by Ava Stone
“No, I think that will be all for today,” Rowan replied.
There was silence for a few moments while Olivia logged the purchase and collected the money due. She prayed he didn’t notice her shaking hands or her belabored breath. Having him so near set her on edge. Of course, the monumental secret she was keeping from him would probably have anyone on edge.
“Am I to understand you have a son?”
Olivia’s head snapped up to meet Rowan’s eyes. Her heart thumped so loudly, surely he could hear it. What on earth would prompt him to ask such a question?
“I beg your pardon?” she finally managed, mostly to buy time, but he must have thought her daft since the shop was quiet and he’d spoken very clearly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t meant to pry,” he said, looking a bit sheepish. “My cousin mentioned someone—Marcus?—last night, and—”
“Yes,” Olivia blurted out. “I do. Marcus is my son.” She waited and prayed fervently that he wouldn’t ask her son’s age.
Rowan nodded. The air had turned uncomfortable for both of them. Not that it was comfortable before, but this was worse. Much worse.
“Well, I look forward to meeting him.”
Olivia tried to smile, but her jaw was clenched so tightly, she was certain she looked like a rabid animal about to foam at the mouth.
At last, Rowan tipped his hat to her, bid her good day and walked out the door. Good heavens. Olivia wasn’t sure she could stand another week of having him in this town.
The day of the sleigh ride arrived, much to Olivia’s chagrin. She had hoped that perhaps the good Lord would smile down from heaven and let her skip this day altogether. Of course, she was being silly, but it didn’t stop her from turning over in bed and burying her head under her pillow.
“Mama! Mama!”
Marcus jumped onto the bed and threw himself over her. Olivia smiled, despite the fact she didn’t really want to get out of bed yet. Or ever.
“It’s the day of the sleigh ride!”
“Yes, my darling. I know it is.” She attempted to sit up but Marcus smothered her in a hug and she fell back to the pillow again with a laugh. “If you don’t let me get up and get dressed, we won’t be able to go.”
That sent Marcus scurrying from the bed, and Olivia followed. The floor was like ice to her warm feet, and she ran to the hearth to start a fire in the grate.
“Did Papa like sleigh rides?” Marcus asked as he joined her and tossed a wooden log into the fireplace.
Olivia’s heart constricted, as it always did when Marcus spoke of his father. Jack had been a good man, and he’d showered more love and affection on Olivia than she deserved. He saved her from shame—married her, uncaring that she carried another man’s child in her belly.
“Yes,” she replied, attempting to keep her emotions from being obvious. “I suppose he did, though I can’t remember a time when we enjoyed one together.”
A wide smile spread across Marcus’s lips. “Then I’m certain I shall like them too.”
Olivia gave him a half smile. Would she ever be able to tell him the truth? And when? If she waited until he was older, would he hate her for holding the secret for so long? And if she told him now, would she taint the vague memories he had of Jack? For all intents and purposes, Jack was Marcus’s father. He was there the day he was born, held him when he cried in the wee hours of the morning, picked him up the first time he fell and skinned his knee. Wasn’t that what made a father?
Her thoughts turned to Rowan. To his dashing good looks and charming personality. He couldn’t have been more different from Jack if he tried. Two men from two different worlds, somehow sharing the title of Father to the same child.
It was baffling—at least to Olivia.
“Get yourself dressed, Marcus,” she said, shaking her head free of the confusing thoughts as she stood from her position beside the fire. “I’ll prepare us something to break the fast.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The sleigh ride was to take place at Hamlin Abbey, followed by an afternoon feast and Lady Swaffham’s famous parlor games. As Olivia trudged through the snow with Marcus at her side, she fought valiantly against her nerves. Of course, she wasn’t winning in the slightest. There was too much about Rowan Findley that set her on edge. First, there were his aforementioned good looks and charming personality. Furthermore, it had been years since she’d been with a man—or even thought about a man, for that matter. Seeing him again reminded her of that passionate night in the stable. She remembered it like it was yesterday.
Her parents, being landed gentry, were invited to all the important social events and had very high hopes for Olivia to marry into a peerage. They were well-meaning, she was willing to admit that now. But back then, seven years ago, they were stifling. Olivia had felt smothered. They kept her under lock and key, watched her every move, and dictated how she was to behave. All Olivia wanted was a little freedom—a little room to be herself.
Rowan was like her knight on a white charger. He’d asked her to dance and, despite her mother’s tight-lipped acquiescence at her dancing with a tradesman, she accepted. Olivia remembered well the reckless feeling she’d had being in his arms. His firm hand at her back, his devastating smile before her. Even now she felt giddy just thinking about it.
It was she who’d made the scandalous proposition that he take her out to the stables and have his way with her. Olivia stifled a giggle remembering the look on his face. She’d had to beg quite a bit, but she knew her qualities. She knew she had a lovely figure and a pretty face—his resolve didn’t stand a chance.
“Mama, look!”
Olivia snapped back to the present and looked to where Marcus pointed. Goodness, they were here already? She’d been so lost in her memories, she’d not realized how far they’d come.
In the distance stood Hamlin Abbey, the town’s largest and most impressive estate. In the drive were three horse-drawn sleighs. The other party-goers stood by as Lady Swaffham pointed to each sleigh, clearly making seating assignments.
And there was Rowan. His tall frame towered over the others, and Olivia’s heart stopped beating for a moment.
Please don’t let us be in the same sleigh.
Olivia reached down and grabbed Marcus by the hand. Despite his independence, he didn’t squirm away. Perhaps he sensed her apprehension.
“Shall we?” she asked, forcing a smile.
He pulled on her hand, jerking her forward and forcing her into a half run. Her feet slid on patches of snow, and she nearly fell to her face more than once.
“Marcus, slow down!” she cried, attempting to pull him back. “They won’t leave without us.”
But Marcus, being so caught up in the excitement, ignored her pleas. And just as they neared the drive, her foot hit a small patch of ice. Her legs slid out from under her, and she landed flat on her backside in the softened earth.
“Mama, are you all right?” Marcus was at her side in a moment, dirtying the knees of his pants in the mud.
“Marcus, don’t,” Olivia said, trying to keep her voice low. “You’ll ruin your clothes.”
He ignored her. “Are you hurt?”
Footsteps drew her gaze upward. Rowan loomed closer, his brow furrowed in concern. Olivia felt nothing but utter humiliation. This was not a good start to the day.
“My dear Mrs. Edwards, are you all right?” Rowan asked, kneeling before her.
Olivia’s heartbeat was so erratic she could hardly think. “I-I believe so,” she stammered.
“Allow me.”
Rowan reached his arm around Olivia’s back to help her to her feet. A jolt of desire shot through her at his touch, followed swiftly by a stab of pain in her foot as she tried to put weight on it.
She sucked in a breath and then leaned into Rowan, unable to support herself in the mud on only one foot. Blast.
“Mama, are you all right?” Marcus grabbed her hand.
“I’m fine, darling, I just—” She winced when
she tried again to test her ankle.
“I wouldn’t call that fine, Mrs. Edwards.” Rowan was looking down at her, his face so close it would take very little effort to plant a kiss on his lips. “You might have a sprain.”
“Oh, no!” Olivia couldn’t fathom the thought of having stay off her foot for any amount of time. How would she work? How could she take care of Marcus? “I just need to walk on it a bit, I’m sure. I’ll be—”
She bellowed in pain after attempting, yet again, to put her foot down. Tears sprang to her eyes. This was not how she’d imagined this day going.
“Mama, can we still go on the sleigh ride?”
Olivia looked up at Rowan, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Marcus as if the child were an apparition. What did he see there? Olivia’s heart raced. She had to separate them. What if he recognized his own features in Marcus’s face? They did have the same eyes, didn’t they? And that jaw…
“Oh, dear.” Olivia clutched her stomach, prompting Rowan to turn his attention back to her. She did feel as if she might toss up her accounts, but not because of the excruciating pain in her foot. Her fear of Rowan and Marcus finding out they were father and son was the culprit of her weak stomach.
“I’m afraid your mother won’t be able to go,” Rowan said to Marcus. “She needs to see a doctor.”
Olivia looked at her son’s sweet face. His bottom lip began to quiver just slightly, but he tipped his chin up, clearly trying to hide his disappointment.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” Olivia said, her voice cracking with emotion. She hated to see him so very sad.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t still go, young man,” Rowan continued.
Olivia swung her gaze to meet Rowan’s. “Bu-but—”
“I’ll look after him. You needn’t worry.”
He had no idea what her worries were.
“Oh, please, Mama! May I?”
How could she say no now? She would look like the worst sort of monster to keep him from going. And what explanation would she give? She couldn’t exactly come out and say, “I don’t want the two of you to discover you’re father and son.” That would sort of defeat the entire purpose, wouldn’t it?
“You’re certain you don’t mind?” she asked Rowan.
Rowan shook his head slightly and in one swift movement lifted Olivia into his arms. “Not at all. Now, let’s get you inside first.”
Rowan could hardly believe what he was looking at. Good Lord, was he hallucinating? It couldn’t possibly—he couldn’t be! But then, why the devil did that child look just like the portrait of Rowan as a small boy?
No. She would have told him. Olivia would have tracked him down, brought him up to scratch. Wouldn’t she have?
A cold feeling washed over Rowan that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. It was a deep foreboding that settled in his bones and made his gut churn with uneasiness. Had she kept the truth from him and let another man raise his son? Rowan had never considered himself a family man, and indeed, hadn’t he recently made a pact to remain a bachelor for as long as he lived so as to avoid the wrath of a woman scorned? For surely Rowan wouldn’t be able to stay faithful to one woman for the rest of his life, and he didn’t fancy the same fate Arrington had faced. But the thought of another man raising his progeny…
“Rowan, what’s happened?”
His cousin approached, clearly frantic with worry. Probably that her sleigh party might be ruined, but perhaps Rowan was being unfair.
“I’m afraid I twisted my ankle,” Olivia replied, and Rowan bristled at her sweet, innocent tone.
How could he have been so naïve? This woman was diabolical. To deny a man the opportunity to do the right thing. To take away the opportunity to raise his own son.
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Edwards!” Patience truly did seem worried for the woman. “Rowan, take her inside. Clara will make you comfortable while you wait for the doctor. I’m so sorry I can’t wait with you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Swaffham.” Olivia smiled as sweetly as she could, though it was obvious she was in a good deal of pain. “I’ll be fine with Clara. And Mr. Findley has offered to watch over Marcus, if that’s all right with you.”
Patience took Marcus by the hand. “Of course it is. We’ll wait together while Rowan deposits you in the drawing room.”
Rowan started walking toward the house, his steps strong and purposeful, while Marcus and Olivia yelled their goodbyes to one another. He barely heard them, though. All he could think about was finding out the truth.
As they neared the front door, he could feel Olivia’s gaze on him, practically burning a hole through his cheek.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Findley?” she asked, and the breathlessness in her voice gave her away. She was nervous, as she very well should be.
He didn’t answer her, not right away at least. He wanted her out of his arms as soon as possible, and then he’d be able to think straight enough to unleash his fury on her. The footman held the door open for them and Rowan strode quickly into the drawing room. He unceremoniously deposited her to the sofa near the fireplace and then loomed over her.
“Mr. Findley, whatever is the matter?” Her stunning blue eyes held a slight bit of terror in them.
“The truth,” he said plainly. “Now.”
“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That was unlikely. He’d never seen a woman so flustered in all her life. He leaned closer, hoping to intimidate.
“The. Truth.”
Damn, he was too close now. Her perfect little nostrils flared in and out, in and out, just above her soft pink lips and right in between her rosy cheeks. Throw in those captivating sapphire eyes and Rowan completely forgot what he was about.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Findley, but—”
“Mrs. Edwards?”
Rowan spun on his heel, annoyed by the interruption, to find a scrawny little maid standing in the doorway.
“Yes?” Olivia replied.
“I’m Clara,” said the maid. “I’ve been sent to take care of you. The doctor is on his way. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”
Olivia paused for a moment before replying and finally said, “I don’t think I need anything, except for, perhaps, your company.” She smiled sweetly and gestured to the armchair beside her.
Damn woman. Clearly, she was trying to avoid any further conversation with Rowan. Well, she may have won this time, but he would have his answers. He would get the truth out of her if it was the last thing he did.
“Mr. Findley, you ought not to hold up the party. Go on. I’ll be just fine with Clara here to look after me.”
Rowan looked down at her and scowled, but Olivia gave no indication that she noticed anything was the matter with him. A tricky little vixen.
“Yes, well…I wouldn’t want to disappoint Marcus by cutting his day short, would I?”
There. Finally a flicker of apprehension. She didn’t want them to be together, him and Marcus. But what could she say now?
“No, I suppose not. Goodbye, Mr. Findley.”
Blasted man! She never should have brought Marcus here with Rowan Findley lurking about. The likeness really was uncanny, especially when they were standing side-by-side. Good heavens. What was she going to do now?
Clearly he was on to her, and much to her surprise, he wasn’t happy about the deception. She thought he’d be thrilled not to be forced to take on the responsibility of a wife and child all those years ago. She’d done him a favor, really, so why did he seem so angry with her now? Would he rather have been given the option to reject her?
It wasn’t a very charitable thought, but she was certain he wouldn’t have married her after one night of passion that she’d forced him into, so it was the most logical explanation she could come up with.
She leaned back with a sigh. The boredom was starting to settle in. The doctor had come and gone, assessing that she had only a slight injury—nothing
was broken or even sprained. He did want Olivia, however, to stay off of it for a few days. That would never do, of course. She had to work. With Christmas coming, she couldn’t afford to lose the pay. Marcus would have a proper holiday with presents and a goose and all the trimmings.
The sound of jingling bells outside drew her attention to the window. She was a bit too far away to see much of anything, but it was obvious the party was back from their ride. Butterflies took up residence in her belly, fluttering wildly about and making her a bit nauseated. What had Rowan and Marcus talked about? Did Marcus notice his resemblance to Rowan? Had he revealed that his father had passed away several years ago?
Olivia chewed on her fingernails while she sat there alone, waiting. Part of her wished they would never come inside, but another part of her was nearly dying of anticipation to find out what had happened during the outing.
There was a flurry of activity in the corridor as servants rushed to the foyer to assist with coats and hats and such. A cold draft snaked its way into the drawing room, followed by the jovial sounds of laughter and chatter as the party made its way into the house.
Olivia waited, trying to settle her nerves with deep breaths. It wasn’t working, of course. But in the next moment, Marcus came barreling into the room and practically launched himself into her arms.
“Mama!”
Olivia laughed and squealed as his cold body collided with hers. “Goodness, Marcus, you’re frozen!”
“I didn’t even notice the cold,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Findley and I had a grand time on the ride.”
Rowan appeared in the doorway and Olivia’s heart skipped several whole beats. He had always been handsome, but it still took her aback whenever she laid eyes on him. He no longer wore his hat, and his dark hair was ruffled a bit. An errant curl fell over his forehead to just above his left eyebrow, giving him a boyish charm, reminding her of the night they’d met. He’d seemed so much older then—a man to her, since she was still only a girl—but seven years had turned him into a real man. And Olivia into a real woman. Her body reacted, not like a green girl’s of seventeen, but like a woman who knew of desire.
