was the product of another age,’ he finally said with a sigh, ‘but even she wouldn’t have been quite so eager to break the rules if she knew it would reflect back on her progeny.’
‘No, I suppose she didn’t have a daughter of her own to make those rules real for her. It colours everything when your own reputation affects another’s whole life so drastically,’ Chloe agreed with a hearty sigh of her own.
‘As those girls of ours both changed our lives?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sooner or later we must talk about it,’ he warned.
‘No, your daughter is your business; mine is hers and mine alone. We have nothing to discuss, my lord.’
‘Yet we must talk about it all the same,’ he said as implacably as he could, when he sounded as if grief and weariness were weighing him down too heavily to face a confrontation now.
‘Not if I can help it we won’t,’ she muttered under her breath, but he heard her in the intimate gloom of the dark room. Only a glow from the banked-down fire was left to show them their thoughts and feelings now the light had faded, but when he wanted to he could read her like a book.
‘Do you remember the day we first met?’ he asked sneakily.
All of a sudden the gloom of a January dusk was gone and they were bathed in summer heat again, her most disreputable bonnet was hanging down her back and his bright, curious gaze sharpened on this new phenomenon tramping her way up his great-aunt’s drive.
She had just paid a visit to her little daughter at the wet-nurse’s neat cottage on the Farenze Lodge Estate and she was buoyed up by the hope Verity was finally going to be big enough to come home with her next week. The world seemed a light and happy place that fateful summer day, then she had looked up and met a pair of complicated masculine grey eyes and a fluttery feeling of excitement joined the hope that was rekindling in her after a long winter.
‘Where are you going to, my pretty maid?’ he’d asked as lightly as if he hadn’t a care in the world, for once in his too-responsible life, either.
‘I’m off to London to see the Queen,’ she’d said, suddenly as giddy as a girl as she tossed her fiery gold curls out of her eyes and refused to regret they were wild and tumbling down her back for once.
‘Can I come?’ he’d said and that was it, her heart had opened to him. Dark-haired, smiling Viscount Farenze’s eyes promised her impossible things as they met as the equals they should have been and were no more.
‘Too well,’ she admitted sombrely now, the memory of all they should have been to each other in her eyes as she stared into the fire to avoid his.
There were no pictures of unattainable castles in Spain hidden in the complex depths of it. She’d spent ten years convincing that hopeful girl there could be nothing between Viscount Farenze and Verity Wheaton’s mother, so how could there be?
‘If only things had been different for us, then and now,’ she added regretfully and thought she heard a gruff groan, hastily suppressed, at the thought of what could have been, without their daughters and their duty to make it impossible.
‘It’s time we stopped pretending we’re nothing to each other, Mrs Wheaton.’
‘No, it’s our best protection. My Verity and your Eve will always make it impossible for us to be other than master and servant and you know it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day and you must be weary and eager to have it over and done with,’ she said with a would-be humble nod.
She could only just see his shadowed face and his white shirt and collar and stark black necktie through the deepening darkness. A lot of her longed for the right to move closer; feel cool linen and hot man under her spread palms; offer him comfort nobody else could give on this sorry day and take some in return. It was a right she’d relinquished the day Verity was born, so she hid her hands in her midnight skirts and waited for the words of dismissal that would set them free of this fiery frustration, for now.
‘I am tired,’ Luke Winterley admitted with a sigh, as if it was a weakness he was rightly ashamed of, and tenderness for his manly conviction she had no right to feel threatened to undermine her aloofness.
‘Despite your attempts to prove otherwise, you are only human, my lord. You need a proper night’s sleep after your hard and hasty journey, last night’s vigil and all you have had to endure today,’ Chloe replied.
‘I haven’t enjoyed one of those under this roof from the first day I set eyes on you,’ he snapped, as if she was an idiot to suggest he might now.
She’d offered him the only warmth and understanding she decently could and he’d thrown it back at her as if it revolted him, drat the man, but he could stand apart from the rest of humanity with her blessing. ‘I will get back to my duties,’ she said, snatching back the hand she hadn’t known she’d stretched out as if he’d scalded it.
‘Before God, woman, I could shake you until your teeth rattle,’ he gritted between what sounded like clenched teeth.
‘Because I speak sense and keep a cool head? If so, you’re a fool.’
‘Then let’s see how idiotic I can be, shall we? Then maybe next time you will take a warning in the spirit it is meant,’ he said in a husky voice and sounded so brusque her mouth twisted in a wobbly smile.
He was my Lord Farenze at his most bearlike and made her feel emotions no other man had ever stirred. Her fingers itched to test his athlete’s body and fallen-angel features; to curl themselves into that overlong raven mane of his and tug him down to meet her mouth with his kiss; to discover anew he was as addictive to the touch as to the rest of her senses.
Temptation made her senses flex, stretch and luxuriate in the promise of him. How familiar and seductive and dangerous it was. To be part of something with him was almost as irresistible as the physical fact of him and his ill humour at not being able to freeze her out of his life as he clearly wanted to. Heat flashed through her like sheet lightning; her breathing went shallow as her heartbeat raced and she leaned towards him to...
No! Her body was as wrong now as it was ten years ago. She’d felt such yearning need to be passionately loved back then it was little wonder bitter, guarded, dashingly handsome Lord Farenze unleashed wild dreams in her that ought to be dead and done with. He still could, simply by being here, but her world could never be well lost for love. She had a daughter who must come before him, and her, and everything else in Chloe’s life.
Anything that smirched Chloe’s reputation would make Verity less in the eyes of the world. Yet every time she fought this battle it was harder, as if this darling bear of a man was wound so tight into her senses she would never be free of the feel and look and touch of him, that faint scent of masculine cologne and Luke Winterley. All of him, gruff and smooth, tender and sharp, was caught into her heart so securely that she only had to scent that cologne to be aware of him as a lover until her dying day.
No, she must win her battle one last time and then she would be free of temptation for ever. The thought of never seeing him again made tears sting her eyes. How could she not pity herself all the long years with not even the sight of him ahead? A voice whispered, Giving
