Regency Christmas Pact 02 - A Gentlemen's Pact (6 page)

“How was the service?” Olivia asked, wanting to save everyone from the awkwardness of the moment.

“Boring,” Marcus replied. “What is he doing here? And why did you leave church so quickly, Mr. Findley?”

Olivia looked up to find Rowan blushing quite brightly.

“I-uh-well…”

“What a man does with his time is his own business, Marcus.” Mrs Stilton had clearly gotten over her shock enough to scold Marcus on his manners.

“Well, the truth is,” Rowan continued, and Olivia didn’t like the idea of him telling the “truth” right now. “I came to see you.”

Olivia sat back with a silent sigh of gratitude. She didn’t imagine he’d be the type to blurt out that he was Marcus’s father, but one never knew. Olivia hadn’t seen him in seven years, and even then, they only spent one single evening together. They were practically strangers.

Strangers who enjoyed kissing one another.

“Me?”

“Yes,” Rowan confirmed. “You said you wanted to see me again, so…here I am!”

Marcus’s face lit up, and Olivia had to admit her heart lit up a bit, too. Perhaps it was foolish of her to get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help it. Hope was all she had right now, and hope looked an awful lot like Rowan Findley.

If Rowan had been asked a few days earlier what his idea of a perfect day would be, he would never have said, “sledding with a seven-year-old.” But as it turned out, it was quite a bit of fun. Rowan felt as if he were a child himself. There was a joy—a giddiness inside him that he hadn’t felt in years.

Of course, kissing Olivia had made him quite giddy, as well. So much so he was actually considering giving up his bachelor lifestyle and settling down with the woman. They did have a child together, after all, even though they hadn’t raised him together thus far.

Rowan’s thoughts shifted to his friend Arrington and the night he and his friends had made the pact to stay bachelors for all eternity. Hadn’t he been the one to make the suggestion in the first place? The one to make the declaration that they’d never take wives the rest of their lives?

Damn!

“It’s your turn, Mr. Findley!” Marcus ran up the snow bank, dragging the wooden sled behind him. His cheeks and nose were rosy red, and his brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

Rowan’s heartstrings tugged looking at this boy–
his son
. What had he missed out on all these years? And who was to blame? Should he blame himself? Or Olivia? He could have married her then—done the right thing by her, whether she was
enceinte
or not. He’d ruined her, after all. But she could have found him. She could have told him about the child.

She probably had some foolish notion about not wanting to be married to someone who might not want to be married to
her
. Blasted woman. Imagine all the kisses they could have shared over the past seven years if she had just sought him out.

Or if he had done the right thing by her.

Damn, this was frustrating and confusing. But as he took the sled from Marcus, he pushed the thoughts from his mind as best he could.

“That was a good run,” he told the boy. “Even faster than last time!”

He positioned the sled in the snow and then sat down on the wooden slats. He couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face as he pushed off down the hill. The frigid air filled his lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. The cold nipped at his nose and made his eyes water. He’d rarely been so happy or exhilarated in his life.

The two of them spent most of the afternoon taking turns going down the hill, but when their stomachs started to grumble and the frostbite began to settle in, Rowan thought it best he get the boy indoors.

They walked side-by-side all the way back to the tiny cottage. Marcus didn’t say much—clearly he was tired, since he’d talked incessantly on the way there earlier in the day—but it didn’t matter. The silence was companionable, and it left Rowan to his confused thoughts.

Not that he was going to straighten them out anytime soon. Hell, this was strange. Just a few days ago he was heartily committed to a bachelor lifestyle, and now the thought of going back to his solitary lifestyle felt empty and lonely and pointless.

Marcus ran ahead as they neared the cottage and burst through the door first. There was a warm glow from the fire inside, and as Rowan approached, a delightful aroma reached his nose and made his belly grumble loudly.

He walked into the cottage and shut the door behind him, before placing his hat on the hook and removing his coat. Marcus was chattering away to Olivia about their afternoon, and her laughing responses warmed Rowan through and through. How could this simple, domesticated life feel so right all of a sudden? It was such a far cry from his usual life of dinner at his club and carousing with his friends, yet part of him thought he might actually prefer it.

“Are you hungry, my dear?” she asked Marcus. “Mrs. Stilton prepared a soup for us.”

“Tell Mrs. Stilton it smells divine,” Rowan said, and Olivia snapped her blue gaze to meet his.

“Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Findley?” Her voice wasn’t necessarily inviting. On the contrary, she sounded a bit terrified that he might say yes.

“Are you inviting me?” he asked.

Olivia’s plump lips rounded into an
Oh
, and her cheeks turned pink as she looked from him to the pot over the fire and back. And then Rowan felt like a cad. She was terrified he’d say yes, but not because she was nervous having him about. There wasn’t enough food for all of them.

Rowan wasn’t about to deprive the two of them of their dinner, so he laughed it off and said, “Of course not. My cousin will be expecting me. But if I might take a few moments to warm myself before going back out in the cold, that would be greatly appreciated.”

The relief in Olivia’s eyes was obvious as she sighed and relaxed into her chair again. “Of course,” she said. “Please, stay as long as you like.”

Rowan would have
liked
to stay all evening. Have dinner with them, help her put Marcus to bed, read quietly together by the fire, and maybe find himself beneath the covers with her. It was absurd, really. Of course he preferred carousing the streets of London with his friends, drinking ‘till the wee hours of the morning, and tupping a willing doxy. What was he
thinking
?

He looked at Olivia. Her red hair glistened in the light of the fire, reflecting gold and copper, glinting with every movement. Those plump lips formed a half smile, and her eyes lit up every time Marcus said something new and amusing. But there was a crease in her brow that told him she was worried about something. Perhaps her foot was bothering her, but he had a feeling that was the least of her worries. Sure, they had a roof over their heads and food on the table, but she had to work to keep those things. If she couldn’t work, even for a few days, what would happen to them? What would that mean for their already meager lifestyle?

It was a delicate situation—one that Rowan was not prepared to handle. He wanted to help, but he needed to be careful how he went about it. She wasn’t likely to accept charity, but would she accept a proposal?

When Monday morning arrived, Olivia knew this was the day she’d have to grit her teeth and go back to work, whether her foot was completely healed or not. With Christmas less than a week away, she simply couldn’t miss another day and risk not being able to give Marcus a proper holiday.

Of course, it had crossed her mind several times in the last twenty-four hours that perhaps they might get an invitation to Hamlin Abbey, but surely that was not going to happen. It wasn’t like she was family, and even though Marcus was.

Had Rowan told them yet about Marcus? Or did he even need to? Perhaps it was as obvious to everyone else that they were related as it was to her.

Blessedly, Marcus was still sleeping this morning. He’d fallen into bed last night, nearly asleep before his head even touched the pillow. Rowan had done a fine job of wearing him out sledding yesterday afternoon.

Olivia smiled at her sleeping child. Even if Rowan went away and never came back, they would have had that one, lovely afternoon. And one day, when Marcus was old enough, she could tell him that the kind man who’d taken him sledding that one winter was his father.

Olivia’s stomach clenched. How could she ever tell that to Marcus? He would hate her forever for not telling him sooner, wouldn’t he? He would wonder why the man abandoned him, and—

No. If Rowan didn’t want anything to do with them, she would accept that as a sign from God that Marcus should never know anything about his real father.

Her mind made up, Olivia set her feet down on the icy floor and pushed herself to stand. She winced with the pain in her ankle—this would not be an easy day. But she had no choice; she had to get to the sweet shop.

She alternated hobbling and wincing as she made her way around the cottage, attempting to go about her day as usual, lighting the fire, preparing breakfast, and performing her morning ablutions. By the time she finished, exhaustion overtook her and she sat down in her chair, her stomach churning with nausea. How would she ever get through this day?

A knock came at the door, and Olivia called out for Mrs. Stilton to enter. The old woman bustled into the cottage and quickly shut the door behind her, trying to keep the cold out.

“Morning, Mrs. Stilton,” Olivia said weakly. She wasn’t surprised when her friend turned concerned eyes on her.

“You don’t look well, dearie,” she said, coming further into the small room.

“I don’t feel well, either.” Olivia tried to offer a smile, but she couldn’t quite muster it.

“Is it your foot?”

Olivia nodded, and tears sprung to her eyes. “But I can’t miss another day, Mrs. Stilton. It’s almost Christmas. I’ll be let go if I can’t work. How will I ever provide a proper Christmas for Marcus?”

“Perhaps that handsome Mr. Findley could help? He is the boy’s father, after all, isn’t he?”

Olivia jerked her head up to look at Mrs. Stilton. “You knew?”

“No, not for sure. Until now.”

Olivia closed her eyes. She really would be the worst gambler in the world.

“Don’t fret about it, dear.” Mrs. Stilton sat down on the sofa, which creaked and sagged with her weight. Not that the woman was overly large, but she was plump, and the sofa had certainly seen better days. “Marcus doesn’t seem to notice the resemblance. Does Mr. Findley know?”

Olivia nodded.

“And does he plan to do anything about it?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice choked. “
He
doesn’t know. At least, that’s what he said.”

“You don’t think he’d try to take Marcus away from you, do you?”

“Away from me?” Olivia’s heart raced. This was a possibility she’d never imagined. But what if she was right? What if he only cared about Marcus in all this? No, he would never. He’d kissed her, and…

And what? They’d done more than kiss before, and he’d left her without another thought.

She rubbed her sweaty palms along her dress. Blast, she was shaking like a leaf now.

“Do you think he would really do that?” she asked Mrs. Stilton.

The old woman shrugged and pushed up from the sofa. “It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. I’m going to wake Marcus—he ought not to sleep so late.”

Olivia pushed the frightening thoughts of losing Marcus from her head and called after Mrs. Stilton. “He got so worn out sledding with Mr. Find—”

“Olivia.” There was franticness to Mrs. Stilton’s voice, and it set Olivia’s heart to racing again. “Oh, good heavens.”

Olivia got to her feet as quickly as she could, heedless of the pain, and rushed into the bedroom. Mrs. Stilton was already stripping Marcus of his nightclothes, and it was obvious the child was burning with fever.

“Dear God,” Olivia muttered as she limped to the washbasin. Her stomach pitched. How had she not noticed he was feverish this morning? His cheeks had looked rosy, but she’d assumed it was a result of hours in the cold and snow yesterday.

She collected a fresh washcloth and then picked up the heavy bowl. The water sloshed onto the floor with every step she took until finally Mrs. Stilton came to her rescue. They sat on either side of the bed and attempted to cool Marcus off with the cloth, but every minute felt like a lifetime, waiting for him to come to. Olivia knew it might take time, but what if…

No. She shook her head of the morbid thought. He was fine. He would be fine. They just had to focus on getting him cool, no matter how long it took.