Page 67 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I have no protector,” she said. “I chose to come here of my own free will, to live a quiet life with my son. My income comes from a stipend my father’s solicitor settled on me after the birth of my son. My father came to visit on his return from a business trip overseas—to meet his grandson.”
“Oh sweet heaven!” he cried, his voice filled with relief. “What must you think of me? Can you ever forgive me?” He reached forward and caught her hands, lifting them to his lips.“Sweet, sweet woman—how I have misjudged you, when you are perfection itself.”
“I am not perfection,” she said. “You have every right to think ill of me. I deceived you—I’ve deceived everyone. Perhaps if I’d been honest with you from the start, you might not have formed the conclusions you had, which were valid under the circumstances.”
“How can you speak so, my love?”
My love…
Almost as soon as he’d uttered the words, he gasped and stiffened. His cheeks reddening, he lowered his gaze and tried to withdraw his hands, but she held them firm.
“You…loveme?”
His color deepened, and he grew still.
“Andrew?”
He lifted his gaze, and her soul seemed to sigh at the clear expression in his eyes—neither lust, nor need, but a deep regard, as if he valued her happiness above all else, including his own life.
The purest form of love.
She curled her fingers around his hands, caressing the skin with her fingertips, and he trembled.
“Then you deserve to hear the truth,” she said.
“I have no need to—”
“Gabriel’s father is alive.”
He stiffened. “Then—you’re still married?”
She shook her head. Realization filled his expression, but, rather than the judgment and condemnation that came with such understanding, she saw only compassion.
“Sweet heaven!” he cried. “Did he seduce you? You cannot be held accountable for that.”
She shook her head. “It was me,” she said. “I-I gave myself to him.”
“Youwhat?”
He stiffened, and she released his hands.
“I wanted a title,” she said, “and the recognition and security that came with it, such that I could never be considered inferior again. I wanted it so badly that I was prepared to offer the only real thing of value I had. My…”
He drew in a sharp breath, his color deepening.
“My maidenhead,” she whispered.
He winced and leaned back.
“As to Gabriel’s father, he took what I”—she swallowed her shame—“what I offered. Then he abandoned me.”
“Is he aware of the”—his brow furrowed—“the child’sexistence?”
A cold hand brushed the nape of her neck.
The child.
Notyour son, orGabriel, butthe child. An impersonal thing—an unwanted creature to be tucked away, rather than a beloved son for whom she would do anything.
