Chapter 87

“You could have told me that to begin with and saved me a lot of worry.”

St. Claire huffed his annoyance, which Sam made a point of ignoring. The war had been over not quite two years, and St. Claire was just now getting around to searching for his daughter? Well, Sam would find her, even if she didn’t want to be found. And if she was Tom’s wife, he’d do what he could to help her, and to hell with the St. Claires, father and son.

“Can you tell me where your daughter is living?”

“Unfortunately, no. She had been living in Chelsea, but for some reason she…uh…moved away. There’s no point in giving you the address—the cottage was torn down earlier this summer. Look, Pickett. She’s a delicate child who was seduced by a scoundrel. However, all is forgiven, and I want her home.”

“You haven’t given me much to go on.” He raised his beer to his mouth and took a healthy swallow, then wiped the foam mustache from his upper lip. “Tell me about the boy.”

“We haven’t seen the child yet—”