Page 107 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
They broke eye contact simultaneously. Phaedra shook out her skirts and said, “It is late. I should be retiring, too.”
James nodded. He didn’t even attempt to stay her. They might well have been strangers, not two people who had shared the greatest intimacy a man and woman could know. For a moment, Phaedra hesitated. She had never told James about the life they had created. But the loss of their child was still too raw a grief. Perhaps one day she might tell him, but right now, there seemed little point in adding to burden of sorrow he already carried.
She curtsied and prepared to leave when she felt his touch upon her shoulder so tentative, it seemed far too slight to bridge the gulf of misunderstanding between them.
He said hesitantly. You have not told me what your plans are, what you intend to do now.”
She turned back to face him. “I shall stay with Grandfather until-until he no longer needs me.”
James compressed his lips. “How fortunate for him. Perhaps I should abduct young girls and send innocent men to the gallows. I did not realize that was the way to inspire such devotion.”
Phaedra flinched at his sarcasm. “I know I should despise my grandfather as much as you do, considering all that he has done. But I cannot.”
She tried to explain to James some of Sawyer Weylin’s background-the dire poverty and the tragic circumstances that had led to the death of his young wife.
“I think Grandfather simply grew too hard. He learned to substitute ambition for love, which is a great pity.” Phaedra added sadly, “For I could have loved him if he had ever given me the chance. James, my grandfather is not as wicked as Carleton Grantham was. I don’t expect you to ever forgive him, but for your own sake, please?—”
James’s flinty tones interrupted her. “I am planning no more acts of vengeance, if that is what you fear.
“No, I didn’t mean—” She drew in a deep breath. “I am sorry that I ever accused you of being the one who used the Goodfellow papers against my grandfather. I was hurting too much to be reasonable. I felt you had rejected all that I offered you, that you didn’t understand exactly how much that was.”
She continued in a small voice, “I never thought I would trust any man again after Ewan. To put my life entirely in your hands was not that easy.”
“It was not easy for me, either,” he interrupted,”to set aside the anger and bitterness that has occupied the whole of my waking moments these past seven years. God, Phaedra, I did try!”
“Perhaps neither of us tried hard enough,” she said.
James took her by the hand. “Is it so impossible that we should try again?”
She gazed up at him, her breath stilling at the depth of love she found in his eyes, the yearning he could not suppress. Before she could answer him, the gallery door opened.
Lucy thrust her head inside, crying out in a frightened voice. “Lady Phaedra, you must come upstairs at once. Your grandfather needs you. He’s surely about to die.”
Phaedra had no need to disengage her hand from James’s. He had already released her.
As Phaedra walked alone to Sawyer Weylin’s bedside, the lamplight fell across a face withered past recognition. And yet Phaedra thought Lucy must be mistaken. Her grandfather appeared more alert than he had for many a day. He was even trying to speak.
“Grandfather.” She caught his hand, the once-plump flesh seeming to sag over his bones. His skin felt so cold.”
“That you, girl?”
She had to lean closer to understand his ragged whisper. “Aye, Grandfather”
His dull gaze roved past her. “Who’s that with you?”
His question made no sense to her until she realized that James had slipped in silently behind her. Even now Phaedra felt an impulse to form a protective shield between him and the old man. She wanted to beg James to go, not to lower himself by triumphing now. But although James’s gaze was fixed upon Weylin, his blue eyes devoid of pity, she saw no hate burning there, either.
“Good evening, Monsieur Weylin,” he said, using the French accent Phaedra had not heard for many a day. “It is I, Armande.”
Her grandfather pursed his lips forming the word “marquis” and then smiled,
Phaedra could not let this farce continue, not at her grandfather’s deathbed. “James, please go,” she whispered.
But he didn’t move, never taking his eyes from her grandfather.
A struggle seemed to wage within James, then he said, “There is something I need to ask you, monsieur.”
No, not now, Phaedra begged silently. It was far too late to be demanding any more explanations. But James’s next words were so unexpected, she nearly sagged against the bed.
