The Forest Lord (18 page)

For now he understood the veil of sorrow that he had sensed upon their first meeting at the stables. She was not telling the whole truth, but of one part he was certain: She had not willingly given up their son.

The barrier between them had fallen, the one that he had worked to destroy since that encounter. This trust was what he'd hoped to gain. But it gave him no pleasure to see her weeping, to know that she had suffered in a way he hadn't expected.

He had stayed away from her this fortnight because he had felt his own defenses crumbling—the defenses that should not have been necessary against her. Her emotions were spilling over into his own thoughts, his own heart. But a mere two weeks had not purged her influence over him. He wondered if a hundred years would be sufficient.

He could not afford human weakness now. "Who would take a child from his own mother?" he demanded.

She brushed at her face with a show of spirit. "Does it matter? He is with me. He is safe."

"Was he in danger?" He placed his other hand on the wall, caging her in. "Would someone have harmed him?"

"No. But now he can live the life he was meant to have. I will be certain that he never lacks for anything in this world."

"Except for one thing.
Why will you not acknowledge him as your son?"

"I have good reason. You may believe that or not as you choose—but…" The last of her pride deserted her. "Will you tell me how you learned of this? It is important…"

"Because the truth will shame you?
Who was his father? Was it not your husband, Lady Eden?"

Her head jerked up, bringing her mouth a hair's breadth from his. "His father is dead."

"Was it your husband who sent Donal away, because the boy was not his son?"

She avoided his gaze. "If you care for Donal… if you care for him at all, you will not speak of this to anyone." Her eyes met his. "You must realize that he will have much more opportunity in life if he is considered legitimate. Please." She reached up as if to touch his face.

He pulled away. If he knew anything of mortal society, Donal's existence would have been hidden from Winstowe as it had been from him. Had it been hidden from
Eden as well? Had she believed her own son dead?

How could she forgive the man responsible—the very man who had broken his most solemn vow to the Forest Lord?

"Do not trouble
yourself
, my lady," he said at last. "I will not reveal your precious secret."

Her shoulders sagged. "Thank you." Once more her fingers brushed his cheek. He expelled his breath and inhaled sharply, taking in her warm, almost floral scent.

"I think I understand why you feel as you do," she said. "You lost your own child. You cannot bear to see it happen again."

He hardened his heart against her tenderness. "There is a condition on my silence; you must dismiss this governess."

She dropped her hand. "She is here for Donal's good. There are so many things I am not qualified to teach him. He barely knows me, and I am not… accustomed to children." She swallowed. "I love him too much to provide the discipline a boy requires. I would do him a disservice to smother and overprotect him now."

Hartley knew that he should encourage her separation from Donal. He had been angry with her for casting their son to strangers, yet it would be far more merciful to both her and the child if any attachment between them was weakened.

But she loved Donal. She had not sent him away or been part of the lie of his death. She had rejected Hartley—his real self—with horror, but that did not stop her from loving their child. He could recognize love, even though he could not feel it.

He
could
feel desire.
Eden was nearly in his arms. One small motion was all it would take.

She interpreted his silence as more disapproval. "Donal has already lived with many disadvantages," she said earnestly. "He must be brought up like every other child of his class. I do not want him to be different."

Sympathy evaporated like dew on an August morning.

The tender twigs of the rosebush nearest him shriveled at their tips.

"Different?" he said. "What is this difference you fear in him, Eden?"

Real fear woke in her eyes.
"Nothing.
And I wish to keep it that way."

"You would cage him," he said. "You would make him like the man who took him from you."

"Never."
She placed both palms on his chest as if she had the physical strength to push him back.
"Never."

He struggled to ignore the mortal magic of her touch. "We made a wager before, Lady Eden. I'll make you a second. Your governess will not remain above a week, and you shall be the one to wish her gone.
She and all of her breed."

"I will not," she said. "I will not wager with you again."

"Because you know you'll lose."

She closed her eyes to block the sight of him. "Please. Let me go."

A command he could have refused, but not this quiet request. He might have appeared a monster to her six years ago, but he wouldn't behave like one.

He drew back, giving her the freedom to leave. But she remained where she was. At last she opened her eyes and looked at him, not with anger or fear, but bewilderment.

"I believe that you care for my son," she said. "I believe I can trust you to protect him. For that, I can forgive you… anything."

"I may require your forgiveness," he said grimly. He turned on his heel to go, pausing to touch the withered branches of the rosebush. Healing life swelled up from the earth to repair what had been damaged by his anger.

He did not wait to see if
Eden witnessed his magic.

From her room in the family wing overlooking the garden
, Claudia watched the manservant walk away from
Eden and knew she had suffered a serious lapse in judgment.

Hartley Shaw. When
Eden had spoken of him, she had not revealed any dangerous partiality toward him—at least not of the sort that would ordinarily worry Claudia. Why should she be concerned, when he was merely a servant and
Eden had been among the ton's most sought-after women?

But Claudia had been observing the man, and what she saw had increasingly disturbed her.

This had been a month of such disturbances. The much-delayed answer to her correspondence to
Ireland had finally been forwarded from
London. It had been written by a stranger, informing her of the deaths of Donal's original foster parents—those she had chosen so carefully—and the boy's passing to first one family and then another.

Donal's arrival at Hartsmere had been a definite shock. But she understood now why he had appeared in so poor a state… why he had been sent back in the first place. The last family to take him in had not wanted him, and had no incentive, in the form of regular payment by Lady Claudia Raines, to keep him.

Claudia was rarely forced to endure the scourge of guilt. But she had felt it when the letter came, and she cursed herself as well as the Irish oafs who had made the boy endure such discomfort.

There was no crying over spilled milk. The boy would never belong in
Eden's world, whatever lies she told, however determined she might be to make him fit in. Even to Claudia it was apparent that compelling him to adapt would be unfair to the child as well as to his mother.

It was true that Donal was not what she'd expected. He was neither so wild nor
so
intractable as she'd led
Eden to believe. But he was a threat to
Eden's future. Claudia had resolved to make certain, this
time, that the boy went to a much better—and more distant—home
. Weaning him away from
Eden, with Miss Waterson's help, was a first step.

I failed you before, my dear. I did not keep you safe. I agreed to your marriage to Spencer. My carelessness created this situation and now I must be the one to correct it.

As she must correct the matter of Hartley Shaw.

Claudia shook her head, though there was no one to witness the gesture. For all
Eden's reputation of taking numerous lovers, they had always been men of her rank. She would not stoop beneath her for companionship. It was not in her nature.

Except that her nature had changed. Claudia had watched it happen ever since their arrival at Hartsmere. At first she had assumed it to be the lingering aftereffects of Winstowe's death, and the ongoing strain of
Eden's self-imposed duties. But gradually Claudia had come to see that the alterations in
Eden were of a more disquieting complexion.

The devotion to amusement that had been
Eden's hallmark in Society was no longer in evidence. And how could it be, in this dismal place? Claudia had dismissed
Eden's initial prattle on the responsibilities of landownership as a mere whim, a passing fancy to keep her mind occupied until she regained her usual spirit. But such had not been the case. As if she'd forsaken all hope of returning to her former life,
Eden had ignored the limitations of her income and strength. She had worn herself to a shadow, and the worst was yet to come.

Donal's arrival was in large part responsible for awakening this driven aspect of her personality. So was her complete isolation from the
ton
. As things were proceeding,
Eden might come to feel a genuine part of Hartsmere. She might—unbelievable as it seemed—wish to remain.

And that brought her back to Hartley Shaw. Could he have influenced these developments?
A servant, a laborer, a peasant?
Claudia's sensibilities hummed with alarm at the memory of
Eden being touched by Hartley Shaw.
Caressed by him.
Held in his arms.

Claudia paced away from the window, deep in uneasy thought. Though she hadn't heard the words of their conversation, she recognized elemental attraction when she saw it. How or when this had first happened she didn't know, but the relationship was well established.

Oh,
Eden made a pretense of holding Shaw at bay.
He
made little pretense of respecting her rank or her person.
And he is handsome, in a rough sort of way. He could almost pass for well-bred. Is that what makes her vulnerable to him
?

That, and loneliness.
Eden had seldom been without male companionship. Men had flocked to her side in
London. She could not be expected to survive without such accustomed tribute.

Giving
Eden her own way at Hartsmere had been a mistake. But Claudia must be subtle in handling Shaw. She well knew how to bribe—or blackmail—one of his fellow servants into becoming her personal informant.

In all likelihood, Shaw was simply a cunning, clever young man who knew how to manipulate women—as he had done in "saving" Donal—and was arrogant enough to believe that even Hartsmere's mistress was fair game. Claudia had met such servants before. Some could be remarkably intelligent, even extraordinary in their ambitions. But inevitably they found themselves discharged without a character. If he were a scheming servant of the ordinary variety, she could simply offer him a good reason for leaving Hartsmere willingly.

If Shaw proved to be more than he seemed, there were more drastic solutions. Now that Donal was firmly ensconced in Miss Waterson's care,
Eden would have less reason to meet Shaw. Claudia would inquire more diligently about additional stable servants and gardeners to assume his work. And she would stay close to
Eden, even if it meant accompanying her on visits to the farms and village.

And, of course,
Eden must be reminded of her rank—and what she risked by dallying with a servant.

Claudia sat down at her escritoire, one of the few fine pieces she had brought from her
London apartments. She dipped her pen and considered her words with care.

If the matter had not been urgent, she would have hesitated to write so hastily and frankly, and at a time when neither Eden nor her surroundings would be seen in their most favorable light—if Hartsmere could ever be seen as anything but a disreputable ruin.

But the marquess was not a man to judge the woman he loved by such trivial standards. Claudia was certain that he would come with all due haste once he knew of
Eden's isolation.

As for Donal, Claudia would make sure that he was nowhere in evidence when the marquess arrived. Miss Waterson already showed admirable talent for her work.

Claudia sealed the missive with satisfaction and took pains to hide it in a safe place until she could post it. That task accomplished, Claudia went downstairs.
Eden stood by the window in the sitting room, distress clear on her face.