by Monica Burns
“The truth about our child.”
“Our child?” she choked out.
At his words, the past rushed up to meet her. It filled the space between them like an unexpected deluge that threatened to drown her. How could Lionel have uncovered the truth? Other than the doctor and midwife, her sister had been the only soul who’d known she was carrying Lionel’s child. It was her sister’s hand she clung to throughout her labor, and her sister who had comforted her through the three horrible days that followed. Even if he had uncovered the truth, he’d given up the right to question her the day he’d deserted her. She owed him nothing.
“Are you going to deny that Rhea is my daughter?” Lionel ground out the words as anger slashed across his autocratic profile. “Our child?”
“Rhea—yes, I deny it,” she snapped. “Rhea is my niece.”
“A niece who looks remarkably like you.”
“Olivia and I were sisters. We were often mistaken for one another.” She shook her head fiercely. “It is not surprising she looks like me, but Rhea is not your daughter.”
“I’ve found a midwife who says differently.”
“And where did you find this midwife?” she demanded with antipathy as her heart twisted in her chest.
“In Breaton Village.”
The simple reply pulled the air out of Beatrice’s lungs, and she fought to keep from swaying on her feet. He’d visited the quiet place she’d retreated to during her confinement. As she met his gaze, Lionel’s mouth was a thin line of determination and anger. When she didn’t speak, he released a violent noise of disgust.
“Damn it, Beatrice, tell me the truth. Is Rhea my daughter?
“No,” she cried out with an anguish that etched its way into the depths of her soul. “Our child is dead.”
The look on Lionel’s face made her heart slam into her chest with regret as she realized she’d erred in thinking it wouldn’t matter to him that he’d lost a child. Regret spiraled through her at the way she’d revealed the truth in such a brutally shocking manner. Dismayed by her lapse in good judgement, she stared at him uncertain of what to say. The stillness in the room was cold and unmoving. It settled between them like a heavy weight as Lionel stared at her in disbelief. After several moments, he shook his head as if by doing so he could dismiss what he’d heard.
“Dead?” he rasped.
Like a violent thunderstorm, anger swirled through her. Years ago, his expression would have incited her to go to him and offer comfort, but today it simply filled her with a deep bitterness. Why should she feel the need to console him when he’d left her? He’d left her alone to deal with the responsibility and the pain.
“Yes,” she said in a harsh, brittle voice. “The midwife was correct. I did have a child, but not a daughter. I had a son who only lived three days before he was taken from me.”
“Sweet Jesus, Beatrice,” Lionel’s voice was restrained and rough with emotion. “If I’d known—”
“What? You wouldn’t have deserted me?” she sneered with contempt.
“I did not abandon you.” Anger slashed across his features as he took a step toward her. “You made the choice not to marry me the day you didn’t come to the chapel.”
“Didn’t come—you’re the one who didn’t come as promised,” Beatrice exclaimed with cold resentment. “You walked away, and I was left to pick up the pieces.”
“Walked away?” His voice was a rumble of thunder in the salon as fury darkened his features. It emphasized the rising storm surrounding them. “I never walked away. I sent my brother to the chapel to escort you to the ship. There were problems with the ship’s cargo manifest that Terrence didn’t know how to fix. He offered to bring you to the docks so we wouldn’t miss the evening tide.”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe your lies?” she gasped in horror at the blatant falsehood. “No one came. Not you—and certainly not your brother.”
“Christ almighty, Beatrice, I’m telling you the truth,” he growled. “When Terrence returned without you, he said you’d sent word to the reverend you’d had a change of heart. I couldn’t believe it and was determined to go after you, but Terrence said he’d already visited your house. He said your butler wouldn’t tell him where—”
Lionel came to an abrupt halt in his explanation, and a look of stunned disbelief settled on his face. As he stared at her, she saw a bleak emotion flash in the depths of his dark eyes. His gaze reflected a look of stark pain, and it triggered feelings deep inside her. Was it possible he was telling her the truth? She quickly discounted the thought. The idea of subjecting herself to more lies was too unbearable.
“I don’t know what you thought to gain with this fanciful tale, my lord, but this conversation is at an end,” she said hoarsely.
His only response to her icy words was a nod of his head. It was obvious he’d barely registered her remark. Startled that he’d not protested her decree, she stared at him with suspicion. Doubt, incredulity, and anger hardened his features as he rubbed the back of his neck and studied the floor in obvious contemplation.
“He lied. Your family didn't have a butler,” Lionel muttered. As if trying to comprehend something unfathomable, he shook his head in puzzled uncertainty while he continued to have a quiet discussion with himself. “He lied to me. If he'd actually gone to your house, he would have known you didn't have a butler. He lied and like a fool…like a fool I believed him. Why would he lie when he knew I loved you?”
The confession that he’d been in love with her made Beatrice’s heart slam into her chest and stop for a long moment before it resumed its beat. Once more the possibility that Lionel was telling the truth unfurled inside her? Was it possible his brother, not Lionel, had been the one to destroy her happiness so cruelly? Confusion slowly wove its way through her as she watched Lionel begin to prowl the floor continuing to mutter to himself. Was it possible he hadn’t deserted her after all? If that was the case they’d both suffered. A knot formed in her throat as she watched him pace like a caged predator ready to pounce at the first opportunity. When he abruptly came to a halt, Beatrice stiffened as he slowly turned to face her.
“He lied to me, Beatrice. I’m a fool for having believed him. I should have seen through his lies. I have no excuse for believing him other than I was out of my mind with despair at the thought of having lost you. I should not have allowed him to stop me from going after you,” he rasped. Anger and grief darkened his features as he met her gaze. “I would never have left England without you if Terrence hadn’t been so damn convincing. Until this moment, I truly believed you had changed your mind.”
The confession caused her to waver, and she struggled with the idea of accepting that he was telling her the truth. In the end, it didn’t matter anymore. The past was gone and could never be regained. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she shook her head.
“I want you to leave, Lionel.” She saw him take a step forward, and she quickly retreated. “Now.”
“I didn’t walk away from you, Beatrice,” he said in a rough voice that echoed with a pain that made her want to believe him. “I loved you. I have never stopped loving you. It’s why I never married.”
The declaration made her gasp, and she swayed slightly as she tried to comprehend what he was saying to her. A chill skimmed its way across her skin in the same way the first layer of winter ice formed on the pond at Green Hill House. An invisible, icy finger scraped down her back as she shook her head. She didn’t have the courage to risk her heart again.
“The past can’t be undone.” Beatrice looked away from him as pain clawed away at her heart. “We cannot go back.”
“You’re right. We can’t go back, but we can go forward. I love you, and I refuse to let you go a second time.”
Beatrice drew in a sharp breath at the quiet, resolute sincerity in his voice. It made her waver in her belief that he’d betrayed her. It was the final blow that shattered her belief he'd betrayed her all those years ago. But she was no longer the woman she'
d once been. When Alfred had died, she'd learned how to be alone. She'd become self-sufficient, and she liked being independent. Deep inside she questioned whether she was making a mistake, but she ignored the possibility. She was too old to start over. She drew in another breath that was as painful as the last.
“It’s impossible,” she said with a shake of her head as she met his resolute gaze then looked away.
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because I like my life as it is now. I have no need of a husband."
“What about love, Beatrice? Have you no need of love?" His question made her heart skip a beat as she met his penetrating gaze then looked away. Panic swept through her as she frantically dismissed the hope that had already taken root inside her.
"I'm no longer that starry-eyed young girl."
"No, but you're as pig-headed as ever,” he bit out through clenched teeth. With a speed that took her by surprise, Lionel closed the distance between them and grasped her upper arms to keep her from retreating. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”
The moment he touched her she shuddered. As hard as she tried it was impossible not to breathe in the scent of pine and leather she remembered all too well. Fire skimmed across her skin until the years melted away to leave her heart pounding wildly. Overwhelmed by the mere proximity of him, a tremor streaked through her.
Palms braced against his chest, the beat of his heart pounded out a fierce rhythm against her fingertips. She looked into his intense gaze, struggling not to flinch for fear he would see the truth. With great difficulty she swallowed the knot in her throat then looked away from him. A soft growl echoed in her ears as he shook her slightly.
“You can’t do it, can you Beatrice?” The authoritative note in his voice was one she remembered well. “You can’t look me in the eye and say you don’t love me.”
“And you ask too much after all this time,” she whispered as another tremor swept through her.
“No, Beatrice, I’m not asking too much. I’m asking you to believe me when I say that I love you. I want—need you to believe that if nothing else,” Lionel said softly and fervently.
“Please don’t.” She closed her eyes as his persuasive plea coaxed her into admitting she loved him. The gentle touch of his finger on her check made her realize tears had slipped past her eyelids. A shudder wracked her as he kissed her damp cheeks.
“I never stopped loving you, Beatrice.” The gentleness in his voice equaled the tenderness of his touch. She shuddered as he pulled her into his warm embrace. “I was a blind fool to believe Terrence. I should have said to hell with the damn cargo and gone to find you—to hear you tell me you no longer loved me.”
“And I should have gone to the docks,” she whispered. “I should have had the courage to know for certain that you didn’t want me.”
“God help me, Beatrice, I’ve never stopped wanting you with me. I’ve spent far too many nights longing to hold you in my arms again.” Lionel brushed his mouth against her brow before tilting her chin up to stare into her eyes. “I didn’t return to England until I realized that for my own piece of mind, I had to confront you. But when I returned more than a year later you’d already married Fremont—I wavered between despair and fury. I left England then to try and forget you. I wouldn’t be here still if not for the fact that with Terrence dead, my father’s title passed to me.”
The pain in his eyes made Beatrice’s heart ache, and she shook her head in sorrow for all the time they lost.
“Alfred married me knowing I didn’t love him. He became very dear to me, but he knew I’d never stopped loving you.”
In a loving gesture, she cupped the side of his face with her hand. Lionel immediately turned his head to kiss her palm as his hand came to rest on top of hers. After a brief moment, he turned his head to kiss her. It was a sweet caress filled with love and a restrained passion. Powerful arms pulled her deeper into his embrace, and she eagerly pressed her body into his. The past fell away as his mouth teased and cajoled her into parting her lips. Heat spread its way through her with blinding speed. No sooner had the kiss begun than he quickly drew back.
“Not like this. Not here. I want more than one moment of pleasure with you, and this is not the place for a leisurely night of lovemaking,” he said hoarsely. “But believe me, Beatrice I fully intend to make you mine again. At the first moment possible I’ll secure a marriage license.”
“Marriage,” she gasped then shook her head. “You move too fast. I need time—”
“Time for what?” he demanded with the same confident arrogance she’d learned to love so many years ago. But time had changed her. She was no longer a young woman who made rash decisions.
“I happen to like the freedom I have now. I have no desire to give it up.”
“I am happy to indulge your every wish or demand. But you will marry me.” The confidence in his voice made her glare at him. A split second later he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
§ § §
Rhea emerged from the hack as it stopped in front of her aunt’s house. Handing the driver the fare, she slowly turned to climb the steps sighing wearily. It had been a long day, and it would be an even longer night. Although it had proven exhausting, she had taken the early morning train to the country. After spending the night in Percy’s arms, she’d needed time to think.
Instinctively, she’d known Percy would seek her out, but she felt far too vulnerable to see him so soon. So she’d spent the better part of the day at Green Hill. Despite the two hour train ride there and back, the visit to the country had helped clear her head. Seducing Percy last night had been as impetuous as it had been foolhardy, but she had no regrets.
If she’d not been so worried about him as she’d helped him into his house, she would have returned home. Instead, she’d chosen to spend the night, despite knowing the scandal it would cause if she were discovered. Her own reputation was of no consequence, but she knew a scandal could hurt her aunt. It was something she’d not considered until she was leaving Percy’s house early this morning.
Even her audacious claim to be Percy’s mistress had caught her by surprise. Her impulsive words had poured out of her without thinking. His valet hadn’t batted an eyelid at her announcement and had left her alone with Percy who had fallen into a deep sleep. Everything that followed had seemed natural and right.
The thought of being intimate with any man after being sold so often by Ruckley had always been a repulsive thought until she’d met Percy. Not once had she ever experienced revulsion when Percy had touched her. With every kiss and caress, he’d aroused feelings inside her that were not only incendiary, but dangerous as well. When she’d left him early this morning she’d done so with far greater reluctance than she expected.
It made Rhea realize her feelings for Percy were more serious than she’d realized. Where Percy was concerned, she was on the edge of a cliff that could well be her undoing if she were to take one more step forward. Going to Green Hill House had allowed her to adjust her bearings and regain her realistic perspective of her relationship with him.
Last night had been a wonderful experience, but she couldn’t allow it to happen again. It wasn’t simply about who or what she was that mattered. It was the possibility of Percy trying to do the honorable thing that troubled her. She had vowed that never again would she place herself at the mercy of any man, even a man as good as Percy. Rhea closed the door behind her as she entered Fremont Place. Intent on changing for the rescue of Peter, she headed toward the stairs. She’d barely placed a foot on the first step when she heard her aunt’s voice raised in indignation followed by a man’s voice. Fear and horror slithered through her. Ruckley. The bastard had found her and was threatening her aunt.
Frightened for her aunt’s safety, Rhea rushed to the older woman’s aid. The salon door made a loud crack as it slammed against the wall, as she charged into the salon intent on doing battle. The sight that greeted her drew her up short. Eyes w
ide with amazement, she watched her aunt break free of Lord Foxworth’s embrace and turn to face her. Beatrice Fremont’s face was flushed, and Rhea met the older woman’s gaze with a sense of embarrassment at having interrupted what had been an intimate moment.
Her chagrin was quickly followed by affectionate amusement, and she struggled not to smile too broadly. Her aunt, for all her efforts to secure a match for Rhea, had fallen for Lord Foxworth. She should have suspected something like this would happen from the moment the couple had appeared at the gazebo the night of the party at Melton Park.
“Forgive me, Aunt Beatrice, I thought…obviously I was mistaken.” Rhea started to back out of the room when Lord Foxworth took a step toward her.
“Please, stay, Miss Bennett, or Rhea if I may be so bold, since we shall soon be related.” Despite her suspicions, the man’s words still took Rhea by surprise and caused her aunt to gasp.
“I have not agreed to marry you, my lord,” Beatrice snapped.
“Do you intend to reject me?” Lord Foxworth narrowed his gaze at Beatrice as she opened her mouth to respond. “I suggest you think twice before answering that question, my love.”
For a moment Rhea’s aunt stared at Foxworth before she shook her head and a reluctant smile curved her mouth.
“No, I’ll not refuse you.”
Her soft response made Foxworth catch Beatrice’s hand and carry it to his mouth to kiss it with restrained passion. The display of adoration made Rhea envious. If Percy were to openly demonstrate such a deep affection for her—she quickly dismissed the thought. Cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and happiness, Beatrice looked at her niece. Rhea’s heart swelled at the joy reflected in her aunt’s face. Hurrying forward, she kissed her aunt’s cheek.
“I cannot be happier for you, Aunt Beatrice,” she exclaimed then turned to face the man at her aunt’s side.
“My congratulations, my lord.”
“It would please me greatly if you called me uncle, my dear.” The distinguished gentleman sent her a charming smile. “You and your sister are both dear to Beatrice’s heart. Whatever Beatrice treasures, so do I.”
