Anger and a sickening sense of betrayal lifted him on a cresting wave. “Beg all you want, Lady Paget. But tell your brother I expect payment in full by the end of the week, or I’ll see every last Joslin rotting in debtors’ prison.”

How could he have been such a bastard?

Anthony paced from one end of his office to the other, re-enacting the disastrous scene at Hatchard’s in his head. What a brute he’d been, making threats in front of a little girl — his own daughter. No matter what Marissa had done, it could never excuse such unforgivable behaviour.

He came to a halt by the window, thoroughly disgusted with himself. A small fleet of ships — his ships — floated on the Thames. They might as well have been toy boats bobbing around in a tub for all it mattered. The only thing he could focus on was the face of a little girl, staring up at him with amber eyes.

And Marissa’s eyes, too, pleading for understanding. The worst of it was that he did understand, now that his fury had cooled. What else could she have done when she discovered her predicament? Pregnant and alone — her lover supposedly on the other side of the ocean. She had protected her daughter — their daughter — in the only way she could.

But she hadn’t trusted him with the truth, and that knowledge twisted in his gut.

A knock sounded on the door, and a clerk stuck his head into the office. “There’s a young lady to see you, Captain. Says she’s Lady Paget’s daughter.”

He jerked around. “What? Who’s with her?”

“She’s alone, sir.”

Anthony muttered a curse and strode to the outer office.

The child sat on his clerk’s high stool, her feet swinging inches above the floor. She looked like she hadn’t a care in the world as she twirled her little beaded reticule around her fingers.

He glowered at her. What was she thinking? Coming all alone to Wapping — home to sailors, thieves and whores. “Good God, child! What are you doing here? Where’s your mother?”

She scrambled off the stool and gave him a polite bob. “Good afternoon, Captain Barnett. I was hoping to have a word with you. Is there someplace we can be private?”

He eyed her, reluctantly impressed by her audacity. Pluck to the backbone, his daughter was, and full of brass. “Step into my office,” he growled.

She sailed past him, a dignified miniature of her mother — except for the eyes. Those were all his.

“I don’t have much time,” she said. “Mamma thinks I’m taking a nap.”

He sighed. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I heard Mamma talking about you to Uncle Edmund. Then I snuck out of the house and found a hackney.”

He stifled a groan. Clearly, his daughter was both precocious and in need of supervision. He’d have to talk to Marissa about that.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t even know her given name. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but what’s your name?”

“I’m Lady Antonia Paget. But you can call me Antonia.”

His heart lurched. Marissa had named their child after him. With effort, he marshalled his wits. “Best get on with it, then. I’ve got to get you home before your mother discovers you missing.”

She studied him, as serious as a parson in a pulpit. “You’ve made Mamma very unhappy. She cried. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He blinked. Were all little girls so blunt?

“I’m sure I haven’t,” he managed.

“You have. It’s not very nice of you, especially since she loves you.”

That hit him low and fast.

“Ah, I don’t think that can be right,” he replied. Not after today, anyway.

She impatiently tapped her foot. “Oh, no. I’m right. She told Uncle Edmund she did.”

He wished his heart would stop jerking about in his chest. It made it difficult to think. “You heard her say that?”

The look she gave him clearly expressed her opinion of his intellect, and not a favourable one, at that. “Are you really my father?” she demanded.

His brain, as heavy as an overloaded frigate in a gale, struggled to keep up with her. “Why would you think that?” he hedged.

She looked thoughtful. “I’m not surprised. My other father, Sir Richard, that is, was never really fond of me.”

A flare of anger cleared the fog from his brain. “Did he mistreat you?”

“Not at all. He was a perfectly adequate father, under the circumstances.”

He’d lost her again. “What circumstances?”

She sighed dramatically. “The very large circumstance that I wasn’t his daughter. You’re not very bright, are you? I do hope I take after Mamma, in that respect.”

He choked back a laugh. It wouldn’t do to encourage her. “Did Sir Richard tell you he wasn’t your father?”

“Of course not. But I overheard him fighting with Mamma a few months before he died. It was about me, but I didn’t really understand what he meant. Of course, now it’s all perfectly clear. How silly of me not to have realized before.”

Anthony wondered if someone had knocked him on the head when he wasn’t looking. His daughter, however, seemed completely at ease with the bizarre conversation.

“You seem to do quite a lot of eavesdropping for a little girl,” he said, latching on to the one thing in this whole muddle that seemed clear.

She shrugged. “I know. Mamma says it’s my greatest fault. But how else am I to know what is happening? Adults never tell children anything. Not anything interesting, that is.”

He really couldn’t let that one pass. “Well, stop it. It’s not at all becoming in a young lady.”

She crossed her hands in front of her, looking as meek as a Spanish nun. Except for the mischievous smile playing around the edges of her mouth, of course. “Yes, Papa. Whatever you say.”

He shook his head, dazed by the odd creature already fastening herself like a little barnacle on to his heart. “You’re rather terrifying, Antonia,” he said thoughtfully. “But I suppose you already know that.”

Her smile widened into a grin. “Then I do take after you — at least a little.”

He laughed. “I refuse to believe you were the least bit frightened by that scene in Hatchard’s.”

“Not really. I was a little nervous in the hackney coming down here, though. I’ve never been to this part of London.”

He was about to deliver a stern parental lecture on that subject when he heard a commotion in the outer office. A moment later, Marissa, looking like a wild woman, came bursting into the room.

“Antonia,” she cried, clutching her daughter by the shoulders. “Thank God! You scared me half to death!”

Anthony crossed his arms over his chest and, with some effort, wiped the grin from his face. He was a wicked man, but he couldn’t help taking his revenge on the two females who would no doubt lead him a merry dance for the rest of his life.

And thank God for that.

“Ah, Lady Paget, come to collect your errant child. I’m amazed you allow her to wander about town like a street urchin. You really shouldn’t unleash her on the unsuspecting citizens of London without any warning. Mayhem would no doubt ensue.”

Marissa pokered up, just as he had known she would. “I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said in a cold voice. “She won’t trouble you again. Come, Antonia.”

Antonia resisted her mother’s efforts to drag her from the room. “Mamma, I don’t want to leave yet. Papa and I were just getting acquainted.”

Marissa stumbled to a halt. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She looked stunned, anxious and defiant, all at the same time. But mostly, she looked like the woman he loved.

He couldn’t tease her any more, not even for the fun of it. Crossing the room, he took one of her trembling hands in his. “My love, I’ve been a brute, and I beg your forgiveness. But why didn’t you tell me about Antonia last night?”

Her beautiful eyes filled with remorse. “I wanted to. But I was afraid you would hate me for the lies I told. And for not remaining true to you all those years, no matter what the consequences.”

When her voice broke, Anthony pulled her into his arms. She put up a token struggle before relaxing against his chest.

“And I didn’t know what to tell Antonia,” she whispered. “What would she think?”

He nodded grimly. “You were ashamed of me. Of what I had become.”

“Never!” she exclaimed, giving him a fierce hug. “You’re the finest man I’ve ever known.”

He let out a tight breath. “Then what were you afraid of? You should have known I would never let anyone hurt you — either of you.”

She looked woeful. “I was afraid Antonia would despise me. My life was a lie, and I made hers a lie, too.”

Antonia propped her hands on her hips and gave her mother a severe look. “Mamma, I worry that your mind is as disordered as Papa’s. How could you think such a thing? I love you more than anything in the world.”

Marissa extracted herself from Anthony’s embrace and gently grasped her daughter’s shoulders. Mother and child gazed into each other’s eyes, seeming to communicate in some mystical, female way.

“Then you don’t mind that you have a new father? Your real father?” Marissa finally asked.

Antonia looked puzzled. “Why would I? He seems nice, and you love him. Plus, he’s rich. You are rich, aren’t you, Papa?” she asked, suddenly looking worried. “Mamma and I wouldn’t be happy if we had to live with Uncle Edmund, instead of with you.”

Anthony pulled the two most important people in the world into his arms. Each fitted snugly against him, as if they’d both been there from the beginning of time.

“No man could be richer,” he said.

And with the prizes he had captured, no man ever would.