He rushed into the room and staggered to a stop. It wasn’t his mum. It was Lady Elverton, sitting in a chair near his desk. Her face was pale and clammy. She seemed to be trembling. An awful stench was on the air, and he noticed the bin he normally kept behind his desk was resting near her feet. “Lady Elverton, are you ill?”

“My apologies, but it appears something at dinner did not agree with me. I began to feel unwell on the journey here, but it seems to have arrived with full force.”

He neared and gently wrapped his hand around her upper arm. “Allow me to assist you to your coach. We can talk another time.”

She clutched his hand, tugging until he lowered himself. “I can no longer live with the guilt. Please forgive me.” Reaching up with a shaking hand, she touched his cheek. “You are my son.”

It seemed to be a night destined to bring punches to his gut that threatened to bring him to his knees. He was a man skilled at transferring images to canvas, attentive to the smallest of details. He’d noticed similarities between them before but had discounted his findings as those of a man who longed to know the truth about his past and was willing to see things that didn’t exist. But if he imposed his features over hers, the shape of the eyes, the sharp cut of the cheeks—

Still he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “At our last meeting, you implied you were not.”

“Shame held me silent.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “I let him take you. I—oh God. Have mercy.” With a little cry, she clutched at her belly, doubled over, grabbed the bin, and retched, leaving him to feel helpless, with little to do other than stroke her back until the heaving subsided.

He handed her his handkerchief as she again muttered apologies for which he had no patience. “You’re unwell.”

Scooping her up into his arms, surprised by how feathery light she was, he strode from the room as she sagged against him. “Send for a physician!” he bellowed. The hallway was open to the gaming floor and he had no doubt someone who worked for him would jump to the order.

He barged into his rooms—grateful to see Lena pacing in front of the fire, her brow deeply furrowed as she rubbed her hands. He hated the relief that swept through him, the manner in which her mere presence so steadied his nerves, made him believe all would be well.

“Is that Lady Elverton?”

“It is.” He carried her through to his bedchamber and laid the countess down gently on the bed.

“I understood Toombs to say it was your mother waiting for you.”

“She claims to be my mother.”