Twenty-Five

The dinner with Hathaway had been planned for several weeks. He would be leaving for a tour of Europe tomorrow with the intention of returning for Eliza’s wedding at the end of the summer. Devonworth, his mother, and Cora were hosting him in a small gesture of goodwill before he left. Mrs. Dove, for obvious reasons, had found herself otherwise occupied, and Cora had informed him before dinner that Eliza and Jenny sent their regrets. Devonworth couldn’t blame them.

Learning over the weekend that he was Cora’s father had significantly colored Devonworth’s perception of the man. Where before Devonworth had found him mildly pompous and annoying, now Hathaway’s actions were perceived through a veil of loathing. The man had abandoned his own children. Devonworth could not hold with that. He didn’t like that Cora was put in a position where she had to pretend a civility toward him.

All through supper, he kept staring at Hathaway, waiting for some inkling of paternal warmth to spark from him. It never happened. He greeted Cora upon arrival as any other gentleman would greet the wife of a man whose influence he was courting. During dinner, he listened politely as she spoke and then immediately turned his attention back to Devonworth. Devonworth brought her into the conversation often enough that it became obvious to anyone who cared to notice.

The experience reminded him painfully of his own father. As a child, he had wondered if his father knew he wasn’t his true son. Devonworth had found out about his paternal heritage when he’d been seven or eight years old. He had come upon his mother and grandmother in the parlor tucked under the stairs, but their hushed voices had reached him outside the door before he revealed himself.

“You must never tell him,” his grandmother had said. That bit of intrigue had stopped him dead.

“How can I keep his true father hidden from him? You mustn’t ask me to do such a thing. ’Tis immoral,” Mother said.

“Your adultery was immoral.” The older woman’s words were like chips of ice.

“We were not married.”

“Betrothal is the same. A vow was given. You’ve asked the Lord’s forgiveness and that is all you can do. You have played the cuckoo’s trick on your own husband. Leave your son in peace. To lay this on his shoulders would be another wrong.”

“But Viktor is in London—”

“The Scandinavian?” His grandmother’s voice rose in panic. “Does he know?”

“No, I didn’t know if I should tell him,” came his mother’s meek reply. He had never heard her so timid.

“Good. You will not mention it to anyone. We will never speak of this again.”

The room had fallen silent except for his mother’s muffled sob. Afraid of discovery, he had tiptoed away, the foundation of his entire world shaken. As time went on, he came to believe that his father knew. He was not given the same regard as Harry. When the heir was generally the pride of the father, the one doted upon, Harry had received that treatment. There was nothing his father could do about the title passing to him because of primogeniture. It went to the firstborn son of the marriage. With no evidence available to prove that Devonworth wasn’t his biological child, his father was left to show his disdain in other ways.

It seemed that Hathaway was cut from a similar cloth. He didn’t disdain Cora, but he certainly had no true regard for her. He was the cuckoo in the situation, laying his egg in another man’s nest. It must have been easy for him to walk away.

“Ladies, let us retire to the drawing room and leave the men to their cigars,” his mother said, drawing Devonworth’s attention back to the table.

He stood as the women rose. Cora had barely looked at him all evening. She wasn’t cold so much as distant. He despised that he had allowed himself to go so far with her at Timberscombe Park and that she was now very obviously hurt. It didn’t help that he had to restrain himself from going to her every night. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t try to touch her again. Was staying away from her worth this pain if they didn’t have the friendship anymore that he had so wanted? There was no easy answer to that question. Instead, he waited, hoping that either his longing or his rationale would win out.

He could only watch her as she silently made her way past him. Her hair was pinned up, the thick curls gleaming under the gaslight. As always, her long neck drew his attention, only now he knew the taste of her skin and wanted to dip his tongue into the hollow above her collarbone.

Footmen cleared the table, and Edgecomb brought a tray of brandy. Devonworth waved away the box of cigars he offered. He didn’t imagine he’d have enough time to properly enjoy one. Not with what he intended to say to Hathaway. Hathaway enthusiastically accepted.

Devonworth waited until he had the cigar lit and they had been left alone before he said, “I know that you are Cora’s father.” The man’s eyes widened in response, and he coughed against the smoke he had inhaled. “She told me,” he added in case Hathaway intended to deny it. Then he went silent, enjoying how the man stewed in his own guilt as he decided how to respond.

Eventually, he recovered and rolled the cigar between his thumb and forefinger, gliding the tip along the edge of the crystal ashtray set between them. “You must understand, my lord. I wasn’t certain that she was mine. Not at first.”

“But Mrs. Dove was your mistress?”

The man shrugged. “I suppose.”

“What does that mean? Did you pay for her expenses, her home?”

The cold edge of his voice had Hathaway eyeing him warily—how had he missed that those eyes were so similar to Cora’s? It was because they lacked all of the warmth hers contained. The older man’s were flat, like flint. “Yes, we eventually came to an arrangement. When I first met her she was . . .” Hathaway’s voice trailed off, and when he spoke again, Devonworth was certain he’d changed what he had originally planned to say. “She was involved with an acquaintance of mine. Their relationship soured and we became close. She fell pregnant quickly, and I didn’t know the child was mine until later. The resemblance was close enough that I felt comfortable supporting them.”

Something about that turned his stomach. It sounded as if Hathaway would have cast them out had Cora not resembled him, casting a woman he had been intimate with and her infant to the streets.

“I hope you won’t hold her parentage against her. She had no choice but to turn to deception.”

“I would never hold that against her.” He said it so passionately that Hathaway had the grace to flush in shame. No, he would save his wrath for the man sitting in front of him. “But since you mention it, why would she be forced to turn to deception?”

Hathaway’s mouth rounded and then opened and closed several times. “I—I could not publicly acknowledge her.” His eyes narrowed as he floundered for some sense of commiseration, hands gesturing wildly. “You know how these things go.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to admit to his own illegitimacy and how his path had been far different than Cora’s, but he couldn’t betray his mother that way. People whispered, of course they whispered, but there had been no proof or hint of intrigue from his father’s camp. Meanwhile, his true sire remained in Scandinavia. Devonworth didn’t even know which country the man named Viktor called home. He refused to give Hathaway such ammunition to use against them in the unknown future.

“I have no children, so I am afraid I do not.”

The older man appeared frustrated, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “It happens, particularly in your aristocratic circles. Jacob Thorne himself is the natural half brother of the Earl of Leigh.”

“Mr. Thorne’s father, the late earl, acknowledged him and saw him and his siblings cared for. He was educated and inherited monies and investments.”

“I educated Cora and her sisters, even though I was less certain of their paternity.”

“Are you so uncertain of the faithfulness of every woman you lay with?”

The thinly veiled insult struck home, and the apples of Hathaway’s cheeks turned red with hidden fury. He sputtered again, looking rather clownish with his glowing face. “We weren’t married. I couldn’t be certain she didn’t see other men. She’s very beautiful now and was even more so then.”

Devonworth suspected his fear had more to do with his own insecurities than Mrs. Dove’s beauty. “Did you promise to marry her?”

The man got very still. Shame tinged his voice. “My parents refused my request to marry her.”

“Why?”

“Fanny’s family was not known in our circles. She was no one, and they couldn’t see the heir to the Hathaway fortune married to someone like that. At the time, I was bitter with them, but now that I have my own daughter approaching marriageable age, I understand their concerns.”

“You mean your fourth daughter.”

Hathaway gave a brisk nod, nostrils flaring. “I intended to elope with Fanny, to take her and the children to Toronto. I owned shares in a railroad there and figured I could make it on my own. Then the war came and everything changed. My father died, and I was suddenly in charge and working with the government in Washington to keep our troops supplied. That part of my life with Fanny and the children had come to an end.

“I sent money for their care. A friend, Jeremiah Dove, took them in and gave them respectability. Somehow word got out about them after his death. I have long suspected Fanny was behind it. She thwarted her own daughters’ futures to smite me. I couldn’t see them as much as I wanted because every time I did, the gossips got wind of it. You can imagine the shame and embarrassment they were to my wife . . . my mother. Finally, I had no choice but to cut off all contact.”

“You wanted to forget about them.” His voice was laced with absolute loathing, and he couldn’t be bothered to care. “To abandon your own flesh and blood.”

Would the man who had fathered Devonworth treat him so coldly had he known? Had his mother ever confessed the truth to the mysterious Viktor? He realized that he had never asked because part of him was afraid to know the truth.

“I did what I had to do for my family. They were hardly paupers or cast out into the street.”

Rubbish. “As Cora’s husband, I am Jenny and Eliza’s brother by law and their closest male relative. I want you to transfer control of their inheritance to me.”

“Out of the question.” Hathaway’s voice was whip sharp. Devonworth knew he had likely gone too far in showing his disdain when he wanted something from the man. It was a lesson he had learned several times over, but his anger on Cora’s behalf had been too fierce. “My mother left that to them, and I could not see it controlled by anyone other than their husbands.”

“Or is it that you would rather control their husbands?”

Instead of answering, Hathaway snubbed out his cigar and rose, pushing the chair back so fast that it scraped across the floor. “I should be going. I leave early tomorrow.”

“No.” Cora walked into the room, her chin parallel with the floor and her eyes alive with suppressed fury. Devonworth was so startled by her entrance that he stumbled in his haste to get to his feet. “Answer him,” she demanded.

Hathaway gave her the smooth grin he employed while trying to be charming. “Cora, dear, you and I both know that my mother—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand and the older man was silenced. “You and I both know that your mother intended for my sisters and me to have inheritances, not dowries. You are the one who contrived to arrange things to your benefit. Let’s not pretend that this is anything other than it is.”

Hathaway’s expression turned serious, and he glanced at Devonworth as if to plead with him to control her. But he could only smile at her bravado—Christ, she was something—and took the few steps necessary to reach her, where he put a supportive hand on her lower back.

“I don’t know what you are going on about,” Hathaway said. “This has all been settled.”

“It has been settled, hasn’t it? Everything has worked out for you as it always does. Eliza will marry, and then eventually Jenny, and you’ll have us out of your way while gaining the influence of three prominent sons-in-law. That has all been settled. I would simply like for you to understand that we all see you for what you are.”

Hathaway stiffened to his full height and looked down his nose at her. “And what is that?”

“A miserable, frustrated little man who will have to live his entire life knowing that he was too spineless to ever once reach out and take what he really wanted.”

His face reddened. “I will not stand here and listen to this nonsense.”

He made to leave, but Devonworth moved to block his path. “I want you to consider my proposition very carefully while you are gone. Eliza and Jenny deserve better.”

“Good evening, your lordship.” The older man tipped his head, and Devonworth moved back to Cora’s side, where they watched him leave.

The room was heavy with their silence. Finally, Cora turned to him. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t trust him, and I don’t like the idea of him having any power over them.”

She nodded, but there was a suspicious sheen in her eyes. “That’s why you were so angry earlier.”

“You noticed? Is that why you returned to the dining room?”

She shrugged. “I had a feeling you meant to speak with him, and I was curious.”

“I don’t like how he abandoned you and your sisters. I’m glad you won’t have to deal with him anymore. I won’t invite him back here if you don’t wish to see him. Just say the word and—”

She reached out to touch him. It was the slightest press of her hand against his chest, but she might as well have touched him with flame. Every part of him lit up, warming, throbbing, burning for her.

“I appreciate that, Leo. I might take you up on your offer, but for now we can’t cut him out of our lives. Not when Eliza’s marriage could be at stake or even Jenny’s . . . when she finds someone.” Then she closed her eyes. “Or maybe I’ve already put them at risk. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

She started trembling, and he pulled her against him. His lips rested at her temple. “You had every right to say them. Unfortunately, everything you said was correct. He won’t withdraw the funds because he wants the contacts those marriages will bring too badly. Your words smarted, but he’ll recover by morning.”

She nodded against him and drew in a stabilizing breath. “Yes, I suspect that’s true.”

He pulled back enough that he could tilt her chin up to make certain that she was better. “Are you all right?” His voice was husky with need.

It was difficult to be so close to her and not take more. He knew her taste and smell. It would be so easy to take her mouth and dip his tongue between her lips. They could be in his bed in under a minute. He could be inside her in a minute more. He had to grit his teeth against the wave of arousal that caused. This was not the time for that. Not with her so vulnerable. Not with him so very afraid of the great emotion lurking just below the surface of his heart. It could all come crashing open so very easily.

“Much better, actually. I’ve been wanting to say those things for a long time.” She did look better. The anger had gone to be replaced by a peaceful joy.

He wanted her so badly. He wanted to bask in her peace and happiness. She smiled and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He followed, part of him silently plotting to see every part of her that he had denied himself, part of him warning that he should never be alone with her again.

When they reached her room, she hurried inside.

“Would you return in a quarter hour?” She spoke to Monroe.

He couldn’t hear the woman’s muttered reply, but she came out a moment later and averted her gaze from him as she skirted around him. It would be years before they could look at each other again after Timberscombe Park.

“Sit down.”

Cora indicated the chair he usually took and picked up the papers he recognized as his speech. Shaking them out, she said, “I finished the opening. Tell me what you think.” Clearing her throat, she waited for him to settle before she began.

“Colleagues, friends, and . . . bellends.” She gave him a mischievous smile that made him burst out into laughter.

“Where did you learn that word?” It was strikingly British, or so he had thought.

She raised one shoulder. “I thought it appropriate. Use it or not. It’s up to you.” She cleared her throat and continued on in a more serious tone. “Allow me to share with you the story of a family I met while visiting Clarkston, a village that, like many, has borne the brunt of our race to industrialization . . .”

He listened with rapt fascination and awe as she read the words he would say in a few short weeks. As he did, he knew that he was absolutely lost. They could not go back to being friends after all. He loved her.

He imagined evenings spent working on speeches or papers in the years ahead. Her beside him. Their verbal sparring as they discussed the best turn of phrase. He would kiss her neck, and the evening would slowly melt into night when he would carry her upstairs where he would bed her so thoroughly she’d fall sleep in his arms, too exhausted to retire to her own chamber. But that wouldn’t happen. Not with her wish for a separation.

Unless he could change her mind.

The thought struck him from nowhere, causing him to physically jolt from it. Did he want to change her mind? Did he want to be so completely at the mercy of another woman who held his heart? He glanced away, lest everything he felt be displayed on his face.

She looked up, eyes questioning. “What do you think of the new opening?”

He swallowed thickly. “It’s perfect,” he said with polite applause. “Thank you for writing it.”

She smiled, and his heart palpitated in the most alarming way. It was too late for him. Mild panic drove him to his feet.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

He gave a terse nod. “I’ve remembered that we left my mother downstairs. I should bid her good evening.”

Her smile fell fractionally. “I forgot about her.”

He could not leave without touching her, so he took her shoulders in his hands. “Are you truly all right?” When her brows drew together, he clarified, “With what happened with your father?” Her lips curved in that beautiful smile again, and he let her go to put distance between them.

“Yes, I’m glad to have said to him what I’ve been wanting to say for a long time. Thank you for standing by me.” She closed the distance, and he kept walking backward until he ran into the door, where he put his hand on the latch as if it was a lifeline.

“Always, Cora.” It was bloody true. He cleared the husk from his voice and attempted to set them back on a less emotional track. “Tomorrow is the LSS demonstration. You remember what I told you?”

She nodded. “I remember. You want me safe.”

“Good.” At the very least he could keep her safe until he figured out what the future held for them. “Good.” Opening the door, he said good night to her and put much-needed distance between them.