Her sarcastic laugh rang of his own sardonic humor. “That’s why you left us with Aunt Celia when we were little and never came near us.”
This girl broke his heart, but he couldn’t pretend not to love her. He’d die for her. Unfortunately, dying for her would be easy. Making up for his grave wrongs against her was much harder.
“I beg your forgiveness,” he said in a low voice.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He pulled his horse to a stop. “Do you want to get down and walk?”
“No, I want to go home.” Her sulkiness didn’t emerge as naturally as usual.
“Do you really?”
She cast him a look of intense loathing under the shadow of her hat. “If I do, will you let me?”
She asked the question as if it held some significance. He couldn’t imagine why that should be, but he answered her seriously. “Yes, of course. I’m not an ogre, Roma.”
“No, you’re just a man who never gives a thought to anyone’s convenience but his own.”
“That’s not true.” He should be angry. But his principal reaction was astonishment. Since he’d returned to London, Roma had rarely brought herself to address him, unless she whined about a bonnet she wanted or a ball that clashed with another engagement.
“Yes, it is. Have you ever once asked William or me what we want? Have you ever given me a choice about anything?”
“You were a baby, sweetheart.”
The involuntary endearment was a mistake. She visibly bristled. “I’m eighteen now.”
“Do you want to go home?”
She paused. He wondered if she was obstinate enough to insist on her way. Eventually she shook her head. “No.” Then with a hint of bitterness, “It’s taken me all my life to get this much attention from you. It seems a pity to cut it short.”
Oh, yes, she definitely had more backbone than he’d given her credit for. She no longer looked like the girl who slunk around Erith House trying to avoid his notice.
He dismounted and helped her down. Roma was smaller and rounder than Joanna but looked enough like her mother for the resemblance to cut him to the quick every time he looked at her. Now that she was more animated, the resemblance was stronger than ever. He realized with a shock that his daughter was a beauty. A young woman with her own wishes and tastes and ambitions. Of which he knew nothing.
What a bloody criminal mess he’d made of everything.
In silence, they walked, leading the horses. It was a pleasant morning and sunlight dappled the fresh spring growth. In spite of lack of sleep, Erith was keyed up after the astonishing emotional turmoil of the last twenty-four hours. Ending in this fraught confrontation with his daughter.
“Can I tell you why I left you and William with my sister?” he eventually asked. Roma didn’t vibrate with belligerence anymore, but he wasn’t sure how long the current détente would last. How ironic. He was renowned for his skills as a diplomat but had no idea how to placate one angry, hurt young girl. “It wasn’t because I didn’t love you.”
“Why are you being so nice?” Roma’s voice was laden with suspicion.
He smiled. Her wariness inevitably reminded him of Olivia. “Because I’m your father and I want you to feel that you’re my beloved daughter.”
“It’s too late.”
The quiet words made his heart slam against his chest in grief. Dear God, if she was right, his life had come to ashes.
How appalling that she believed that. He knew his behavior had given her the impression he didn’t care. When the tragic truth was that he’d cared too much.
“Is it?”
She cast him another glare as she removed her hat. Her brown hair was untidy and flat, and strands had come loose to frame cheeks that still hadn’t lost the roundness of childhood. “You’ve never wanted to talk to me before.”
“I hoped you’d let me at least explain.”
“Why bother? You’ll just go away again. Anyway, I’m about to be married. I have my own life.”
“Aren’t you at least a little curious about your father?”
“I used to be. But I’m a woman now. I have other things to worry about. You aren’t important to me.”
That was so obviously a lie, he suspected they both recognized it as such. Color rose in her clear white skin.
“Well, pray grant me a woman’s patience and hear what I say.”
He waited for her to snipe about patience being something he’d demanded for too long. But she studied him with her heartbreaking blue eyes and nodded. “As you wish.” Then couldn’t resist adding, “Although I can’t see what good it will do.”
He gave a grunt of sour amusement. “Confession is good for the soul. Perhaps it will help me even if it doesn’t help you.”
She didn’t smile but he knew she listened as they strolled along the shady path. The muffled clop of the horses’ hooves on the leaf litter, the soft jangle of bits, and the distant bird-song calmed the storm in his blood.
“You’re very like your mother, you know,” he said softly. “She had your eyes and your hair and sometimes I catch an expression on your face that’s Joanna come to life.”
“I know. Aunt Celia is always telling me. Anyway, I’ve seen the marriage portrait.”
Of course she had. He’d forgotten sending the large Rae-burn across to his sister’s home before he left for his first diplomatic posting. Obscurely, through the blind haze of grief, he’d imagined his children would feel some connection to the absent parents in the picture.
In retrospect, his painted likeness seemed a vilely poor substitute for a real father’s presence. Almost cruel, in fact.
He wondered why he’d never seen this so clearly. He wasn’t a stupid man. But learning about Olivia’s past yesterday had made him think about so many things differently, including how he’d treated his children.
He’d been a bad father. He’d let himself down. He’d let Joanna down. Worst of all, he’d let William and Roma down. He wondered again if anything he did could make amends when the sin was so heinous. But dear Lord, he had to try.
“From the first moment I saw your mother at Almack’s, she owned my heart. She was younger than you are now. Seventeen. And I was only eighteen. But the match pleased our families and there was no barrier of rank or fortune. We were young, we were frighteningly innocent, and we were madly in love. Nobody saw any reason why we shouldn’t marry as soon as decorum allowed.” He and Joanna had been so hungry for each other in that first rapturous flight of love.
Roma eyed him with cautious curiosity. “I can’t imagine you ever being the same age as I am.”
He laughed shortly. “Believe me, I was.”
She sounded doubtful, which amused him, in spite of the moment’s seriousness. He remembered feeling the same about his elders. He’d even said as much to his father when he pushed for a quick marriage to the woman he already knew was the love of his life. He might have been young, but he’d known his heart. Better than he’d known it any time since.
“We lived together for almost four years and had two children we both adored.”
Roma must have jerked on the reins because her horse snorted in protest and tossed its head. He waited for her to argue his choice of words but she didn’t speak. He had her complete attention. But what she felt, he couldn’t have said. It struck him again that his daughter was a stranger.
“When your mother died, I wanted to die with her. In many ways, I did die with her. Your aunt offered to look after you and William. Everyone told me it was the best thing.”
“And you wanted to run away.”
“Yes, I wanted to run away.” How could he explain to a girl of her age what that grief had been like? How crippling. How selfish. How all-encompassing. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room as his children because they were alive and his beloved was dead. He realized he owed Roma the full shameful truth. “I was a coward.”
She studied him with a steady gaze that he couldn�
��t entirely read. There was certainly condemnation in her eyes. Which God help him, he’d earned. There was also something that could be the birth of understanding. “You were only twenty-two. That’s just four years older than I am now.”
“I was young. That doesn’t excuse the wrong I did.”
“No, but it makes everything a little easier to comprehend.”
She was far from offering him forgiveness. His sins of weakness and neglect against her were so great, he wondered if he deserved forgiveness.
He’d been wrong to abandon his children. A broken-hearted boy might evade his responsibilities. To be fair to Celia, he’d been in such a fit of sorrow after Joanna’s death, he hadn’t been capable of caring for his son and daughter. But he flinched to think that so many years had passed and he’d never returned to shoulder his family duties.
That was where his real crime lay.
Overwhelming guilt left a rusty taste in his mouth. He’d give his soul for a chance to change the past, to fix his multitude of mistakes, but it was too late. All he could do was blindly stumble forward in hope that the future might allow him some bond with his children.
“I’m glad we had this talk,” she said softly as they came out into the sunlight.
Her small, almost grudging admission made him feel like a king. Those few words signified a massive concession. Choking gratitude ambushed him and he had to struggle for words. “So am I.”
He couldn’t pretend he’d won the battle for Roma’s love and respect. That would take time and perception and every ounce of love he could find. But perhaps this morning he’d made a small step toward what he wanted. With patience and, heaven granting, goodwill on both sides, perhaps that small step would be followed by another and another.
Olivia, you’ve taught me so much.
They entered a busier section of the park. The time for confidences had passed. He turned to his daughter. Odd what a difference an hour could make. “Let me help you into the saddle. It’s getting late. Aunt Celia will think we’re lost.”
Surprisingly, she giggled. He realized with a pang that it was the first time she’d shared a moment of genuine amusement with him. “She’ll think I’ve fallen off and you’ve had to chase my horse all over the park. It’s happened before.”
“I’ll give you riding lessons if you like.”
The lovely openness left her expression and familiar wariness returned. “I’m no good with horses. I never have been. There’s no point trying to change me.”
“I wasn’t—” he began impatiently, then realized that if this was a test, he was about to fail. “The decision is yours, Roma. I ride every morning. If you’d like to come, you’re welcome.”
Her eyes filled with amazement that lasted even while he lifted her into the saddle. It was torture not telling her to straighten her back and relax her stiff arms but somehow he managed it.
Calling an order to the groom who had fallen into a doze on his bay pony, Erith strode across to his horse and mounted. He wheeled his horse around and found his attention riveted on a woman riding a spirited chestnut thoroughbred.
Olivia.
She was well across the clearing but he recognized her immediately. Even though her back was to him. Even though she wore the black riding habit that was any serious horsewoman’s uniform. Even though she’d bundled her distinctive hair under a stylish and rather mannish hat.
Her horse curvetted restlessly but she quieted it with a casual movement of one graceful hand. Joanna had been a magnificent rider. But Olivia surpassed her the way the sun outshone a candle. She and the horse looked like one being. Her seat was perfect, her posture graceful, her supreme confidence clear. And that ebony habit followed every sinuous line of her body so closely that he guessed she’d been sewn into it. It was a courtesan’s trick he’d seen before, but never to such glorious advantage.
The horse was an eye-catching beast. Fresh, all long sensitive lines and delicate legs and curving neck. But the woman atop his back was more striking still.
Erith’s breath stopped in his throat at the superb sight.
Beside him, Roma had trouble getting her placid mount under control. He was vaguely aware of his daughter’s fumblings, even as his gaze remained glued to Olivia.
His mistress chatted to two young bucks. One looked familiar. Erith supposed he must have been at Lord Peregrine’s. The other was a stranger. Handsome, blond like a Norse god, young, obviously rich, riding a roan almost as fine as Olivia’s chestnut.
Was she using her morning ride to select a new lover from among the young men who frequented the park at this hour? The thought ate at him like acid and his hands clenched, so his mount danced under the unexpected tug at the bit.
He tried to stifle his wild and immediate jealousy. Unreasoning, unacceptable, unprecedented jealousy.
What was wrong with him? He’d recognized the reality of his liaison with Olivia from the first. She was a courtesan. This was her livelihood. Of course she’d tout for her next keeper. Erith only stayed until July.
Did he expect her to enter a damned convent then and lament his absence for the rest of her life like some spineless heroine from an opera?
She had a career. As did he. And the two would soon put them a continent apart.
None of these undisputed facts quieted the anger and denial twisting like adders in his gut.
Olivia guided her mount to face him. Even across the distance, he knew she recognized him, even if she gave no overt acknowledgment.
That was how it must be too, blast it all to Hades.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is,” Roma said flatly from beside him.
“What did you say?” he asked, wondering what she was talking about.
She tipped her head, now covered with its hat, toward Olivia. “That woman. Your doxy. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
That was startling enough to capture Erith’s wandering attention. “What in blazes—” He sucked in a deep breath and struggled to control the furious shock rocketing through him. “I beg your pardon, Roma.”
Her lower lip protruded in a way that was regrettably familiar. “You’ll tell me I shouldn’t know about such things. But of course I do. I’m not stupid, nor am I deaf. Your flagrant affair with that harlot is the talk of the ton. It was bad enough for the family when you kept your mistresses on the other side of the Channel.”
“This isn’t something I can discuss,” he said gently, cursing blue murder inside. How the hell had she found out so much?
“Well, I think it’s disgusting,” she snapped, and kicked her horse into a canter.
The groom perforce pursued her, his expression concerned. Obviously the speed was unusual for Lady Roma and he worried about her tumbling off. Erith watched the retreat and echoed his feeling. Roma bounced around with no sense of the horse’s rhythm. The poor beast must feel like it had a bag of wheat bumping about on its back.
He looked up and noticed Olivia studying him. She must guess something of what had happened. And a woman on the fringes of society would have a good idea that the young girl in his company was his daughter.
A message passed between them as if she wordlessly sent him strength. Although nothing changed in that beautiful, strong-boned face.
No observer would have an inkling of the silent communication they’d just shared.
Then she turned back to her companions and treated Erith as a complete stranger. Somehow that dismissal was the worst part of the whole damnable situation. Not that his frail truce with his daughter had shattered. Not that he still had to approach his hostile son. Not that he needed to chase after Roma and make sure she didn’t land on her aristocratic rump. Not even that Olivia flirted with another man.
No, the worst part of the whole hellish, bloody morning was that Olivia wasn’t at his side, openly acknowledged as the lover he was proud to own.
Chapter 17
The footman let Olivia into the house. She’d been out since her ride in Hyde Par
k that morning. Now it was past seven o’clock. Perry had wanted more help than she’d expected with the final arrangements for his thirtieth birthday ball, then he’d wanted her to stay for a nice long coze.
He felt neglected. She could understand that. Even so, his insistence on detaining her seemed deliberate, as if he plotted to keep her away from Erith.
Of course he did. His animosity toward the earl was as marked as ever. Stronger.
Now she felt tired and edgy. All afternoon, impatience had eaten at her. Pleasurable expectation focused on a lover was so outside her experience that it shocked her more than all the wanton acts she’d committed. But what else could the lightness in her step signal but happiness at the prospect of seeing him?
Thank goodness Erith left London in July, or she might make an utter fool of herself.
Her racing heart steadied, took up a fatalistic beat. The prospect of Erith’s departure didn’t give her spirits the boost she’d hoped for.
In a pensive mood, she removed her bonnet and passed it to the butler. “I’ll have a bath and a light meal, Latham. Tea. Not wine.”
“His lordship is here, madam. In the salon on the first floor.”
Surprised, she paused in pulling off her gloves. After spending so long in her company yesterday, she’d assumed he would have family commitments today. “Has he been waiting long?”
“Since four, madam.”
Four? That seemed unusually early. “Thank you, Latham. You’d better wait to order my bath.”
“Very good, madam.” The butler bowed and left.
Even though Erith had been cooling his heels for more than three hours, she paused before going up. After the dangerous emotional storms of yesterday, she wanted to be sure of her composure when she saw him again.
In the hallway mirror, she met her troubled light brown gaze. The woman in the reflection wasn’t the self-possessed queen of the courtesans. The woman in the reflection was vulnerable and unsure and afraid that she’d already given away too much of herself.
Where could she and Erith go after yesterday?
With him, she’d experienced something she had never felt with a man. A strange, electric intimacy. More than friendship. Different from the bonds of familial love.
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