Madeline raised steepled fingers to her lips and paused in thought. “Your mother was born and raised in Yorkshire Falls. It’s about twenty minutes from our home in Newtonville. She had been in college and was home on summer break when she fell in love with a man named Samson Humphrey.”
So that was his last name. Her head hurt and she inhaled slowly, trying to ease the pain with no success.
“What happened between my mother and . . . Samson?” She forced herself to say the name, as if speaking would help her accept the painful truth.
Madeline shook her head. “It’s a long story. But Jacqueline’s father, your grandfather, was a politician who thought his blood was bluer than it really was. He didn’t think Samson was good enough for his daughter, and worried about him hindering his career.”
“Because Grandfather Jack was a senator too.” She didn’t know the older man because he’d died when she was a child.
Madeline nodded. “Your grandfather did some digging and came up with some dirt on Samson’s family and used it to bribe the man into staying away from your mother.”
Sloane shook her head in disbelief, trying to absorb all this information that had been hidden from her for years.
“Presumably, Samson felt he had no choice.”
“Or he was weak,” Sloane muttered.
“Not if your mother loved him, honey. And she did. So there must have been something good in him.” Madeline met Sloane’s gaze.
The older woman’s eyes shimmered with tears and emotion. Sadness? Regret? Guilt? Sloane couldn’t be certain.
“Of course he was a good man,” Madeline insisted in a forceful tone. “After all, look at all the good in you.”
Sloane swallowed hard. She wasn’t about to think about herself now. If she did, she’d fall apart, and she wanted to hear the end of this story first.
“And another thing”—Madeline blotted her eyes with the back of her hand before continuing—“your mother was devastated when he broke things off. She loved him so much. And when she realized she was pregnant, she packed to go back to Samson.”
Sloane leaned forward in her seat, the story playing out as if it were someone else’s history being discussed, not her own. “What happened?”
“Your grandfather didn’t care. He admitted he’d bribed Samson to get rid of him. Jacqueline believed in him enough to know Samson hadn’t dumped her because he was greedy. When her father threatened to destroy Samson’s family if she returned to him, she was defeated. Just as Samson had obviously been.” Madeline raised her hands in the air, then dropped them again, her frustration evident.
“This is unreal.”
“I know. And to this day, I don’t know the secret he held over Samson. Your grandfather took it to his grave, but it was enough to make your mother stay. To protect your father. Your real father, I mean.”
Sloane’s head was spinning. Recognizing the dizziness and aura she associated with a migraine, she rose and walked to the courtesy bar set up in the corner and poured herself a diet Coke. “Can I get you anything?” she asked Madeline.
“No. I’d rather just get this all out. Though your father will kill me for doing it when he’s not here.”
Sloane understood the guilt in her stepmother’s voice. She knew her parents never lied to one another. They’d set a great example for their children. Until now. “Did he ever plan on telling me?” She returned to the sofa, taking a huge sip of cola before sitting down.
“He wanted to. So did I. But he just didn’t know how.”
Madeline’s urgent voice begged Sloane to believe, but the evidence was too damning. “The man knows how to micromanage the smallest detail of a campaign, but he couldn’t look me in the eye and tell me he’s not my father?”
Madeline stared down at her hands. “He loves you. He didn’t want to lose you or your trust, and neither did I. Do you want to know how Michael came into the picture?”
Apparently, Madeline was smart enough not to ask how much of Sloane they’d lost now that she’d learned the truth. A good thing, since Sloane wouldn’t know how to answer. “Tell me,” she forced out.
“Michael, your father—and he thinks of himself that way—was in love with your mother. They were family friends, friends bred through politics. Michael’s father and your grandfather were colleagues. It wasn’t a hardship when the two senators arranged a marriage between him and your mother. You would have a name and Michael would have your grandfather’s influential backing during his start in politics.”
“A political bargain,” Sloane said in disgust.
“But you were never thought of that way. Your mother loved you, your father—Michael—loved you both. He would have married your mother without the bargaining chip. That was your grandfather’s doing.” Madeline sighed. “I know this sounds sordid—”
“Because it is sordid.” Sloane placed her glass on the table and rose to pace the room. “I can’t believe this.”
“Which is why we could never bring ourselves to tell you.”
Sloane sighed, then turned to her stepmother, but Madeline spoke first.
“What else did Robert say?” A hint of fear crept into her voice.
Sloane’s right temple throbbed. She paused to take an Advil she kept in her bag. Then she rubbed her forehead and focused on last night’s overheard conversation. “Robert asked if Samson had proof and Frank said he didn’t need any. That Michael verified his claim.”
Madeline sighed. “What else?”
Sloane closed her eyes and tried to remember more. Frank had said Samson was a threat to Michael’s campaign, but her father refused to act in his own best interest and do something about Samson. And Frank hadn’t wanted Michael to hear what they had planned.
Because they obviously intended to eliminate the threat.
Sloane sat up in her seat, her heart pounding hard in her chest. Frank wanted to eliminate Samson. Before he went public with the news of her parentage? Sloane wondered. Was that what Frank meant by Samson being a threat to the campaign? He didn’t want the public to know that Senator Michael Carlisle had lied to his daughter for almost thirty years. Because then they would think the senator would be capable of lying to them. It was the only thing that made sense.
“What is it?” Madeline asked, obviously sensing Sloane’s distress.
“Nothing. I just . . . I need a minute to think.” Sloane gripped the glass once more, trying to remain calm.
Frank had threatened Samson, the man she’d just discovered was her biological father, which presented her with an emotional minefield and imminent danger. And Sloane had no doubt Frank didn’t issue idle threats, especially if his life’s work was at stake, and he considered Michael Carlisle’s bid for the vice presidency, and eventually the presidency, his mission.
It was the Carlisle family mission as well. All of them had worked hard for this moment. Even knowing the huge lie he’d told her, Sloane wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to prevent her father from achieving his dreams.
But someone had to warn Samson that he was in danger, and there was no one else to do it but Sloane. She rolled the glass between her hands, the cool condensation dampening her skin. She had no choice but to find her biological father. Acknowledge their connection. She shivered at the thought, both unnerved and intrigued at the same time.
What would she do when she met him? Sloane wondered. Extend her hand and introduce herself, for one thing. Ask him what he wanted from her father, for another. Find out what kind of threat he posed. And hopefully be the one to diffuse any potential problem between him and her father’s men.
But she couldn’t reveal Frank’s threat now or Madeline would never let Sloane go see the man. Not without the Secret Service following her, which would alert Frank and defeat her main purpose.
She sat forward to ease the cramping in her stomach, nerves threatening to overwhelm her.
She met her stepmother’s silent stare. “I want to meet him.” Sloane couldn’t bring hersel
f to call the man her father. She could barely bring herself to speak, let alone carry out her plan. One step at a time, she’d find the courage.
“You want to meet Samson?” Madeline asked, obviously taken off guard.
Sloane nodded.
Madeline inclined her head, taking time to think. “Okay.”
“What?” Sloane had expected an argument.
“I’ve always known, even if your father didn’t, that this day would come. And your mother, bless her heart, left a letter for you. She had no way of knowing she wouldn’t live to see you grow up, but she was pragmatic and she planned ahead just in case.” Madeline rose and walked over to where Sloane stood. “It’s home. In the safe. And as soon as we’re back there—”
“I can’t wait. I want to meet him now.”
“Now?” Madeline asked, startled. “Don’t you want to take time and absorb the news? Talk to your father first?”
“No!” She wasn’t ready to face Michael today. Not until she’d met her biological parent. Not until she warned him of any potential danger. And not until she’d secured the safety of her father’s campaign. She had too much on her mind to deal with the emotions that would surely erupt if she had to confront him about his lie. “Is Samson still in Yorkshire Falls? Do you know?”
Frank would know, but Sloane couldn’t tell him anything. And Michael might know, but the same emotional considerations were involved. She just couldn’t face her father now.
“Yorkshire Falls is as good a guess as any,” Madeline said, resignation in her voice. “I’ll explain things to your father. In the meantime, take my car,” she said, reaching for her purse.
“I’ll rent one.” Under an assumed name, she thought, but Sloane didn’t mention that. She couldn’t afford anyone tracing her whereabouts. She pressed a hand against her stomach, but she couldn’t still her raging case of nerves. “What about Dad’s press conference?”
Madeline pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re sick. Holed up in your room. Your father will cover for you too. What about your business?”
Sloane hadn’t thought about her interior-design business since she’d fled this hotel last night. “I already took a long weekend off to be around for your visit. I guess I can put my clients off for a few more days.” She didn’t think it would take that long to find the man who was her real father.
“Okay, but I want you protected.”
“No. No Secret Service. No detectives. No one. I need to do this alone.” She folded her arms across her chest. She wasn’t budging on this one. Not an inch.
“You have that look.” Madeline’s damp eyes twinkled.
“What look?”
“The one you’d get as a kid. I’m not eating broccoli and you can’t make me. That look.”
Sloane laughed. The memories she had with both Michael and Madeline were wonderful. She just wished they weren’t based on one huge life-altering lie. “I didn’t eat it, as I recall.”
Her stepmother sighed. “So no Secret Service either. But you will check in? Often?”
“I promise.”
They shared another hug and Sloane headed out the back elevator, avoiding the press that had begun to gather out front. She’d pack and be on her way.
To meet and warn Samson Humphrey.
At this moment, she didn’t know which was more important.
After the press conference, where Senator Carlisle’s oldest daughter was conspicuously absent, Chase followed Roman to meet Madeline Carlisle, who was busy shaking hands with her husband’s supporters.
She took one look at Roman and a genuine smile replaced the one she’d obviously pasted on for the masses and she excused herself. “A family friend is here and I can’t disappoint family,” she said.
Roman laughed and pulled her aside. “You mean you’ve had enough handshaking for the day? You’d better get used to it.”
“Don’t I know it.” Her warmth was unmistakable. “Who’s this handsome devil next to you?” She turned to Chase and, without waiting for an introduction, said, “I’m Madeline Carlisle.”
“Chase Chandler.” He stepped forward and shook the woman’s hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Madeline looked him over, approval in her gaze. “Your mother is one lucky woman. Is the third brother as handsome?”
“Not if you ask us,” Roman said wryly.
Chase laughed at his brother’s dry sense of humor. “You’re also fortunate. I saw your daughters and they’re beautiful,” he said of the twins.
Madeline beamed. “He’s a charmer, just like you, Roman.”
“Of course he is.” Roman chuckled, then glanced around, seemingly searching for someone. “Where’s Sloane?”
The smile on Madeline’s face dimmed. “She’s . . . not quite herself.”
“Well, I hope she’s feeling better soon.” Roman took her hand. “Madeline, I’ve told you Chase publishes the Yorkshire Falls Gazette,” he said, his concern turning to business matters. “It’s Jacqueline’s hometown and I told him I could persuade you to do an interview. Since you haven’t done many to date, I was hoping you’d give my brother an exclusive.”
“I’d be more than happy to follow any guidelines you set out,” Chase explained. “I’m just looking for something extra. You have to know the public is interested in you. Your family is so politically perfect, the world would benefit from an inside look. And you’d get the opportunity to introduce the private side of your husband as seen from your perspective.”
She narrowed her gaze, eyes focused on Chase. If she was waiting for him to blink or squirm, she’d be here a long time, but he understood her need to scrutinize him. Madeline Carlisle was known to protect her family and went overboard to guard the private parts of their lives despite the fishbowl in which they lived. No matter what politics dictated, she wouldn’t give up an interview to just anyone.
“Are you as honorable as your brother and sister-in-law?” Madeline asked.
“More so.” Roman grinned. “Not only did Chase raise me to be the outstanding gentleman I’ve become, but he followed the same rules himself.” He slapped Chase on the back. “Honorable is Chase’s middle name.”
Ribbing aside, Roman had a point. Chase was known as the upstanding Chandler, the dutiful oldest brother. The honorable one. If he didn’t count last night, Chase thought wryly. Taking the beautiful Faith to his hotel room and into his bed had been a departure from his normal upstanding moral code.
But she’d been different, just as their connection had been. Even now, he couldn’t shake those beautiful green eyes from his mind or the sounds she made while he was deep inside her body. For a one-nighter, she’d made one hell of an impression.
Madeline grasped Chase by the elbow. “I’d like to speak to you and Roman alone. Away from prying eyes.” She tipped her elegant head toward the people and reporters milling around, many waiting for her to extricate herself from them and make herself available once more.
Minutes later, they were in the Carlisles’ suite, the door shut and locked behind them.
Chase waited until Madeline settled herself on the sofa before doing the same. He liked to study a person, take their measure, and he planned to do that to Madeline Carlisle now.
But Roman, his antsy younger brother, could never sit still and he paced around the room, picking up odds and ends before putting them down again and moving on. “What’s going on?” he asked at last.
Madeline laced her hands together on her lap. Apparently, like Chase, she preferred to do business calmly. “I called Charlotte this morning.”
“At the shop?” Roman asked from the other side of the room.
She nodded. “I wondered if either of you would be going home anytime soon. To Yorkshire Falls.”
Chase didn’t know the woman, but even to him, her question seemed odd. Roman and Charlotte commuted between their hometown and D.C., Roman’s home base for work. Charlotte had her lingerie shop, Charlo
tte’s Attic, in both towns. But why would Madeline Carlisle care?
“Unfortunately, we’re in D.C. for the next week,” Roman said. “Barring anything unexpected, work’s got me busy here.”
“That’s what I thought Charlotte told me. What about you?” Her gaze strayed to Chase, and this time, she did the studying and her curiosity was evident. “Is that true for you too?” she asked.
“I’ll be home tomorrow.” Chase felt like he was being led someplace, but he hadn’t any idea where. He pinched the bridge of his nose in thought but couldn’t come up with any answers.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked, hoping she’d end the suspense.
She dug through her purse and pulled out an insert of pictures but didn’t turn them over. “I need someone to watch out for my daughter.”
“Sloane?” Roman asked before Chase could.
Madeline slid her finger back and forth over the top photo. “When I said she wasn’t quite herself, I was serious. She’s had some . . . disrupting personal news and she needs time alone.” She raised her gaze to eye Chase once more and chewed on her bottom lip. “This has to be off the record.”
“Of course.” He wished he could see the picture, but she was keeping her cards close.
Madeline exhaled, obviously relieved. “Because I adore Charlotte and Roman, and because I consider myself a good judge of character, I’m trusting you with this information.”
“You won’t be sorry,” he assured her. But he wondered if he would be. He stretched his hand over the back of the sofa and waited for her to continue.
She offered him a strained smile. “I hope not. You see, Sloane took off to regroup. She went to her mother’s hometown. To your hometown,” she said to Chase.
“Why?” Roman asked, jumping back into the conversation.
“Good question,” Chase said.
“One with an easy answer. Yorkshire Falls is as quiet a place as you can get. Sloane thought she’d see where her mother grew up and maybe learn a few things about herself in the process.”
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