It would seem she had underestimated him. But that was fine. She could react. Adapt. Her plan was fluid, just as it had always been from the moment Uncle Jonathan’s will had been read. She had seen the chance to live her life as Emily’s mama at last, and to have her freedom and her business both. It had been worth every risk she had taken, crossing the ocean, confronting Shelbourne.
She would do it again just for the chance to have her independence. To have her daughter. To live her life as she chose instead of how she was forced to live it.
“Give me two hours, then,” she implored, her mind still whirling with all the implications of what he wanted.
A meeting with Emily.
She had hoped he would want nothing to do with their daughter. That he would be only too happy to agree to a marriage of convenience and live separate lives.
“Now, Julianna,” he gritted, before bending and scooping up his shirt in tense, jerky motions. “You owe me that much.”
She relented, nodding. “Very well. You may see her now. I will take you to her.”
What could be the harm, she reasoned, in Shelbourne meeting Emily?
Chapter 4
I have been dreadfully ill ever since my arrival in America. I was bedridden aboard the steamer, which I attributed to seasickness. But my malaise has continued. Today, I discovered the reason for the illness. I am going to bear a child. Part of me will always be happy to have this part of him to love. The other part of me is terrified of the future. I have not yet told Mama, and I fear her reaction. I feel so terribly alone here.
~from the journal of Lady Julianna Somerset, 1883
He had a daughter.
A.
Daughter.
Sidney spent the carriage ride to the Marquess of Leighton’s townhome in a blur of warring shock and anger. Julianna traveled separately in the conveyance she had arrived in, and thank Christ for that. He had never been more enraged in his life.
Not since the day she had laughed at him after he had asked her to marry him.
And even on that day, his anger was a pale imitation of the all-consuming fury he felt now. It was a beast, alive and terrorizing, inside him. Roaring to be unleashed. To vent its rage on someone.
On her.
Julianna.
His heart—the stupid, worthless organ that had fallen in love with her—constricted in his chest at her betrayal. He had never imagined there had been consequences from their reckless, stolen moments. Although she had made it clear she did not want a marriage with him, he had believed she would have written him. She’d had two bloody years to contact him.
No word.
Until she reappeared as suddenly as a storm.
Yesterday. She could have damn well told him yesterday. Instead, she had allowed him to chase her away. And she had returned to prolong the torture again today. Following him about. Playing coy. Waiting until she had no choice but to reveal the truth.
By God.
His hands clenched into fists on his lap as the truth walloped him. She had not planned on telling him about his daughter. Emily, her name was. A place inside him he had not known existed warmed at the thought of her.
Supposing she truly was his.
He thought he could believe Julianna in this; that she would never falsely claim to have borne his child. Still, he had also believed her incapable of keeping said child from him for the past two years, whilst she had carried the babe in her womb and then watched her grow. That she never would have remained an ocean away when she could have returned. Told him the truth.
After he had a look at the child, he would know for certain, he thought.
But that had not been the reason he had demanded to see her. Not in truth. The notion there was a child in London who was his was… Hell, he could not describe it. He was filled with awe. With something that felt dangerously close to love.
Yes, he could care for a child and despise the child’s mother for her sins. For spending two years in America and only returning to tell him the truth because she wanted to claim her share of some dead uncle’s fortune.
His fists were clenched so damn hard, his nails bit into his palms, his knuckles standing in stark white relief in his lap as his carriage came to a halt. He had not bothered with the trappings of civility. No gloves. He was lucky he was even wearing a damned shirt.
The door opened. He leapt to the street, eschewing the step.
Sidney was single-minded in his pursuit. Up the pavements. Julianna was a few paces ahead of him, and he caught up to her with ease. She remained pale. Her countenance was a study in treacherous loveliness and concern.
Good.
She bloody well ought to be concerned.
She ought to be fucking petrified, full stop.
“Please do not make a scene,” she whispered as they made their way into the entry hall.
He laughed bitterly. “Too late to plead, madam.”
He was not promising her a goddamn thing. He owed her nothing. Not manners, not respect, not a speck of understanding. He was here to see his daughter and that was all.
She worried her upper lip, and damn it, he still wanted to kiss her there, on her lush, lying mouth. The mouth that had haunted and taunted him from across a vast ocean. The one he had dreamt about last night and woke up remembering this morning.
“Please see Lord Shelbourne settled in the emerald salon,” she requested of the butler, a telltale quaver in her voice. “I will be joining him in a few moments.”
If the servant found it startling for Lady Julianna to arrive with a guest in tow, he did not show it. Nor did he blink an eye at her request.
But Sidney bloody well did. He caught her elbow when she would have fled. “My lady.”
She turned back to him, those insufferable blue eyes so wide. Fringed with coppery lashes to match the freckles on her elegant nose. Her lips parted.
She swallowed, and he tracked the motion in her creamy throat like a starving man. “What is the matter, my lord?”
For a stupid moment, part of him yearned to haul her against his chest and take that mouth of hers. Before the butler and any watching servants. But then he remembered what she had done. And the thunder inside him erupted once more, chasing the lightning. Reminding him all he felt for her was foolish, baseless lust.
“Be quick about it,” he ordered her sharply, releasing his hold on her. “I haven’t all day.”
“Of course.” She dipped into a curtsy before retreating.
His gaze followed. He was briefly mesmerized by her silhouette, all that fiery hair. And then he shook himself from her thrall and trailed the butler to the salon.
He was instantly met with the reason for the room’s name. Fifteen shades of green assaulted him at once. A velvet settee, the Axminster, the damask wall coverings, the drapery at the windows, jade, olive, emerald.
He had no wish to sit. Instead, he began pacing the room. Staring at the pictures on the walls. More green—horticultural lithographs and landscapes. The entire affair looked as if it had been decorated by the hand of a woman. Which seemed unlikely. The Marchioness of Leighton had been living abroad in New York for years.
Perhaps the tastes of one of Leighton’s paramours, then.
His brief distraction dissipated the moment the door opened, and Julianna crossed the threshold, holding a tiny slip of a girl in her arms. She had dark ringlets, a round, pale face, green eyes, and Sidney’s own chin with the divot in the center. On her cherubic countenance, the dent resembled a dimple.
The warmth in his chest burst and spread.
She was beautiful.
And his.
There was no doubt.
“My God.” The words were torn from him.
Sidney was no longer capable of coherent thought, speech. Unaware he was moving. His body was functioning on its own, separate from his shattered mind. And suddenly, he stood before Julianna and her daughter—his daughter, their daughter. He trembled, emotion rising in his throat. His eyes burn
ed.
“Emily,” he said, reaching for her.
The baby clapped her chubby hands exuberantly. “Pa!” she cried.
“Yes.” He tried to smile. In truth, he could not be certain his lips curved. His face felt numb.
“It is one of her favorite sounds,” Julianna said, as if to quash the incipient notion, burgeoning in his head, that his daughter had recognized her father at first sight. “She does not know you.”
The reminder was crushing.
He jerked his gaze away from his daughter, to her mother. “And whose fucking fault is that, Julianna?”
She winced at his language. “Do not utter epithets before my daughter, Shelbourne.”
He was not accustomed to being around children or watching his tongue. Or being polite. In truth, he had spent much of the last two years wallowing in incivility to its greatest degree. He had no wish for society or rules. He had burned through his life like the Great Fire.
Nary a regret.
Save one.
Never mind that.
“I want to hold her,” he said through a voice that had gone suddenly thick.
Thick with emotion. With love. He loved this small being. This beautiful baby who looked so much like him. This baby who was his daughter.
He was still astounded. It was momentous. His emotions, his understanding, all of it bigger than he was.
Julianna was holding their daughter in a protective embrace, as if she was reluctant to entrust Emily to him. As if she feared he would somehow hurt her.
Christ. He would never, ever hurt this innocent, sweet child. He knew then and there that he would do anything, give any part of himself, every part of himself, to keep her safe. To protect her always.
He was never going to be apart from her again.
“Julianna,” he prodded. “Give her to me. Let me hold her. You owe me this much.”
She owed him far, far more. And he would collect.
But now was not the time. Nothing would spoil this perfect meeting. This reunion with the daughter who should have been born knowing him. He ached for all he had lost.
“She is shy,” Julianna said, still hesitating. “She prefers to be held by either myself or her nurse when she is not toddling about on her own.”
“Pa!” Emily said, smiling. “Pa!”
Hell. Could the woman not see their daughter was not frightened of him?
He spared her another glance, frowning. “Julianna.”
Mouth tightening, she offered their daughter to him with obvious reluctance. Emily was lighter than he had expected. She weighed the equivalent of a bird, he was sure. So precious in her linen gown, eyes wide.
His eyes, staring back at him.
He was struck with a profound wave of amazement.
Of pride.
Love.
Here was his daughter. The daughter he had only known existed for the sum of an hour. And yet, she was his whole world. Already.
“Hullo, Lady Emily,” he told her seriously.
“Bub,” she announced with great pride, clapping her hands once more.
“Yes, bub indeed.” Awkwardly, he patted her, holding her close. Terrified to hold her too tightly. Afraid he would drop her. My God, she was such a delicate being. Perfect. And he was an oaf. A stupid, blundering, unworthy clod. “Bub indeed, little darling. You are a beauty, aren’t you?”
She beamed and cooed. “Pa!”
Her delight lit something inside him. And now he was burning in a different way. Not destructive. Just good. Good and right.
He felt, for the first time in as long as he could recall… He searched for the word, struggled to find it deep within himself.
And then, suddenly, there it was.
Whole.
He felt whole.
“Yes,” he told his daughter softly. “That’s right, my darling. I am your papa. Pleased to meet you.”
Emily smiled again and then released a half giggle that had enough brightness for a thousand suns. “Pa!”
* * *
Sweet God, her heart.
The pain in it was staggering.
Julianna blinked furiously at the tears studding her lashes. Unexpected tears. Tears she had never thought she would shed. Because this meeting between her daughter—their daughter, she amended grudgingly—and Shelbourne had never been meant to happen.
She had not supposed he would react as he had. That he would want to meet Emily. Or that he would bond with her so instantly and beautifully. Right before her. It was undeniable. As much as she resented Shelbourne for everything that had passed between them—for the lies he had told her and the manner in which she had spent the last two years, hiding the truth—she could not deny the way she felt as she watched him meeting Emily for the first time.
He held their daughter as if she were fashioned of glass.
He looked upon her as if she were the entire world laid before him.
The reverence in his deep voice, a sharp contrast to the bitterness and anger lacing his tone in his every interaction with Julianna thus far, could not be ignored.
Nor could the resemblance between father and daughter. She had always known Emily favored him. After all, she had his hair, eyes, and chin. But seeing them together, her inquisitive baby girl and Shelbourne face-to-face, Julianna could acknowledge quite plainly just how much Emily was the image of her father.
She could also acknowledge how much the sight of him holding Emily in his arms affected her. More than she could have ever imagined.
“She is wonderful,” he said, tearing his awestruck gaze from their daughter and glancing toward Julianna. “But we need to speak.”
Yes, they did. Trepidation rose within her, mingling with the turbulent emotions already churning.
“Shall I return Emily to her nurse?” she asked, unsure of what he wanted.
Of where she stood with him.
“Not yet.”
His anger with her was palpable, eclipsed only by his awe for Emily. But all too soon, that simmering rage would be directed at Julianna once more. She did not know what to expect. Her hope—that he would agree to marry her and let Julianna and Emily return to America—seemed a distant, faded memory. An unlikelihood.
Because Shelbourne did not seem like the heartless rakehell she had supposed him after learning the truth two years prior. And nothing like the cruel stranger who had greeted her upon her return to London. Instead, he seemed—dare she think it—like a father, in awe of the daughter he was meeting for the first time.
And that was dangerous.
An angry Shelbourne could be blunted. She could raise her defenses with ease. Give him every bit as much push as he meted out to her. However, a soft Shelbourne, one who spoke to their daughter in such gentle tones… She knew not what to do with him.
Still, she had to do something.
What she needed most was his concession. His agreement he would marry her.
“Fair enough,” she conceded, for she had no other choice. “Would you care to sit? Emily is doing quite well at walking. She will be pleased enough to go about and explore.”
He nodded. “What shall I do?”
She realized he was talking about what he should do with Emily. It occurred to her that although he seemed so natural holding their daughter, he likely had little contact with children.
“Set her on her feet, and she will toddle about as she likes. I have already made certain there is nothing she can break or stuff into her mouth in this room,” she reassured him.
Her father had not been prepared to welcome a granddaughter at his townhome. Least of all because his granddaughter was illegitimate. He had not been aware of Emily’s existence until Julianna’s arrival. His stinging wrath had been incredibly painful, though perhaps not entirely unwarranted. Julianna knew the consequences of what she had done; she had spent every day for the past two years living them. The only reason her father had allowed her to remain was because her mother had accompanied her, and Mama had been fi
rm, thank heavens.
The Marquess of Leighton had regarded Julianna’s having a child out of wedlock as one more failing of his wife. His censure had been every bit as harsh for Mama, if not more so, than it had been for Julianna. In the end, it had only been her plan to seek out Emily’s father that had convinced him to allow Julianna and Emily to remain, still beneath the same pretense as in New York.
That Emily was an orphan.
Oh, how the lie hurt Julianna’s heart with its every utterance and observance.
Stiffly, as if he hated the prospect of relinquishing her, Shelbourne lowered Emily to the floor. She was a bubbly child, happiest when she was on an adventure now that she could power herself and get into all manner of trouble without having to crawl. She stood, still slightly unsteady on her feet, something like a new foal. But brave and ready.
When she listed to the right, Shelbourne caught her with a reflex that suggested he had been waiting for this moment, that he had not trusted Julianna when she had encouraged him to let Emily go.
“She can walk, Shelbourne,” she repeated quietly. “Let her show you.”
He glanced back at Julianna, his expression harsh once more, his jaw a hard slash, his green eyes brilliant with emotion. “I thought she was going to fall.”
“If she falls, she will get back up again.”
It was true, both for babies and for adults. Julianna had fallen from a great height. She had fallen from grace. Had fallen in love. She had lost everything except her daughter, which she had fought so desperately to save. Months of hiding her condition in voluminous dresses in New York City followed by a prolonged trip to facilitate their elaborate lie. The lie protected not only her parents, but Julianna and Emily as well. And that had been why she allowed it. Why she lived each day with a secret weighing down her heart and mind.
A secret which had just been revealed.
Shelbourne gave a jerky nod and released Emily. Their daughter took a few slow, sure steps. Then she beamed and clapped her hands, endlessly proud of her accomplishment.
Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4 Page 5
