Page 135 of Whispers

“This is hard.” She cleared her throat. “It’s . . . it’s about Sean.”

Kane’s lips tightened a fraction. “He’s not Paul’s son.”

“What? No, but—” Oh God, he knew!

“He’s mine.”

The words seemed to echo through her brain, and yet there was nothing but silence in the room. Was it condemnation she saw in his eyes or just plain anger? “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—I couldn’t. By the time I knew, I was married, Paul had agreed to claim the baby as his own and I thought . . . I mean, until Sean was three or four months, I believed . . .” Tears filled her eyes, shame colored her cheeks.

“You thought he was Taggert’s.”

“Yes.” Her voice shook. “I—I—oh, Kane, I’m so sorry.” Never had truer words been spoken. How she rued all the deception, all the time that had been lost.

She stepped into his arms and felt him stiffen.

“I thought the baby was Harley’s. All through my pregnancy and during the first few months of his life, I believed that Sean’s father was dead, that there could never be any kind of reconciliation and then . . . as the months and years went by it was obvious that he was your boy, but I got pregnant with Sam and it was just easier to pretend that we were a happy, normal family.” She blinked against the hot tears invading her eyes. “Of course we weren’t.”

A shudder ran through his body and something inside him seemed to crack. His arms, so distant a second before, wrapped tightly around her body, holding her close, as if possessing her, body and soul. “It’s all right,” he said against her hair, and her knees sagged. What had she done to deserve his understanding? He kissed her crown, and she let out a cracked little sob.

“I love you,” she said, and he held her even more fiercely.

“I love you.” His hands reached up and turned her face up to meet his. “I knew about Sean.”

She froze. “You did?”

“I found out yesterday.”

“What?” Dear God, he’d known and he’d let her humiliate herself, grovel at his feet? She tried to pull away, but he held her close, forcing her head against his shoulder.

“I got a copy of his birth certificate.”

“Oh, no—” She wanted to die a thousand deaths.

“At first I thought he was Taggert’s boy, and then, as I thought about it, he looked too much like my family. The blood type matches. I checked.”

“I didn’t know until it was too late, and then I thought it would be best for him to think that Paul was his natural father since we were married.” She sniffed. “Another mistake.”

“It’s gonna be fine,” he said, surprising her. How she wanted to believe him, to trust him.

“I don’t see how.”

“I want you to marry me, Claire,” he said, looking down at her and offering just the hint of a smile. “We’ve lost a lot of time, but I think it could still be good. For all of us.”

Stunned, she stared up at him. Marriage? He wanted marriage? “But Sean and Samantha—”

“Will both be my children.”

“I don’t think . . . I mean . . . Kane, you’re writing a book about Harley.” This was all happening too fast. Or was. Sixteen years was a long time to right a wrong.

“It’s over. I have a confession to make.” He led her to the sofa, and they sank upon it together. Once seated, he placed an arm around her shoulders and told her about the night before, how he’d jogged around the lake intending to confront her about Sean and then, when he’d overheard the sisters’ conversation, been unable to tear himself away from it.

“I shouldn’t have stuck around and eavesdropped,” he said, guilt obviously still eating at him. She was rocked again to think he’d overheard her private conversation, Miranda’s grief and Tessa’s chilling confession. “But I couldn’t leave. Believe me, your secret is safe with me.”

“Nothing’s safe anymore.” That was the one certainty in life.