Angelina wasn’t coming.
Flynn drained his wine glass. Standing, he set his napkin aside. “Please excuse me.”
He didn’t wait to hear their murmurs of consent. He strode from the room, intent on seeking his wife. What had transpired between her and her mother that kept Angelina from joining them?
Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried the length of the corridor to her chamber. He stood outside the door, uncertainty gripping him. Was she within, or still in her mother’s chamber?
He knocked softly and tried the latch. The door drifted open, revealing a dark interior.
Flynn reached to close the door.
Sniffling caught his ear.
“Lina?”
He edged into the room and attempted to locate her in the blackness.
Angelina sat huddled in an armchair before the unlit hearth. The golden highlights in her hair gave her away. The drapes remained open, and a few feeble moonbeams bravely shone between the clouds. One of them touched her head in a celestial caress.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?”
After grabbing a candle from a sconce in the hall, Flynn located a lamp on a table. He tucked the taper into the holder, then closed the door.
He approached her.
Curled into the chair, her knees tucked to her chest, she wept like a chastised child.
He squatted and touched her shoulder. “What is it?”
Shaking her head, she covered her face with a hand and continued crying softly.
What in God’s holy name had her mother said?
Flynn rose and scooped Angelina into his arms. He turned in a half-circle before carrying her to the bed.
She didn’t protest.
He sat on the edge of the mattress and cradled her in his arms, her face pressed to his chest. Touching his lips to her perfumed hair, his mind raced.
She was as distraught as she’d been after losing her baby. With each of her shuddering sobs, his heart wrenched.
“Tell me, Lina. Please tell me, so I can help you.” He kissed her crown again, desperate to comfort her.
“I’m illegitimate,” she whispered.
Momentary shock caused him to stiffen. “Pardon?”
“Richard Ellsworth wasn’t my father. A man named Pennington was . . . is.”
She wasn’t making sense. Her father was alive?
Flynn tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
Misery and grief haunted the green pools.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” He touched her damp cheek, wiping away her tears. “Please, explain everything to me.”
Her face crumpled. Fresh tears poured from her eyes.
Tilting Angelina away from his chest, Flynn withdrew his handkerchief from his coat. She never seemed to have one about when required.
That was going to be one of the first orders of business. He’d have her order a dozen. No, two dozen. Better yet, a hundred of the confounded things and see them stashed in every room—and the carriages as well.
Eyes closed and slightly scrunched as if in pain, Angelina let her head fall against his shoulder.
Flynn unfolded the handkerchief and tenderly wiped her face. “What happened? Why do you say you’re illegitimate?”
He dabbed a lingering tear from the corner of her eye and tightened his arm about her. “Tell me.”
Her lashes, spiky from tears, lay like dark ribbons against her pale cheeks. She opened her eyes.
The agony glistening in their depths stabbed him to his core.
“Mama met a man before Papa.”
“This Pennington fellow?”
“Yes.” She half-nodded against his shoulder. “She fell in love with him, and they secretly married in Scotland.”
Flynn murmured against her ear, “That hardly makes you a by-blow, my love.”
She sucked in an uneven breath. “But I am. Pennington was already betrothed. The rotter merely sought to use Mama for . . . well, you know, the way Pierre used me.”
My God, this brings Renault’s betrayal and treachery to the forefront of Angelina’s mind once more, causing her to relive the pain.
“But if he married your mother, the betrothal wasn’t valid.”
“That’s what I thought.” Angelina met his eyes for an instant before hers dropped to his neckcloth.
“After he deserted Mama, she sought the clergyman who married them, hoping he knew how to contact my father. She discovered a church cleric hadn’t performed the ceremony. Just a duplicitous fellow and his cronies eager for a few crowns.”
“What a despicable . . .” Flynn clamped his mouth shut. What he burned to say wasn’t meant for a woman’s ears.
“And that devil persuaded his intended to marry him immediately by way of a special license. They trotted off, happy as grigs, for a three month honeymoon on the continent.” Angelina’s voice shook with fury.
She swiped at a tear and offered him a wobbly smile. “I’ll wager you’d never believe I’m not given to waterworks.”
He dropped a kiss on her nose. “You’ve had much to cause tears of late.”
“Indeed.” She drew in a shuddering breath, then released it, bit by rasping bit. “In any event, the wedding wasn’t supposed to take place for another several months. You see, the bride’s sister recovered in Scotland from a near fatal riding accident.”
His legs growing numb from the odd angle he held her, Flynn eased Angelina onto the mattress.
“And where was your mother in all of this? Surely she’d something to say.” An eerie premonition skittered along Flynn’s senses.
“My mother was the sister convalescing.” Angelina turned her face away and stared at the candle on the bedside table. She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “The Duke of Waterford fathered me.”
A low whistle escaped Flynn’s clenched teeth. “Does he know?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed twice.
This must be excruciating for her.
“Yes, Mama wrote and told him. He sent money every now and again. To keep her quiet, I’m sure.”
Or because he was compelled by guilt.
God curse the whoremonger.
Angelina glanced his way. “Aunt Camille doesn’t know, of course.”
“That’s understandable.”
Taking her hand in his, he traced a circle in her palm. “I’m curious. Why didn’t your mother recognize Waterford or at least know his name?”
Pushing a strand of hair off her face, she frowned. “Mama never laid eyes on the duke until they accidentally met. She’d only heard him referred to by his courtesy title, the Earl of Percy.”
Flynn searched his memory. “I’m no authority on Scottish marriage laws, but I’m positive a clergyman doesn’t need to perform the ceremony as long as the participants are willing and there are witnesses.”
She didn’t respond. Had she heard him? Her eyes huge in her wan face, Angelina stared blankly at the canopy. What was she thinking?
“Angelina, do you understand what this means?”
He touched her arm. “Waterford is the last of his legitimate line. You’re his legal heir.”
Chapter 22
Angelina swung her startled gaze to Flynn. “But wouldn’t Mama know that?”
“Perhaps.” He lay on his side next to her and propped his head in his hand. His gentle smile encouraged her to continue.
“By the time Mama heard about their wedding, she discovered she carried me.” Touching her stomach, Angelina remembered her babe. She would have done anything to protect him. Facing Flynn, she blinked several times against the tears pooling in her eyes.
“Mama nearly lost her mind from worry. She couldn’t wait for
them to return from their honeymoon. She’d be too far along, and Aunt Camille might be with child by that time too.”
Angelina shot a glance at the door, worried someone eavesdropped. “She was, you know. Pembrose is only two months younger than me.”
“So, to provide you with a father, and protect her sister from a heinous scandal, your mother married Ellsworth.”
Flynn rubbed his jaw, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Even though she had to know their marriage wasn’t valid.”
He touched the pearls circling her neck.
“Yes.” Angelina pressed her lips together and dug her fingers into the counterpane in an effort to control the rage singing in her blood. Waterford deserved a flogging.
Lord, had Papa known too?
He had.
And he and Mama had left Scotland and moved to Salem for that very reason.
In the center of her soul, Angelina knew she’d stumbled upon the truth. She’d always sensed Papa’s rejection of her and attributed his disapproval to her unholy features.
He couldn’t bear to look upon her. Not because he condemned her appearance, but he’d known she wasn’t his flesh and blood.
That’s why the twins look so different than me.
Why had Papa—Richard—kept silent for two decades?
The answer plowed into her mind as unwelcome as pox sores.
Money.
If she dug deep enough, Angelina was confident she’d find evidence Papa had blackmailed the duke.
“God above.” Flynn released the pendant. “What an uncommon sacrifice your mother made.”
Angelina’s admiration of her mother escalated even further. Mama could have been a duchess—in fact, held the title legally. Her life with Richard Ellsworth hadn’t been easy either.
“What will you do now that you know the truth?” Flynn trailed a finger from Angelina’s shoulder to her elbow.
What would she do? Only one conceivable answer presented itself. A sudden peace encompassed her. She turned on her side.
Peering deeply into Flynn’s eyes, she whispered, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He raised an eyebrow.
A hint of approval teased the corner of his mouth, as if he’d expected that very answer from her.
“I could never be that malicious. Imagine the gossip and disgrace if I revealed the truth.” Did her expression show the horror she felt at the prospect? “My sisters and cousins would be dubbed by-blows. And Aunt Camille . . .”
Angelina shook her head. “The scandal would destroy her. She’s as much a victim as Mama.”
“There’s a good deal of truth in that.”
Flynn still trailed his finger along Angelina’s arm, only now he’d extended the journey to include her neck and the flesh above her bodice.
Her nipples contracted and her breathlessness couldn’t be solely attributed to her bout of crying. Those disturbing little quivers she experienced at his touch made a deuced nuisance of themselves.
She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t even be that cruel to the duke, though he deserves it.”
Flynn’s face hardened for a moment. “Indeed, he does.”
“It’s rather ironic, don’t you think?” Angelina brushed away a strand of hair tickling her cheek.
A puzzled frown marred Flynn’s face. “What is?”
“Mama and I both marrying bigamists.”
Something dark flashed in his eyes before the familiar twinkle returned. “Yes, to be sure.”
That explained why Uncle—no, she couldn’t think of him like that now—why Waterford desperately wanted her married. And why Mama never called her Rose.
Rose and Ambrose were too similar.
Nonetheless, her mother must have loved the duke to name Angelina after him.
“You don’t want to inherit a dukedom?”
Flynn’s playful question drew her attention to him.
“Do you take me for a greedy wench, sir? I’m already a marchioness.”
She giggled, the weight of the past couple of hours gone, leaving her more content and happy than she’d been in a very long while. “Besides, I cannot inherit.”
His fingers continued to work their magic over her exposed flesh. This was rather nice, lying beside him. She snuggled a mite closer.
“Well, there is precedence. The Duke of Marlborough had his letter of patent amended to allow his daughters to inherit. Even without an amendment, legally everything that is not entailed under the dukedom is yours by birthright.”
Flynn dipped his forefinger into the cleft between her breasts.
She bit her lip to suppress a groan. His wandering finger caused her to imagine all sorts of wicked things.
“No.” She managed to shake her head. “It would ruin too many lives.”
A breathless wanton sounded no less seductive.
“That it would.” The timbre of his voice dropped to a sensual rumble as his long fingers inched further into her bodice.
Her gaze roamed Flynn’s face. He was a sinfully handsome man. She lowered her eyes to his lips. She wanted him to kiss her again.
What would he do if she kissed him? Would he be shocked? Repulsed? Excited?
His eyes rested on her lips too. Could he read her mind?
“Your mother and sisters are welcome to live with us at Lambridge. There’s plenty of room. I’d like to settle dowries on the twins, and your mother is entitled to the life that was stolen from her.”
He scooted closer, until his thighs touched hers. His face was a handbreadth away. He laid one large palm across her waist.
“Oh, Flynn, thank you.” She touched his chest. “I’d like nothing better than for them to live with us. Your dowry offer is most generous too. I’m afraid our marriage portions are rather miserable.”
She really did want to kiss him.
One tiny peck on that delicious mouth of his to show her gratitude for his benevolence.
Nothing more. One minuscule taste would suffice.
What a colossal taradiddle.
“I think your mother would get along famously with mine. And I can already hear Franny’s squeals of excitement at having young ladies her age in the house.” His arm snaked behind Angelina, edging her closer.
If she leaned in two inches, her lips would touch his. Maybe she could make it appear accidental. She could slip forward . . .
His hand cupped the nape of her neck.
She was undone.
Angelina surged toward Flynn, her lips meeting his at last. She sensed his primal satisfaction even as her thoughts scattered on the four winds.
He turned her, pressing her into the plush bedding. His hands and lips were everywhere, awakening sensations she’d not known existed.
Angelina wrapped her arms around his strong neck, kissing him, conveying to him with her body what she didn’t dare yet voice.
“I want to make love to you, Lina.”
Flynn nibbled his way from her earlobe to the juncture of her neck, then lower until he met the swell of her breasts. He spread hot kisses along the edge of her bodice.
She moaned and arched into him, silently begging him to explore lower.
Did he sense her hunger?
He levered one hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her to meet his eager mouth. His firm member nudged against her center. He didn’t seem in a hurry to relieve his passion. Rather, he appeared intent on giving her pleasure.
He angled away and gazed into her eyes. “We won’t do this if you don’t want to, if you need more time. I’ll wait as long you need to be ready, because once we make love, our marriage is sealed.”
He placed a tender kiss on her lips. “You’ll be mine, forever, to treasure the rest of my days.”
/> “You want to stay married to me.” Angelina searched his eyes, finding desire, yes, but something infinitely more important. She touched his face. “Forever?”
Triumph and Treasure (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Book 1) Page 28
