didn’t. They couldn’t. But he could guess. That she’d survived and even thrived was a miracle. And a testament to Bluebell’s strength.

“She needs to be recognized,” he said harshly. “She needs the shadow removed.”

The countess was shaking her head. “But why wasn’t there enough money? I sent a hundred pounds every Christmas.”

The earl stiffened at that. “You!”

She set aside her teacup with a wobbly hand. “Of course me. I wasn’t going to let my grandchild starve!”

“Enough to pay the year’s rent, my lady,” Bluebell said. “But it wasn’t enough in the last few years. The landlord kept raising the price.”

“Raising the price,” she echoed softly, and Bram could tell it never occurred to her that prices could change. That money one year wouldn’t be enough in the next. He sighed.

Bloody idiot.

Meanwhile, it appeared that Bluebell was just now realizing that everything she’d hoped was true. She was legitimate. Her grandparents had known she was alive, and her grandmother, at least, had taken steps to keep her that way. Bram could see warring emotions run through her expression: joy against hatred, hope against fury.

“So my father is truly gone?”

The countess looked away. She didn’t cry, but the sorrow that surrounded her seemed to scream out of every pore. He abruptly remembered that his mother had once called her a loud woman, brash and wild. There was nothing of that left now. Only an aching sadness.

“Sarah,” the earl said, his voice thick. “We should go.”

“No,” she said, her voice getting stronger as she faced off with her husband. “Absolutely not.” Then she turned to Bluebell. “We were too late to stop the wedding. I won’t tell you what was said when we finally got there. Suffice it to say that…well, that Oscar loved your mother and would not set her aside.”

Bluebell nodded, and Bram detected a sheen of tears in her eyes. “That’s what Mum said.”

“But Reuben…” She shot a look at her husband. Bram couldn’t interpret it fully, but it was both an apology and an accusation. “Reuben sent her away and later told Oscar…” She swallowed. “ We told Oscar she’d died in childbirth.”

Bluebell’s mouth opened in shock, but it was Eleanor who said what everyone was thinking. “That’s why he never contacted her again. He thought she’d died.”

“Yes,” the countess continued. “He got sick soon after that. A broken heart perhaps.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” the earl said. And though his words were strong, his body had deflated. The shoulders that had been held rigidly taut now slumped into his chest.

“He grew sick and…and…”

Eleanor touched the countess’s arm. “He passed, and you have grieved as every mother would. He was your light, wasn’t he? The one who always made you smile.”

Bram had no idea how Eleanor could know that, but the countess nodded and made no attempt to hide her tears. It was a heartbreaking scene, and he had no wish to pile more grief onto the pair, but there was more to the story.

“But you paid their Christmas gift every year,” Bram pushed. “You knew she was alive. That they both were alive.”

The woman shook her head. “I didn’t know where. I’ve never known where they were, but I instructed our solicitor to send the money. I couldn’t think of Oscar’s child living like a filthy beggar. I couldn’t—”

“But you set the terms, my lady, didn’t you? Even if you went through the solicitor, you told Bluebell and her mother that there would be no more money if anyone found out. If she came forward to demand an explanation.”

The woman nodded miserably. “I was waiting for…” Her gaze went to her husband.

Waiting for the earl to soften or to die. Year after year, waiting, while Bluebell grew up wondering if she really was a bastard, and if her mother was a whore.

God, the pair disgusted him. At least he had known from the beginning. At least his father had faced his sins and provided some shelter. But these two… They had left Bluebell and her mother to rot.

He must have made a sound. A noise of disgust perhaps, because Eleanor was again chiding him.

“Bram, please. They did the best they could in a difficult situation.”

“The best they could?” he mocked. “That’s a piss poor best. Do you know how she’s been living? Do you know what it’s like in Hull?”

It was Bluebell who answered this time. Bluebell who shot him a warning with her eyes even as her words were aimed at the countess. “Mum and I were happy,” she said clearly. “It wasn’t easy, but I am here now.” Then she looked directly at her grandparents. “I can forgive the past.” Then she hedged. “I can try at least. But you need to make amends for Mum.”

“Well, that’s easy,” inserted Eleanor. For a woman whose expression was always serene, she radiated glee now. “They’re going to acknowledge you. With a little tutoring from me, you can have a Season, marry as you ought, and be a credit to your parents.” Then she smiled warmly at the picture on the countess’s lap. “I think she gets her strength from her mother. Imagine the courage it took to raise a child all alone. Impressive.”

But the earl wasn’t so easily cowed. “Acknowledge her? After her mother killed my boy? Consorting with her was what did—”

“That’s an excellent idea,” the countess interrupted. “I never had a daughter to launch.”

“Well, as to that,” said Eleanor with a laugh, “I’ve become an expert at polishing raw girls. Between you and me, things will work out exactly as they ought.”

Bram had gotten complacent. The earl’s fury had abated, so Bram had been caught up in watching Bluebell—the shift of emotions on her face, the clench of her fingers and the twitch of her foot when she tried to hide her thoughts. He’d been so busy watching her, he missed it when the earl suddenly shot to his feet.

“I will not acknowledge a maid’s brat. I will not—”

“You don’t have to,” Bram cut in, his voice cold. It was time for him to play his part.

“What?” exclaimed Eleanor and Bluebell as one. Though Bluebell’s came out a little more like, “Wot?”

“He doesn’t need to acknowledge her because the truth will be in all the papers by tomorrow.”

“You bastard!” the man bellowed.

Eleanor tsked deep in her throat. “Bram, really. They won’t believe you.”

Bram tried not to wince. Though she was his half-sister, their differences were never clearer. She thought nothing of implying that a bastard like him had no reputable standing. It was the frustration shared by all the aristocratic by-blows. Fortunately, he’d already thought of that.

“True enough. No one would believe me.” He sneered the words, some of his long-standing bitterness showing through. “Which is why I went to visit Bishop Trotman.” He’d driven through half of England to get Dicky and Clarissa settled. Easy as pie to visit the Bishop of Oxford. “He was the one who married your parents.” In truth, he’d gone and been refused entrance. The bishop would have no dealings with a by-blow. “He’s willing to acknowledge the marriage. After all, it’s recorded in the register and was legally executed.” He looked directly at the earl. “You can’t rip up that, no matter how powerful you are.”

It was another lie. He knew that the powerful could make any number of things—and people—disappear. But sometimes the truth came out.

“I have his letter here,” he added, pulling the foolscap from his pocket. He showed enough to prove that he had a paper, not what was on it. Because it was blank. “I’ve an appointment with a journalist friend this afternoon. So you see, my lord, it matters not whether you acknowledge her or not. The truth will come out.”

Eleanor gave him a beaming smile. “And that is Bram’s particular magic. I don’t know how he does it. Most bishops wouldn’t even let a bastard in the door. Bram is ever amazing.”

“Oh yes,” Bluebell said, pleasure in every line. “I know.”

No, they didn’t. Because it was all a lie, but at least it was a lie told in service of the truth. Meanwhile, everyone turned to the earl. It was up to him. They needed his word or life would get even more difficult.

“No,” he said. “She killed my boy.”

The countess sighed. “She did nothing of the sort, Reuben. Don’t you remember? His lungs were never strong.” She glanced at Bluebell. “Did you learn to make possets from your mother? I believe that’s how she and Oscar met. She made him a tea that eased his chest. And she certainly knew how to read. She would sit by his bed and read his books to him when he was ill. He told me that before the end.”

“No,” ground out the earl. “Oscar would still be alive if—”

“Oh, have done!” the countess said as she pushed to her feet. “I’m acknowledging her. You may do as you like. You always do.”

“Excellent!” cried Eleanor as she too leaped to her feet. “Now, we haven’t much time before the Season begins.”

“Much time? We have no time,” the countess said. “The first ball is in four days.”

“Fortunately, I have already gotten things started. I had Helaine draw up some sketches. That’s Lady Redhill, you know. Now, where did I put them?”

Bluebell stood up. “The breakfast table.”

“Oh yes,” Eleanor said as she linked arms with the countess. “Let me show you.” Then she led the woman out of the room—just took her arm and walked her away, leaving Bluebell with the two men, one of whom was staring slack-jawed at his wife’s retreating form.

Bram waited, ready to stop whatever happened. If the man became violent…

But nothing happened. The earl sniffed at Bluebell and glared at Bram. “You will pay for this,” he growled. “Mark my words, there will come a time when I can end you completely. And I will.”

“Him!” Bluebell cried. “He’s got nothing to do—”

“And you will learn your place.” He shoved to his feet and puffed himself to his most intimidating size. But Bluebell was never one to be intimidated.

“Oh, I have, Grandfather . I have learned my place very well as an acknowledged granddaughter to the Earl of Cavener.”

To which the man growled, a low and feral sound, before rounding on his heel and stomping out. Bram watched him go, but there was no more threat there. For all that the earl thundered, he was defeated. His words were for show, and Bram was able to relax his fears for Bluebell.

She would have her Season.

“You’ve done it,” she whispered. “You made him accept me.”

“I haven’t done anything like that,” he said. Or he tried to. Instead, his words were lost as she threw himself into his arms. He caught her—barely—but once she’d pressed flush against him, he lost no time in wrapping his arms around her. In lifting her up in a hug. In looking in her shining eyes and taking what he’d missed for three long days.

Her kiss.

He kissed her well and deep, and she melted against him as if there were no other place in the world that she wanted to be. He thrust into her mouth, he played with her tongue and teeth, and he touched every part that he could reach.

And he was still doing it when Seelye’s loud cough penetrated his thoughts. And even then, his hands were on her hips, his groin hot and hard. But all he could think of was Bluebell in his arms.

She broke the contact, her breath now coming in deep gasps. And then he heard the cough again.

He set her down. He forced himself to step back, though it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

Oh hell. He’d been kissing her in full view of the servants. He’d been ready to do a lot more and might very well have, if the butler hadn’t interrupted them.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“I can’t see you anymore,” he rasped.

“What?”

He winced, because she said the word correctly. And didn’t that just emphasize what had happened in the last few minutes?

“You’re recognized. You’re the granddaughter of an earl now. You’re going to have a Season.”

She looked up at him, and her entire body seemed to glow with happiness. “I know. And it’s all thanks to you.”

“No, no,” he said, forcing himself to take another step backward. “It was your right, from the beginning.”

He gripped the back of the nearest chair, his knuckles going white as he processed what had happened. And what now had to happen.

It had worked. She was recognized. The granddaughter of the Earl of Cavener.

Who was well beyond his touch.

He’d known it was possible. Truthfully, he’d thought it a remote possibility. He thought they’d know he carried a blank page, not a letter from a bishop. He expected the countess to meekly follow her husband. He thought a thousand other things would happen…except for what did.

“I’m a by-blow, Bluebell. We can’t see each other.” He spoke loudly so that Seelye would hear. So that when the butler told Eleanor about the kiss—and he would tell because servants always told—then Seelye would also say that Bram had called it off. That it was done between him and Bluebell. Bloody hell, he’d have to start calling her Maybelle now.

“I know who you are,” she said, lifting her chin in that defiant way of hers. “I don’t care.”

“It’s different now. You’re above my touch.” He looked at his hands. He’d never kiss her again. “It’s good we never went further,” he lied, but he had to make sure Seelye heard everything. “It’s all different now.”

“I’m not different. You’re not—”

“ It is! ” he bellowed. Then he moderated his tone. “You’ll have a Season now. I couldn’t be happier.” Lies on top of lies. “But that means we can’t even be friends.”

“Wot?”

He winced because she’d slipped, but he didn’t correct her. He hadn’t the right anymore. “Eleanor will explain it to you,” he said. “You’ll have your choice of eligible gentlemen now. There will be blighters aplenty.” He made a vow right then and there to keep the worst of the buggers away. Eleanor would have to tell him about her offers. He knew secrets that even Eleanor didn’t.

“Mr. Hallowsby,” Bluebell said. “Bram. You have been by my side from the beginning. I will not cut you off simply because I have changed.”

Of course not. Because she was at heart a good Christian woman in the best possible way. He’d tried to think the worst of her, but every day, every moment, she’d steadfastly proved herself better than he thought. Better than he’d thought possible.

“You won’t cut me off,” he said gruffly. “I’m doing it for you.”

“But—”

“We can’t know each other.” And the pain of those words cut deep.

Her expression tightened, becoming resolute. He swallowed and looked away. She appeared like a peer of the realm. There was no hesitation in her expression. Simply a strong, absolute clarity of purpose.

“Bluebell—” he whispered, mourning the loss of his country miss.

She walked slowly to him. He stood his ground and smelled her sweet scent. Odd that cranesbill flower clung to her here, even in London.

“I will not give you up,” she said.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Her mouth flattened while her gaze cut sideways to Seelye. He watched her eyes flicker and saw her fists tighten. When she spoke next, it was almost inaudible.

“Can you climb walls?”

“What?”

“Can you climb the side of this bloody house?”

He blinked at her. “Yes. And don’t curse.”

“Eleanor’s put me on the southern side. I’ll leave the window open.”

He pulled back, appalled by what she was saying. “I cannot—”

“Or I will climb out, Mr. Hallowsby, and wander the streets until I find you.”

He closed his eyes, doing his best not to envision the horrors that could befall her. “You are the granddaughter of an earl. It’s what you wanted. I will not let you throw that away.” Not for him. Not for a bastard. She was so much better than him, not only in status, but because she was at heart a good person.

Why hadn’t he seen that before? Why hadn’t he realized what a treasure she was? Would he have resisted her charms? Or tied her to him irrevocably?

He touched her face, stroking the soft skin of her cheek, letting his thumb caress the full red of her lower lip. “Maybelle,” he said softly. “You must know I cannot.”

She arched her brow. “I will wait until midnight. And then I will go looking. And if you call me anything but Bluebell, I will punch you in the stomach.”

He snorted. She was so fierce, this little nobody from Hull, who was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. And while he stood there fighting his baser nature, Eleanor breezed in, steel in her words for all that she sounded polite.

“Mr. Hallowsby, I hadn’t realized you were still here. Goodness, but it’s well past teatime now, and we have so much to do before the Season starts.”

He stepped back, his heart wrenching as he did. “I was just taking my leave.”

Eleanor wasn’t a fool. “Forgive me for being blunt, but you know—”

“I cannot be associated with Miss Ballenger. I know.”

She sighed. “I’m truly sorry Bram. You would have made an excellent duke.”

The knife in his gut twisted sharply. If only he’d been legitimate instead of a bastard, perpetually dancing at the edge of society. Then she would allow him in. And he could court Bluebell.

Rather than soothe him, her words churned his resentment.

If only.

He turned away, though bitterness clung to his words. “I bid you both good day.”

Then he headed for the door. Seelye was there with Bram’s hat and coat in hand. A moment later, he was outside the residence, the door shutting with a ponderous thud.

Outside.

Unworthy.

Bastard.

He’d never hated his father more.