Page 66 of Lord of Fortune
He lay down on his side and reached out to smooth a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid away from her forehead. “Do you regret coming?”
“Not at all.”
“What I should have asked is if you regret staying.”
“My answer is the same.” Her brows gathered, and she scooted closer to him. Smoothing her fingertips over his forehead, she whispered. “Try to sleep. I know there’s a tumult inside your head, but there’s nothing to be done right now. You can seek your answers tomorrow.”
Answers. He wasn’t sure there were any. Just horrible, immutable truths. He leaned over and kissed her, their lips gently touching. “Thank you. Will you stay? For a little while?”
“For a little while.” She worked to pull down the covers so they could slide between them. Once they were nestled inside, he drew her close against him and brushed his lips against her hair. She’d bathed earlier.
“You smell like honeysuckle and sunshine.” Happiness.
She inhaled. “You smell like grass and pine.”
“I was outside for quite a while.”
She nuzzled closer against him. “Did it help?”
“Yes.” But not as much as this. As her.
That thought stuck with him as he drifted to sleep.
* * *
Consciousness stoleover Penn with the languor of a kitten stretching in the sunlight. He was warm with contentment, his lips curving into a smile as he recalled last night with Amelia. Reaching for her, he felt nothing but the cold bed next to him.
His eyes flew open, and he sat up straight, the covers dropping to his waist. His heart, which had started to beat faster at finding her gone, began to slow. Of course she was gone. She couldn’t exactly wake up in his bed this morning.
And it was morning, wasn’t it?
He threw the covers back and stepped out of bed, crossing to the window and peering through the slit in the curtains. Yes, morning, but early.
The rest of yesterday—the bad part—rushed over him like a massive wave on the Cornish coast. He was a bloody fucking earl.
He thrust the thought away, willing himself to think of Amelia instead. He washed and dressed before prowling down the backstairs to the kitchen. He’d taken that route more times than he could count—more times than he’d taken the stairs he ought. But this morning he wasn’t avoiding detection so he could sneak to the larder for a sweet. He wanted to avoid seeing his parents because he was still furious.
Unfortunately, the moment he stepped into the kitchen, that objective was utterly smashed.
His father stood at the worktable in the center of the room, his head snapping up and his dark eyes focusing on Penn. A blend of regret and relief mixed in their depths. “I’m pleased to see you. I hope you slept well, but I suspect you didn’t.” There was no relief in that statement however, just a heavy sadness.
Penn had slept better than he ought, because of Amelia, but he wouldn’t tell his father that. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. If you’re looking for absolution, I’m afraid you won’t find it from me.”
His father nodded slowly, his expression tight and pained. “I don’t expect to. You’re angry, and you’ve every right to be, but someday I hope you’ll understand that I was only protecting you. And following your mother’s dying wish.”
Penn pointed upstairs. “She’smy mother.” And he couldn’t believe she’d gone along with it.
“Would it help you to know that she wanted to tell you?”
It did, a little. But again, he wouldn’t give his father any satisfaction. Not now. “The fact remains that neither of you did, and now I find myself wondering what the hell I do next. I don’t want to be agoddamned earl.” Penn couldn’t keep his lip from curling as the anger he’d felt last night returned with brutal force.
Father winced. “I know.”
“You know? How could you know? If you had, you would have managed this differently. My entire life feels like a lie. Do you understand that? I’m not Pennard Bowen, scholar and adventurer, I’m William Kersey, Earl of bloody Stratton.” Just saying the title made him shake with rage and, if he was honest, a bit of nausea.
“You remembered that name?” his father asked softly.
Penn pivoted from the table and from the intense remorse in his father’s stare. “What happened to her, really?”
