by Ava Stone
There was no avoiding it now. She was a horrific liar. After a moment, she shook her head.
“You…ruined me,” she finally admitted. “In more ways than one.”
In direct opposition to the tumultuous feelings of unrest and humiliation that Olivia was experiencing, Rowan seemed to be in his glory. He sat back against the sofa with the smuggest smile she’d ever seen on any man. If she wasn’t so uncomfortable about her admission, she might have found him amusing.
“Well, now, it’s not every day a woman admits to pining for you for seven long years.” Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m awfully glad I decided to pay you a call this morning, Mrs. Edwards.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, trying to gather up some bravado, of which she had very little. “I did have a constant reminder of you…and of that night.”
Rowan looked sideways at her, the smug grin still on his face. “That was a lovely night, wasn’t it? You did surprise me, I must admit.”
Heat rushed to Olivia’s cheeks. How could he speak so plainly of such things?
Wanting desperately to change the subject, she asked, “So, what are your intentions, Mr. Findley? Now you know the truth. Marcus is your son, though I’m not certain I’m ready to tell him that.”
It twisted her heart to think of telling him that Jack wasn’t his real father. Poor Jack. He’d been so good to Marcus, yet as time went on, the child’s memories of the man faded. He asked many questions about Jack—what foods did he like, what kind of man was he, was he smart—in a desperate attempt to feel a connection to his father. Would the questions stop if he learned Rowan was truly his father? Would he ever understand the wonderful man Jack was?
Rowan sat forward and placed his elbows on his knees. The smugness was gone. “I don’t actually know, Olivia. This is all kind of a surprise to me.”
“Yes, for me too,” she put in. “I could hardly believe when you appeared at Hamlin Abbey. I hadn’t made the connection between you and Lady Swaffham, so you can imagine…”
She broke off when she realized Rowan was staring at her with a strange look. What was that expression? Did she have something in her teeth?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She pulled the blanket even higher up. Any higher and it would cover her face completely.
His wry smile told her he was most likely thinking of that night in the stable. Blast him. She might be a lonely woman with base desires, but she wasn’t the wanton chit she was seven years ago. She was a responsible, mature widow with a child. Did he think to woo her with his dashing looks and devastating smile?
He shrugged. “No reason.”
“Liar.”
“Fine,” he said, looking at her pointedly. “I was thinking about kissing you. There. Happy?”
Heat rushed to Olivia’s cheeks and she wished she could toss the stifling blanket aside, her body was so aflame. She hadn’t felt this way in…well, seven years, actually. She hated to admit that. Poor Jack. They’d had a tender romance built on friendship, but never this. Never the all-consuming, brain-addling desire she felt whenever Rowan Findley was near.
She wanted to kiss him too. Her mind raced with memories of the stable—heat and flesh and pure ecstasy.
But there were too many complications. She had Marcus to think of. She couldn’t simply rush headlong into Rowan’s arms without taking her son into consideration.
She realized she’d been silent for an awfully long time, so she cleared her throat and straightened her blanket. “I-I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing to say to a woman,” she finally said. “And even if you were thinking of…ahem…kissing me, I wouldn’t let you.”
Rowan raised his eyebrows, clearly amused by her declaration, though Olivia didn’t see anything funny about it at all. “Is that so?”
Oh, blast. Did he think it a challenge?
“Yes, that’s so.” She gave him her sternest of stares—the one she gave Marcus when he was acting out of line. “You are not granted permission to kiss me. Ever.”
“Never ever?” He pursed his lips together. “That’s a very long time.”
“Don’t tease me.”
“But it’s so very fun.”
Olivia’s mouth dropped open. How dare he take pleasure in making her uncomfortable? She was about to say just that, when he launched himself across the small distance between them and planted his lips on hers.
Olivia squealed and kept her mouth firmly closed. She would not allow him to get the better of her. It didn’t matter how good he smelled or how warm and comforting he felt or how much he made her nether regions throb with desire. She could not allow herself to fall prey to him.
What if he rejected them after all this? What if he decided he wanted nothing to do with them? The choice was his to stay or go, and that made Olivia sick to her stomach with nerves.
Despite the fact Olivia was so tight lipped, Rowan persisted. He wasn’t hard or forceful. As a matter of fact, he was far gentler than Olivia ever would have expected. He nipped lightly at her lips, and then his tongue darted out in an attempt to get her to open for him.
It tickled in a way that made her squirm in her chair. In a way that made her think of actions much more scandalous than simply kissing. And before she knew it, her mouth had fallen open and Rowan dived in.
His mouth was warm, his kisses tender. Olivia was tempted to weep for all the emotion flowing through her, all the thoughts swirling in her head. How he filled a void she’d had in her life ever since Jack died, or maybe even before. How she felt guilty, as if she were disparaging her deceased husband’s memory by kissing another man. How she had dreamed of this moment in those long, lonely nights, wondering if she’d ever see Rowan again, or at the very least, find a good man to love again.
It all overwhelmed her, and made her arch her back into Rowan, who stood over her. Apparently deciding the angle was too awkward to continue this way, he snaked his arm around her back and lifted her easily from the chair. He supported her weight, clearly being mindful of her injury, and Olivia fell against him, suddenly feeling like that wanton seventeen-year-old again.
His chest was hard and warm, and it occurred to her that her blanket had fallen to her feet. There was so little material between them now. Her nightgown was thin, and her nipples hardened with desire.
After a few more moments of what she could only describe as fevered bliss, Rowan broke the kiss. He didn’t let go of her, though. He merely pulled back slightly and stared at her with his eyes half-shuttered.
She wanted to tell him never to leave. To marry her now and take his place as Marcus’s father. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want him to do those things because of guilt or pity. She wanted him to want to do them. He had kissed her, so perhaps they were headed in that direction. If she made a desperate plea now, she might scare him away.
The sound of Marcus chattering away to Mrs. Stilton interrupted them, and sent them both scrambling. Rowan immediately let go of Olivia and ran frantically back to his spot on the sofa. Olivia’s heart raced, and she thanked the good Lord for making her son a chatterbox as she collapsed back to her chair and drew the blanket up to her neck again.
Only a moment later, the door burst open, letting in the cold and her whirling dervish of a child. Mrs. Stilton hobbled along behind him and shut the door once she was inside. Then they both stared confused at Rowan.
“Mr. Findley?” Marcus said, furrowing his brow in such an adorable manner it made Olivia’s heart melt a little.
Rowan nodded in greeting. “Good morning, Marcus.”
Olivia suddenly remembered he’d yet to be acquainted with Mrs. Stilton. “This is our neighbor, Mrs. Stilton,” she explained. “Mr. Findley is staying with his cousin, Lady Swaffham for the holiday.”
Despite the old woman having poor eyesight, it was obvious she could see the similarities between Rowan and Marcus. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out whe
re to even begin.
“A pleasure, Mrs. Stilton,” Rowan said, dipping his head to her.
“How was the service?” Olivia asked, wanting to save everyone from the awkwardness of the moment.
“Boring,” Marcus replied. “What is he doing here? And why did you leave church so quickly, Mr. Findley?”
Olivia looked up to find Rowan blushing quite brightly.
“I-uh-well…”
“What a man does with his time is his own business, Marcus.” Mrs Stilton had clearly gotten over her shock enough to scold Marcus on his manners.
“Well, the truth is,” Rowan continued, and Olivia didn’t like the idea of him telling the “truth” right now. “I came to see you.”
Olivia sat back with a silent sigh of gratitude. She didn’t imagine he’d be the type to blurt out that he was Marcus’s father, but one never knew. Olivia hadn’t seen him in seven years, and even then, they only spent one single evening together. They were practically strangers.
Strangers who enjoyed kissing one another.
“Me?”
“Yes,” Rowan confirmed. “You said you wanted to see me again, so…here I am!”
Marcus’s face lit up, and Olivia had to admit her heart lit up a bit, too. Perhaps it was foolish of her to get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help it. Hope was all she had right now, and hope looked an awful lot like Rowan Findley.
If Rowan had been asked a few days earlier what his idea of a perfect day would be, he would never have said, “sledding with a seven-year-old.” But as it turned out, it was quite a bit of fun. Rowan felt as if he were a child himself. There was a joy—a giddiness inside him that he hadn’t felt in years.
Of course, kissing Olivia had made him quite giddy, as well. So much so he was actually considering giving up his bachelor lifestyle and settling down with the woman. They did have a child together, after all, even though they hadn’t raised him together thus far.
Rowan’s thoughts shifted to his friend Arrington and the night he and his friends had made the pact to stay bachelors for all eternity. Hadn’t he been the one to make the suggestion in the first place? The one to make the declaration that they’d never take wives the rest of their lives?
Damn!
“It’s your turn, Mr. Findley!” Marcus ran up the snow bank, dragging the wooden sled behind him. His cheeks and nose were rosy red, and his brown eyes sparkled with amusement.
Rowan’s heartstrings tugged looking at this boy–his son. What had he missed out on all these years? And who was to blame? Should he blame himself? Or Olivia? He could have married her then—done the right thing by her, whether she was enceinte or not. He’d ruined her, after all. But she could have found him. She could have told him about the child.
She probably had some foolish notion about not wanting to be married to someone who might not want to be married to her. Blasted woman. Imagine all the kisses they could have shared over the past seven years if she had just sought him out.
Or if he had done the right thing by her.
Damn, this was frustrating and confusing. But as he took the sled from Marcus, he pushed the thoughts from his mind as best he could.
“That was a good run,” he told the boy. “Even faster than last time!”
He positioned the sled in the snow and then sat down on the wooden slats. He couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face as he pushed off down the hill. The frigid air filled his lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. The cold nipped at his nose and made his eyes water. He’d rarely been so happy or exhilarated in his life.
The two of them spent most of the afternoon taking turns going down the hill, but when their stomachs started to grumble and the frostbite began to settle in, Rowan thought it best he get the boy indoors.
They walked side-by-side all the way back to the tiny cottage. Marcus didn’t say much—clearly he was tired, since he’d talked incessantly on the way there earlier in the day—but it didn’t matter. The silence was companionable, and it left Rowan to his confused thoughts.
Not that he was going to straighten them out anytime soon. Hell, this was strange. Just a few days ago he was heartily committed to a bachelor lifestyle, and now the thought of going back to his solitary lifestyle felt empty and lonely and pointless.
Marcus ran ahead as they neared the cottage and burst through the door first. There was a warm glow from the fire inside, and as Rowan approached, a delightful aroma reached his nose and made his belly grumble loudly.
He walked into the cottage and shut the door behind him, before placing his hat on the hook and removing his coat. Marcus was chattering away to Olivia about their afternoon, and her laughing responses warmed Rowan through and through. How could this simple, domesticated life feel so right all of a sudden? It was such a far cry from his usual life of dinner at his club and carousing with his friends, yet part of him thought he might actually prefer it.
“Are you hungry, my dear?” she asked Marcus. “Mrs. Stilton prepared a soup for us.”
“Tell Mrs. Stilton it smells divine,” Rowan said, and Olivia snapped her blue gaze to meet his.
“Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Findley?” Her voice wasn’t necessarily inviting. On the contrary, she sounded a bit terrified that he might say yes.
“Are you inviting me?” he asked.
Olivia’s plump lips rounded into an Oh, and her cheeks turned pink as she looked from him to the pot over the fire and back. And then Rowan felt like a cad. She was terrified he’d say yes, but not because she was nervous having him about. There wasn’t enough food for all of them.
Rowan wasn’t about to deprive the two of them of their dinner, so he laughed it off and said, “Of course not. My cousin will be expecting me. But if I might take a few moments to warm myself before going back out in the cold, that would be greatly appreciated.”
The relief in Olivia’s eyes was obvious as she sighed and relaxed into her chair again. “Of course,” she said. “Please, stay as long as you like.”
Rowan would have liked to stay all evening. Have dinner with them, help her put Marcus to bed, read quietly together by the fire, and maybe find himself beneath the covers with her. It was absurd, really. Of course he preferred carousing the streets of London with his friends, drinking ‘till the wee hours of the morning, and tupping a willing doxy. What was he thinking?
He looked at Olivia. Her red hair glistened in the light of the fire, reflecting gold and copper, glinting with every movement. Those plump lips formed a half smile, and her eyes lit up every time Marcus said something new and amusing. But there was a crease in her brow that told him she was worried about something. Perhaps her foot was bothering her, but he had a feeling that was the least of her worries. Sure, they had a roof over their heads and food on the table, but she had to work to keep those things. If she couldn’t work, even for a few days, what would happen to them? What would that mean for their already meager lifestyle?
It was a delicate situation—one that Rowan was not prepared to handle. He wanted to help, but he needed to be careful how he went about it. She wasn’t likely to accept charity, but would she accept a proposal?
When Monday morning arrived, Olivia knew this was the day she’d have to grit her teeth and go back to work, whether her foot was completely healed or not. With Christmas less than a week away, she simply couldn’t miss another day and risk not being able to give Marcus a proper holiday.
Of course, it had crossed her mind several times in the last twenty-four hours that perhaps they might get an invitation to Hamlin Abbey, but surely that was not going to happen. It wasn’t like she was family, and even though Marcus was.
Had Rowan told them yet about Marcus? Or did he even need to? Perhaps it was as obvious to everyone else that they were related as it was to her.
Blessedly, Marcus was still sleeping this morning. He’d fallen into bed last night, nearly asleep before his head even touched the pillow. Rowan had done a fine job of wearing him out sledding yes
terday afternoon.
Olivia smiled at her sleeping child. Even if Rowan went away and never came back, they would have had that one, lovely afternoon. And one day, when Marcus was old enough, she could tell him that the kind man who’d taken him sledding that one winter was his father.
Olivia’s stomach clenched. How could she ever tell that to Marcus? He would hate her forever for not telling him sooner, wouldn’t he? He would wonder why the man abandoned him, and—
No. If Rowan didn’t want anything to do with them, she would accept that as a sign from God that Marcus should never know anything about his real father.
Her mind made up, Olivia set her feet down on the icy floor and pushed herself to stand. She winced with the pain in her ankle—this would not be an easy day. But she had no choice; she had to get to the sweet shop.
She alternated hobbling and wincing as she made her way around the cottage, attempting to go about her day as usual, lighting the fire, preparing breakfast, and performing her morning ablutions. By the time she finished, exhaustion overtook her and she sat down in her chair, her stomach churning with nausea. How would she ever get through this day?
A knock came at the door, and Olivia called out for Mrs. Stilton to enter. The old woman bustled into the cottage and quickly shut the door behind her, trying to keep the cold out.
“Morning, Mrs. Stilton,” Olivia said weakly. She wasn’t surprised when her friend turned concerned eyes on her.
“You don’t look well, dearie,” she said, coming further into the small room.
“I don’t feel well, either.” Olivia tried to offer a smile, but she couldn’t quite muster it.
“Is it your foot?”
Olivia nodded, and tears sprung to her eyes. “But I can’t miss another day, Mrs. Stilton. It’s almost Christmas. I’ll be let go if I can’t work. How will I ever provide a proper Christmas for Marcus?”
“Perhaps that handsome Mr. Findley could help? He is the boy’s father, after all, isn’t he?”