If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2) Page 6

  Sensing that she remained perplexed by his father’s desires, Zachary explained the terms and desires in a straightforward manner. “Miss Ainsley, it apparently was my father’s wish that his child not be raised at the King’s Arms Inn. Possibly, the inn is less unsavory than most, but it remains that—“ he stopped and gave her a questioning glance for she had begun to stare at him, her eyes widened to alarming proportions, as if he’d announced the sun might never rise again. Briefly, she closed her eyes, her frown now heavy upon her brow and then those blue orbs appeared again, and she directed a pointed stare again at him.

  “Please repeat that, my lord,” she said in a carefully neutral tone.

  Zach lifted a hand, silently asking what had stunned her so, but did as she desired. “I’ve stated that it seems obvious that my father desired that his child not be—“

  “Please stop.”

  Now Zach frowned, at her flagrant disrespect, and at her puzzlement. Wherein came the difficulty? It seemed a simple enough theory to him.

  “Bethany is not your father’s child,” she told him finally.

  If it could ever be said that the new Earl of Lindsey had ever been dazed and bewildered, it should be said now. He made three attempts to ask a question, and three times his lips clamped shut on his stumbling words. Finally, a simple “What?” emerged clearly.

  “I don’t know how you might have come to that conclusion, my lord,” she said, her voice growing anxious with unease. “Had your father intimated such... in some regard?”

  Zach could only shake his head blandly in the negative, his gaze on her but his eyes unseeing. It wasn’t possible, was it? He’d just assumed the baby was his sister. No, he hadn’t specifically inquired if this were true, because—well, he supposed the obvious overtook him.

  He was brought back to attention when her slender hand clamped nervously over her mouth momentarily, her eyes widening with a sudden realization. “Oh, my. You brought me here—you brought Bethany here!—only because you thought she was—oh.” She stood abruptly, unbalancing the chair for a split second, while her features took on an embarrassed and hot flush. “Dear Lord, how mortifying,” she mumbled, fleeing the table with a careless, “Excuse me,” but not before Zachary caught sight of the brightness of tears in her eyes.

  Chapter Six

  It took him a moment, but Zachary did lose eventually the foggy haze of uncertainty that had enveloped him. Thrusting himself from his chair, he followed Emma out of the Paneled Room, but found her not at all in the corridor, nor even midway up the stairs. She must have run, he thought. Tears and fear could often chase a person quickly from one place to the next. Zach took the stairs three at a time and strode purposefully down the second floor, rapping loudly upon the door to Emma’s chambers. He waited then, breathing heavily, and not from the exertion of his chase.

  Foremost in his mind was, how will I make her stay now? If she wouldn’t even admit to him that Bethany was his father’s child, what inducement could he level at her to keep her here? He didn’t think he had misread the innuendoes of his father’s will; he didn’t know why she lied about Bethany’s parentage, but he did know that something inside him did not want Emma Ainsley gone from Benedict House. He thought, while he rapped again when no one answered, that his desire to keep her here was kindled not half so much by her very real allure, but more so by that haunted, ethereal look about her that made a man want to protect her.

  “Miss Ainsley!” He called when there remained no answer to his knock. Eschewing propriety, he pushed open the door and found her standing once again in only her shift, the discarded gown and stockings and slippers chaotically littering the carpeted floor. She appeared fretful, and then further unnerved when she realized his presence.

  “Whoa,” he said soothingly, but steadily as he strode across the room to her. “Slow down.”

  “I am here under false pretenses,” she prattled. “I shouldn’t have come—I shouldn’t have accepted your aid. I thought you knew.... I never imagined you considered that your father—oh, it doesn’t matter. We shall be gone shortly. I’ve asked Mrs. Conklin—“

  He took her arms firmly in his grasp, giving her a small shake. “You needn’t run off, Miss Ainsley.” Zach used a gentling tone, concerned over this very real anguish. She tried to pull from his hold but he held tight. “Regardless of who Bethany is or isn’t,” he said, thinking it not the time to investigate her lies, “my father’s will still provides for you and her. You are welcome here. Miss Ainsley, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, my lord, you are speaking very loudly,” she said, but seemed to have an inability to meet his eyes.

  “Wherever would you be going dressed as you are, anyway?” he thought to ask.

  She shook her head fretfully, still held by him. “Mrs. Conklin was to bring me something less... fine. I would pay you back. I wasn’t stealing. But I would also need a few changes of clothes for Bethany and something warm to bundle her in.”

  “Enough. You are going nowhere. Might I remind you—you haven’t anywhere to go.” He bent his head, trying to engage her eyes. She remained resistant.

  “I—we—cannot stay here.” Tears threatened again, pooling around the blue of her eyes.

  “Miss Ainsley, tell me why you won’t admit that your daughter was sired by my father. Do you expect a wealth of anger from me?”

  This did bring her eyes to his. The blue was troubled and dark and desperate. “My lord, Bethany is not even my child, and I only met your father less than a year ago.”

  Zachary remained skeptical. Truth be told, his skepticism increased with this bold statement. “Then explain to me why my father thought it necessary to include a provision in his will to care for her.”

  “I don’t know. I was shocked to learn of it from you. He tried many times to give me aid, and I refused—“

  “Holding out for more?” He asked bitingly, unable to resist.

  Emma did now shake him off, hugging her arms about her and moving away from him. “Think what you will. It matters not to me.”

  “Make me understand!” This, furiously, wanting so much for her to give him some plausible reason to trust her, to believe her. Inside, somewhere deep where male pride lived, he wanted her to prove to him that she had not been his father’s mistress, even as he deemed this impossible.

  “My lord, pardon my seeming ingratitude,” she said with such frostiness, he wondered that she was the same person who’d bravely held back tears only moments before, “but I owe you nothing. My relationship with your father was our business. What he did for me was his decision. And none of it—then or now—should be of concern to you.”

  “Those are now my coins afforded monthly to you, so I beg to differ,” he contradicted sharply.

  “Which I have repeatedly refused. Consider yourself freed of the burden.” She turned away from him with this, but was spared further verbal assault when Mrs. Conklin entered, appearing jumpy and ill at ease. She carried several dark garments in her hands and gave a questioning, worried glance to Zachary. At his answering stiff nod, the housekeeper mutely laid the garments on the end of the bed and trotted off quickly, pulling the door closed behind her after only one more nervous peek at Emma.

  Zach stood stiff and still while she sorted through the apparel, choosing what appeared to be one of his housemaid’s plain black gowns and then disappearing into the dressing room. Indecisive—but resolved that she must remain here—he worked his hands through his hair and waited for her to reappear. When she did in a very short amount of time, she was clad in that black, unadorned gown and once more wore her own heavy but serviceable shoes.

  “Dare I ask what you are planning?” He tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “To be away from here, that is all,” she answered shortly and did not bother to spare him a glance as she walked purposefully to the door.

  “Wait,” he called, heaving a frustrated sigh, but she did not and Zach then moved quic
kly, reaching the door just as she made to pull it open. His palm flattened on the thick wood and slammed it closed. “Wait,” he demanded, this time sharply. “Think about what you are doing—where might you go? How might you support Bethany?”

  She didn’t turn around, but only bowed her head, one of her hands still on the door knob, the other flattened against the wood below his. He saw only the silken tresses, piled so artfully atop her head, saw the exposed creamy skin at her nape, and the despairing slump of her small shoulders. “Let me be,” she pleaded softly.

  Zach shook his head slowly, but she did not see this. He should, he knew. He should let her go, exorcise her from his home and mind. “I cannot,” he admitted gruffly. “No less than before. If what you say is true, then I must know what it is about you that so captivated my father that he deemed it necessary to care for you as he did.”

  She spun around quickly at this, suddenly alarmed then to find herself so close to him, for their faces were only inches apart. “Can you not imagine that he simply pitied me, and that is all? I did not invite his pity. I did not encourage it, but possibly that is all there was to it. He was kind to me, and I enjoyed his company. At times, I thought him a lonely soul who might have actually looked forward to the time he spent with Bethany and me. He was...my friend.” She’d started out slowly, stumbling, but her voice grew in steadiness as she proclaimed this likely truth. “And I miss him so,” she said with a cry.

  Zachary heard her words—her response did register—but his eyes and several other senses were keenly attuned to just her lips. He watched the fullness of them move around her words, saw her tongue snake out to wet them, and knew he could only guess at their taste and texture. Unless he dared....

  Without further thought to the conflict his actions might cause, he simply lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. Softly, he glided his mouth over hers, taking in her startled stiffness and indeed, the very soft heat of her mouth. He dared further, shifting his body to be nearer, resting one hand at that naked nape, drawing her closer. He felt a moan—half resistance, half unpracticed desire—escape her. Seizing upon this indecision, he pressed his lips fully unto hers just as his body leaned entirely against her. She gasped at this head-to-toe contact and Zach took advantage of this as well, grazing his tongue along the seam of her lips and then satisfyingly within, touching his tongue to hers, dancing around it as he had only previously dreamed.

  He felt the weight of her rounded breasts pressed against his chest, and then the evaporation of that stiffness of her form. For the smallest space of a second, she melted into him, and his body responded with a soaring desire. But this surrender lasted only a heartbeat and in the next instant she was pushing her hands between them and against his hard chest.

  “No.”

  That was all she said. Firm and determined, she gave a final push, and moved herself away from being trapped at the door.

  Breathing heavily, hand rubbing his jaw, Zach followed her agitated progress around the room. She wasn’t particularly going anywhere, only seemed to be brewing something within.

  Finally, she faced him again, her countenance raw, anxious, while he stared once more at her mouth. Made for kissing. Jesus.

  “Is that why you insist I remain, my lord?” Her voice was ragged and low, a wealth of pain told there. “You think that you might just pick up where you believe your father left off?”

  His gaze swung sharply to hers, his jaw tightened, but he said nothing immediately. He deserved that. Barely discernibly, he shook his head, pursing his lips with consideration, his eyes meeting hers squarely. He shouldn’t have kissed her, he knew that much, and the hurt in her voice made him doubly sorry that he had. He hadn’t a proper defense for that kiss, other than that it was possible to justify it in his own head since he’d been the one beleaguered with thoughts of little else since first meeting Emma Ainsley. Wisely, Zach withheld this information, believing it not likely to appease her.

  There had little occasion in his life when he’d been called upon to tender an apology; and less occasions, truth be known, that he’d considered the recipient worthy of his inconvenience. This, he knew, was different—Emma Ainsley might possibly be as innocent as she put forth. Surely, her eyes abetted her claim of purity, and if he gave this deliberation a fair trial, her untutored response to his kiss had corroborated this assertion as well.

  “My apologies,” he said stiffly. She gave no indication that she had even heard him, just stood there, arms distrustfully crossed over her breasts, ostensibly waiting for ... more. “You should not imagine that I insist you stay for only that. I do so because I know you haven’t anywhere to go, and in all honesty, I am not entirely convinced that Bethany is not my sister. I just haven’t reconciled in my head why you might be lying about this.”

  “But I am not,” she argued miserably, and it was obvious she thought she’d never persuade him otherwise.

  “I suppose your role in Bethany’s birth can be easily proven or disproven,” Zach suggested crudely. “Unless, of course, there have been others.”

  This seemed not to garner the outrage it should have, and Zach wondered if she indeed even had a clue as to what he inferred.

  She squared those small shoulders once again and drew a long breath. “My lord, you named the amount your father pledged to me as a monthly allowance. I truly have no care to be supported by you but would ask that I be given two months of that bequest. That would allow me to lease rooms for Bethany and me for many, many months. I ask no more than that as I can work to support us. I—I assume it is not within your power to refuse me the coin that is, essentially, mine.”

  A muscle in his jaw began to twitch. No, he hadn’t any power to refuse her the monies. Hell, he hadn’t any intention of doing so. He just didn’t want her gone from here, whatever Bethany’s parentage might be. But he ignored her request for now.

  “Explain to me, if you will, how it can be that Bethany is not your child. She bears the look of you—hair color aside—and those eyes are rather unmistakable.”

  A draining sigh preceded her answer. “My parents died when I was very small. My sister, who was seven years older than me, and I maintained a room at the King’s Arms. Gretchen worked for the both of us while I was too young.” She paused a moment then shrugged as she explained, “Gretchen had many admirers. She died bringing Bethany into this world. I—I couldn’t very well place my sister’s baby in one of those horrid orphanages. And the Smythes were wonderfully supportive.”

  “And my father?”

  “Your father first came to the inn during a bad rain—his carriage was stuck up the road. I happened to be working the taproom, as Alice was held back by the rains. Your father was nice. He was protective, actually, even before I knew him well. There was a brawl that night and I was caught in the middle of it. My finger was broken, and your father was kind enough to send for his own doctor. He returned a week later to check on me. He was smitten with Bethany. That is how it began.”

  “And?” There had to be more. A man didn’t include a girl in his estate leavings unless there was more.

  She shrugged again. “And... what? He visited us regularly after that. He took us to market in Lambeth. He showed us his new Landau. He bought Bethany a doll. He tried to persuade me to leave the inn.”

  Zachary added what most he needed verified. “And you had a relationship with him.”

  “Well, yes.” She admitted, as if this needn’t have been asked. “I loved Michael. He wasn’t anything like the usual nabobs; he wasn’t stuffy and full of himself. He might have been the kindest man I’d ever known.”

  Feeling something roil within at her confirmation, Zach knew not what else to say. Having this fact indeed established did not ease his mind at all, and it certainly did not make it easier to deal with this raging desire for her. He still wanted to taste her again. He still wanted to explore more. But he would not.

  He could not.

  He determined then that her intent had
never been to swindle his father out of a living; in all probability, she had no idea the extent a man might reach just to care for her. One look at those haunting blue eyes and a man was likely to give up much to have her gaze rest happily upon him.

  His decision was quick to come then. “I will assist you in the purchase of a house—you needn’t live in common rooms.” He held up his hand to forestall her coming objections. “That part is not debatable. But I insist that you remain at Benedict House until a proper and suitable residence can be found.”

  “Then I insist upon working for my keep.”

  My God! But she was stubborn. He almost smiled now, wondering if his own father had felt at wit’s end over her endless obstinacy. “You have enough to do to take care of Bethany,” he pointed out. When it was apparent that she would have argued further, Zachary decided to try a different approach. Brusquely, he announced, “I cannot have my staff caring for your child when they’ve their own work to do. No, I will not allow it. And as your stay here might only amount to a few weeks, at most, I cannot have you thrown into the household mix, only to be yanked out so quickly—that would disrupt too much.”

  Ah, so guilt was the weapon to use to best effect, he realized then, as Emma bit her cheek, but did accept this, as she was not eager to upset the household.

  Zachary nearly laughed out loud at how easy that had been, determining that it was obvious his father had never used the guilt tactic to achieve his own desires for Emma Ainsley. Well, certainly not all of them. His mood soured once again—the thought of this girl having been his father’s mistress a damnable thing—Zach told her then that he would have Mrs. Conklin fetch Bethany and that they should make ready to retire for the evening.

  He noticed that she stood up often to him, at times not cowed by him, but when she knew she was beaten, as was the case presently, she became a rather meek thing. He frowned over this, deliberating if this were to his liking or not. Perhaps having lived her life always as part of the serving class, it was not easy to put forward a brave mien at all times.