My Unfair Lady (30 page)

   Byron's chest began to ache as he wondered if it was too late when the boy made no move to come to him. Had he destroyed any hope of a relationship with his son because of a foolish promise he'd made to the boy's grandmother?

   Lionel made a choking sound, then lunged across the room, his small frame, so like a miniature of Byron's own, filling his arms and heart with a warmth that he'd been lacking for so long that the shock of it set him to trembling again. And the boy seemed to be adding to the wetness of his shirt.

   "What in tarnation?" mumbled Summer, the words she'd held for so long finally stumbling forth. "Here I was getting ready to tell you that the way you've neglected your son is shameful, especially after knowing how the treatment of your father affected you. And now you come in here like… like…"

   Byron smiled against the softness of his son's hair, breathing in the smell of sunshine and the faint smokiness of the fire. He couldn't blame Summer for her feelings; he knew how it must seem to her. And answering her would help explain it to his son, who even now had stiffened a bit in his arms.

   "It wasn't on purpose," he said, speaking to her but his awareness wholly focused on the young child in his arms. He still couldn't believe that the boy had come to him so willingly, after all these years. "After his mother died, I promised to allow Lionel to stay in her home, the only home he'd ever known, with his grandmother. My father"—and his voice hardened despite himself— "would not allow me to marry Lionel's mother, and I was too young to be able to defy him. And then when I was old enough to come for her, it was too late. I would've done anything for her, even if it meant giving up my son. I owed her that much."

   Summer began to pace the room, that uncanny way she had of walking making it look as if she floated across the floor. "But why? Why would she ask you to do such a thing?"

   "Lionel's grandmother," replied Byron, feeling the tension in his son's body, understanding that he needed the answer more than Summer, "said that her daughter's dying wish was that the boy stay with her. That since I didn't marry her daughter, and the boy would never be able to inherit, that it wouldn't be fair to expose him to my kind of life. That he would be happier in the village."

   "So, his grandmother asked you to let him stay with her? But how could you know that's what his mother really wanted?"

   Byron sighed. "I couldn't be sure. But when my father died, I was saddled with two decrepit estates and very little income. Would it have been fair for me to drag him from one weekend party to another? Would I have received invitations with my son in tow? Remember, I've supported myself off the hospitality of others. And my ability to be… entertaining."

   Byron hadn't felt anything shameful in how he lived before, but saying those words in front of his son made him realize that he hated the life he'd been forced to lead. That there had to be another way to restore his estates and fortune, and maybe it was time to give up the life he'd been accustomed to. Maybe there was more honor in no longer being what society called a gentleman.

   "I was hoping that someday I would have a business to give to my son. That it wouldn't matter when the estates went to my half brother, because they'd be dependent on the business I'd built for Lionel, and that would give him some kind of status. Because I couldn't give him what he was rightly entitled to."

   He watched Summer's graceful turn about the room. She'd picked up some followers as well; both her dog and the fox trailed behind her. "But now that you have the income from the railroad, you don't need to live off of other people. And you have the funds to get this weaving business off the ground."

   "I can only keep your payment if I've earned it, and so far I've failed to do so." He winced at the word "failed," knew that the only reason he could even use it now was because he'd finally realized that it didn't really apply… but he'd have to explain that to her later. Right now, he had to find out if his son forgave him.

   "So," said Summer, as if she'd come to some final decision, "even if Lionel can't inherit your estates or a business, he still needs his father. And he needs to be acknowledged as your son, bastard or not. Are you going to do that? When I leave, can I be sure that Lionel will be properly cared for?"

   Byron chose to ignore her comment about leaving. He'd set her straight as soon as he made sure that it wasn't too late for him and his son. She'd never realize how grateful he was that she'd asked him all the questions that his son needed answered. She'd made it so much easier for him. "What do you say, Lionel? Summer's right, you know, although I think I may need you more than you do me. Will you stay and live with me? Can I be a full-time father to you?"

   Lionel gently disengaged himself from his father's arms, drawing himself to his full, if not very tall, height. "You have always been my father. But I would… I would like to live with you, if you're sure you want me."

   Byron felt his guts twist in a way he hoped would never happen again. "I have always wanted you."

   The boy nodded his head, and then turned and faced Summer. "What did you mean by saying that you're leaving? Didn't my father ask you to marry him?" He stressed the word "father," and this time Byron couldn't help but smile. He especially liked that the boy's tone implied that if he'd asked Summer to marry him, she certainly couldn't have refused.

   Summer's eyes widened, and her steps slowed, staring from father to son. She looked astonished that their conversation included her. When would she realize that she was a part of his life? Byron wondered.

   "Yes, he did, but Lionel, I've already given my word of honor to marry another."

   "Ah."

   Byron frowned. Why did the boy seem to under stand that if she gave her word, she had to honor it? As if he knew her and accepted her odd ideas better than Byron himself did.

   The boy turned and looked at him. "Then, Father, you'll have to do whatever you can to have this other man release her from her vow."

   Cook appeared at the door as if she'd been listening and waiting for an opening to pop into the room. "Excuse me, sir, but it's far past the boy's bedtime. And if you don't mind my saying, sir, if you don't get out of them wet clothes you're liable to catch a terrible chill."

   Byron looked down at the thoroughly soaked velvet of the settee. "As always, you're right, Cook. Good night, Lionel. We'll talk more in the morning." They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of quite what to do to say good night to each other, when Lionel stuck out his hand, and they shook manfully. The boy followed Cook from the room but paused a moment to ask, "Summer, whatever happened to Chatto?"

   She blinked, caught off guard by the question, and Byron felt sure the pink in her cheeks wasn't due to the heat of the fire.

   "He went to live on a reservation. Not by choice."

   "I'm sorry."

   "Me too."

   An awkward silence fell over the room after Lionel left, as all Summer's pets followed Cook as well, looking for their nighttime snacks.

   The fire popped and Summer jumped. "Well, I'll say good night as well. Cook's right; you'd better get out of those wet…"

   "Not before we have a chance to talk." The duke strode to the door and locked it, knowing from the way her body had unconsciously reacted to him tonight that there would be more than talk. That even if she'd tried to forget it, her body remembered the pleasure he'd given to her at the pond.

   "There's nothing to talk about."

   "I disagree, madam. It's about time I set you straight on a few things." He stalked her, watching with amusement as she backed up until she hit the wall, afraid for him to get near her. Oh yes, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. She was just too stubborn and misguided to know it. "First of all, thank you for your help with my son."

   "Help? Oh, I thought you'd be mad at me for interfering."

   "How can you interfere when you're a part of our lives? No, don't say it." He lifted a finger and set it against her lips, surprised by how hot they felt against his skin. "I had plenty of time to think about our busi ness arrangement while I was away. You see, I'm not used to failing at anything. And I couldn't understand why I couldn't make you acceptable to society, until I realized something."

   She was interested, he could tell, and just slightly annoyed by his assumption that he rarely failed. He smoothed his fingers across her mouth, and he felt them tremble, felt her trying to fight the urge to kiss them. He grinned.

   "I realized," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "that I wanted to fail. That I didn't want you to change at all. And do you know why?"

   He held her with the power of his gaze. He could feel the chemistry between them, had to fight the urge to replace his fingers with his mouth.

   He had to talk to her first, even if it killed him.

   Then he'd
show
her how he felt, as well.

   The duke did permit himself to trail his hand down her cheek, to rest at the base of her throat, to feel the violent pounding of her heart. "Because I love you just the way you are. With your nutty animals, and the way you keep a knife under your skirts, and the way you make me look at the world differently. I don't want you to change, Summer Wine. And any man who does isn't worthy of you."

   "But you know my secret now," she whispered. "You know the horrible thing I did. How can you even think about loving that kind of a woman?"

   He studied her a moment, the shame in her eyes. Could he have been wrong? Could her pursuit of becoming a different person be because she wanted it herself, and not just for this Monte fellow? He suspected that might be the case and inwardly cursed. This was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. Now he'd have to help her achieve her goal so that she'd realize that she didn't need to change, that she had a man who would accept everything about her. But first, she'd have to accept herself.

   "I've killed more than one man for my country, Summer. I was an officer for a time. Does that change the way you think of me? Does that change who I really am?"

   She pushed a wet tangle of hair off his forehead. "I don't know who you are. I thought I did, but now…"

   Byron leaned into her touch, realized that words weren't going to change anything. She'd still go back to that man, thinking it was because of her honor, no matter what he said to her. But maybe, just maybe…

   He put both of his hands flat against the wall, trapping her with his arms and body. She shivered, but those wide brown eyes snapped with excitement, as if being dominated by him enlivened her. With a groan he allowed his mouth to cover hers, tasting the flavor of his sweet Summer Wine, trying to show her with his body what she couldn't seem to understand with his words. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, echoing the feeling of power that swept over him as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, swept his fingers through her hair, popping out the hairpins until the brown mass of it tumbled around her face.

   His groin ground against hers, and she moaned low in her throat, the vibration of sound tingling across his tongue. Byron wanted to take her there, against the wall, with the wind and rain pounding on the other side. He wanted to shove himself deep inside that exquisite body, wanted to brand her as his own, and knew in that moment the depth of his love for her. He'd had sex with enough women to know that this was different, that his need for her had nothing to do with the pleasure of his body. That his drive to possess her had everything to do with making her his, by spilling a part of him into her and thereby claiming her forever.

   He ripped his mouth away from hers, sucking her breath deep into his lungs as he did so, trying in that way, at least, to make her a part of him. The duke stared into her startled eyes, and he didn't know what his own reflected as he tried to devour her with his gaze; but it seemed to scare her. And she snaked her arm around the back of his neck, neither pulling him toward her or letting him go.

   
But she has to decide
, he thought. Even if it took every ounce of his willpower not to rip the clothes from her body and take her as he'd done by the pond. She needed to realize that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And maybe then she'd also understand that she didn't really want that Monte fellow.

   He'd lit the fire, but she'd have to quench it herself.

   "Byron?"

   Her voice felt like a warm embrace, and he tried to harden himself against the faint tremor that made her sound like a confused child. She was a woman, and she wanted him. And she'd have to take him.

   Byron pulled away from her, moving like an invalid, every muscle in his body screaming in protest as he increased the distance between them. He stood before the fire, staring at the bearskin rug lying before it, remembering that as a child he'd always hated the thing, with the poor animal's head still attached staring at him with sightless eyes every time he entered the room. He hoped that Summer would change his feelings toward it from now on.