Page 132 of The Brothers Hawthorne

Jameson snorted. “You don’t know what my grandfather was like.”

“And Tobias Hawthorne,” the viscount said, “did not know me.”

For a second, Jameson could almost believe that Branford could have faced the old man down. But believing that hewouldhave? Jameson shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said.

“And if you’d chosen to let the duchess fall, perhaps I could believe that. But like recognizes like, Jameson. You are not your father. I fear you’re far more like me.”

That statement should have sounded ridiculous. It should havefeltridiculous. It shouldn’t have meant anything—but it did.

“I’m not your responsibility,” Jameson tried again, his heart clenching in his chest.

“Everything is my responsibility.” Branford raised a brow at him. “As for your secret…”

It’s ashes now, Jameson thought.And safe. The proof will be returned to me. The Proprietor will say nothing.

“You will tell me what I need to know to protect you,” Branford ordered.

Luckily, thanks to Grayson, Jameson had plenty of practice at ignoring orders. “As long as the Proprietor keeps to his word, my secret will remain a secret, and I should be fine.” He paused. “Unless the duchess is a problem.”

“She won’t be.” Branford sounded far too certain of that. “But you’re still going to need to tell me—”

“Absolutely nothing?” Jameson suggested, offering the viscount a charming smile.

“I do not trust that smile,” his uncle said.

Jameson shrugged. “That’s only because you definitely shouldn’t.” He paused. “And aboutyoursecret…”

A change came over Branford. “It needs to stay a secret.” There was a single moment’s silence. “Hedoes.”

Jameson was hit with the sense that Branford had rarely, if ever, referred to his own son. A million questions burned in his mind. “I’m supposed to believe that if you’d known about me, you would have been a part of my life, but I’m only your nephew. If you have a son—”

“He has a father.” The tightness in Branford’s tone when he said those words was palpable. “A good one. And a title.”

“A good one?” Jameson suggested.

Branford’s voice grew quiet as he looked out at the view, out at the ocean and the storm on the horizon. “If his true paternity became known, lives would be ruined, his and his mother’s among them. I cannot allow that to happen.” He turned from the window and brought the full force of his gaze back to Jameson. “Do you understand?”

“I do. Some secrets are best forgotten.” Jameson thought about the words he’d written on his scroll, about the way that night in Prague had gnawed at him for weeks, the way he’d fought and fought with himself, resisting the urge to tell—not because he didn’t trust Avery, but because he didn’t trust himself.

Jameson Hawthorne had been raised to solve puzzles and take unfathomable risks, to push boundaries and cross lines if that was what it took to win. But for once, the voice that Jameson heard in the back of his head wasn’t the old man’s.

It was Branford’s.I call it honor.

“I believe Vantage is in good hands,” Branford said beside him. “My mother… she would approve.”

“I’m not looking for anyone’s approval,” Jameson said, and somehow, for the first time ever, that felt true.

CHAPTER 89

JAMESON

Back downstairs, Jameson found Rohan and Zella on opposite sides of the foyer, waiting for them.

“Family business all sorted?” Zella asked. She slid her gaze from Branford to Jameson. “I didn’t read your secret, by the way.”

Jameson’s gut said that wasn’t a bluff. Probably. “You still owe me,” he told her. “Your Grace.”

“I always pay my debts,” she replied. “Boy.”