Page 88 of American Prince (New Camelot Trilogy 2)
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No one could be more cruel than Senator Morgan Leffey when she was in the mood.
No one.
And so I didn’t know what to expect when I knocked at the door of her Georgetown row house the day after Jenny Colchester’s funeral. I didn’t know if I’d find my sister upset or regretful or angry, I didn’t even know if she’d consent to see me. What I did know was that I didn’t care. Family protects family, Vivienne Moore always said, but Ash was my family too. And after what Morgan did to him yesterday, I felt the need to do some protecting.
Morgan answered the door herself, the picture of “Thirty-Something Senator at Leisure” in her bare feet and sleeveless silk blouse and nine-hundred dollar slacks. She tossed the loose braid of raven hair over her shoulder when she saw me. “If this is about the funeral…”
“Let me in.”
She studied me for a minute, then sighed and stepped aside for me to walk inside. I didn’t wait for her to invite me to sit; I went right to her sitting room and sat in the overstuffed chair I knew was her favorite, sprawling into it with lazy hostility.
She sighed again, this time sinking down into an uncomfortable Queen Anne chair and crossing her legs. “Just say it.”
“When did you learn?”
She raised her eyebrows, as if that wasn’t what what she expected me to ask first. “I didn’t know in Carpathia, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I stared at her, peering deep into those green eyes…the same complicated shade of green that Ash had. They had the same black hair, the same full mouths. The same regal bearing. “I can’t believe I never saw it before, how much you resemble each other.”
She snorted. “I didn’t see it either, so don’t blame yourself.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
She didn’t even blink at my biting tone, and I didn’t blink at her non-reaction. “So when did you learn?” I asked again.
She looked away, the morning light slanting across her face. “I always knew Mother had another baby. A brother. Father made sure I remembered that, so I would I never forget that Penley Luther killed my mother.”
I nodded a little at that. Goran Leffey, my stepfather and Morgan’s father, had been divorcing Imogen Leffey when she died giving birth to President Penley Luther’s son. Despite the pending divorce, he’d taken her death hard, had resented Luther and the child that had ultimately killed Imogen. That was no secret at the Moore lake house—even Vivienne Moore hated the memory of Luther for Goran Leffey’s sake.
“But how did you learn the baby was Ash?”
She rubbed at her temple with her fingertips. “A young woman who deals in secrets and frankly is a little unhealthily obsessed with Maxen, if you ask me. She learned enough from her grandfather to start sniffing in the right direction, and then she came to me. A couple months ago.”
“You’ve known this for two months?” I was incredulous. I mean, Morgan and I had a very business-like sibling relationship, but if I’d found out I had a secret brother whom I’d slept with, at the very least I would have told the brother I already had.
Well, stepbrother. But the point stands.
Morgan stood up and started walking, her arms folded across her chest. “I was gutted at first. Just…gutted. And astounded. How? What were the odds? That of all the men, it had to be my brother? That I would sleep with him and—” she bit her lip, stopping her words.
“But why did you have to tell him like this?” My hostility crept back into my tone as I remembered yesterday. The October rain spattering against the jewel-colored leaves, the low rolls of thunder. Ash’s face when she told him—shocked, nauseated, numb.
I could have killed her in that moment, right in front of Jenny’s casket and its tasteful spray of orchids.
I expected her trademark cruelty now, however. I expected her to defend what she’d done, to attack Ash, to attack me. Clearly she’d felt justified enough yesterday to tell him in front of me, why would today be any different?
But today was different. She stopped pacing, keeping her arms folded, and turned to face me. “I don’t know,” she said tiredly. “I don’t know. I told myself it was to cripple him, to finish off his campaign in case his wife’s death hadn’t, but the more I think about it, the more I think that I was…lonely…in being the only one who knew.”
“So you told him because you felt sad?” My voice held so much disdain it surprised even me.
She glared at me. “I told him because my party has no chance of winning this election. It’s not even his stupid New Party, it’s him. Maxen is handsome, young, a war hero, charming—everything our guy isn’t. And until the Republican Party can run a nominee like him against him, we’re going to lose.”
“But you don’t have anyone like that.”
“No. We don’t. But I thought if I could force him to drop out…” She shook her head. “Anyway, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re right. I think the real reason I told him is because it hurts me. I wanted to hurt him too, and more than that, I wanted him to share the burden of it with me. I thought it would be lighter after he knew.”
“And is it?”
