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Damn it, Matthew is married and he's a year younger than you."
    "Lucas doesn't have a wife," he offered.
    Bradford snorted. "The devil take it. Who'd have him?"
    "From what I hear, any number of women would have Lucas," he said with a shrug.
    "I'm talking about a proper woman, not some lady of the night who'd like to get her claws into a Hawthorne."
    Grayson started to disagree, but decided not to waste his breath. He had been arguing about life, marriage, and his youngest brother for too many years to count. He hadn't found an argument yet that could scratch his father's angry convictions.
    The only person who had ever been able to make inroads with their father was Matthew. It was no secret that the second son had been Bradford's favorite child. Matthew had been able to talk to their father in ways Grayson never had. But all that changed after Matthew's face had been scarred in an accident.
    Grayson dropped his arms to his sides, telling himself he didn't care about his father and his inability to please the man. But he did care about Matthew and Lucas.
    For as long as he could remember, it had been the three of them. Brothers, friends, confidants. Protectors of their fragile mother, who drifted through the house like a whisper. Though if stories were to be believed, when she was young, Emmaline Hawthorne n é e Abbot had been wild and daring.
    But something had happened that took the laughter from her eyes.
    Grayson turned back to the Public Gardens. When he had arrived that morning, he had asked for his mother. But her lady's maid had explained that she was not feeling well, and was not receiving visitors.
    "You are the oldest," Bradford continued harshly. "You need to provide me an heir to continue the line."
    "Matthew has provided you with a child."
    "He has provided me with a girl!" Bradford drew a sharp, deep breath, his nostrils flaring. After a moment he visibly eased. "Sweet as she is, Mary will not retain the Hawthorne name once she marries. I need a boy. Only a boy can ensure that the Hawthorne name doesn't die out. You need to provide me with that boy."
    Grayson's temper flared, but he held it in ruthless check.
    He would not argue with his father. Instead he started to leave.
    But Bradford stopped him. "I know how you are. You'll walk out that door and do whatever you please. But I'm serious about this. You get those contracts finalized with Conrad. I want a wedding."
    "I don't doubt you do," he stated coolly. "I
will
marry, but only when I'm ready."
    Bradford grumbled. "You had better be ready soon. I'm not getting any younger. And if I left it up to you or Lucas, the Hawthorne name would undoubtedly die out—at least die out on the legitimate side. I need a grandson. You owe me a grandson. Damn it, you owe me!"
    The men stared at each other, steely dark eyes clashing with harsh, angry blue, until Grayson forced an ease into his voice that he didn't feel. "I owe you? How is that? At sixteen you turned me out of the house."
    The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They hung in the room, startling and painful.
    Bradford shifted his weight uncomfortably and looked away, his face set in stubborn lines. "You should thank me for that. It taught you that life isn't easy. It made you a fighter, it made you succeed."
    "Ah, yes, the sink-or-swim method."
    Bradford looked back. "You do owe me."
    Only long years of practice kept Grayson's emotions in check. "Really, Father? Tell me why."
    "Because a son always owes his father."

    A late-winter sun was well into the sky when Grayson slammed out the front door. He had locked horns with his father for as long as he could remember. Even when he tried
to
please the man, he only managed to send them both into a rage of temper. And he had never understood why. He also never understood why his father had forced him to leave Hawthorne House at sixteen. The excuse that he had needed to learn to succeed rang hollow. As a teen, he had worked harder than anyone he