The Wild Princess

Thirty-three



Stafford House, London, 1871

Louise shifted away from Byrne’s chest just enough to look up into his face, needing him to see her eyes and know that every word she’d confessed to him was the absolute truth.

“When Locock came into my room the next morning, he tried once more to convince me I was being foolish. I assured him if he killed my baby, he’d have to kill me to keep me quiet.”

Byrne was staring at her with an expression of such wonder that she knew he hadn’t guessed this part. She thought she saw a subtle brightening in his gaze, and relief.

“Aren’t you going to ask where the child is now?”

“I’m pretty sure I know.”

She smiled. Yes, she supposed he did. “By morning I’d come up with a plan.”

“And that plan involved a young woman who scrubbed floors at the art school where you’d met Donovan?”

“Yes. I sent a carriage for Amanda. Then I told Locock to summon his son. Henry was a medical student, soon to complete his studies. I’d met him at parties with my artist friends and liked him. He seemed generous of spirit, gentle, wise beyond his years. When they both arrived I introduced them to each other and made them a proposition. I offered a generous portion of my dowry to set them up in a nice house in a respectable part of the city—if they would marry and take my baby as their own. Amanda would never have to scrub another stoop, and Henry could open his practice years earlier than if he were struggling on his own or dependent upon his penny-pincher of a father. All they needed to do was provide a safe and loving home for my little Edward. And allow me to spend time with him whenever I could.”

Byrne closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, as though to cleanse away the wickedness of his accusations. “I’m sorry I thought for even a moment that you might have—” He shook his head. “This is a much happier tale than I’d imagined. You were terribly brave.” He touched her cheek with rough fingertips. “You stood up to your mother and—”

“And acted just as she would have done.” Louise didn’t try to hide her bitterness. “I ordered people around, forcing them to alter their lives to suit me.”

“No. You saved an innocent life and brought two people together who seem very happy with the marriage you arranged for them.”

Louise had to agree with that at least. Although she’d often felt guilty for bullying Amanda and Henry into a marriage every bit as contrived as her own to Lorne, she had watched them fall in love during the years they were raising her son as their own. “I’ve just learned that Amanda is expecting a child of her own. Henry is as proud as a man can be.”

“So there,” Byrne whispered. “Fate put you in an impossible situation, but you did the very best anyone could. Your son is a healthy, happy boy, due to your courage.”

“But he’ll never know I’m his real mother.” That alone broke her heart.

“There may come a time when you can reveal the truth to him.”

She looked up at Byrne, seeing something new and unexpected in the man. Beneath the facade of a rogue was an intelligent and sincere man. A man of moral strength.

“Why did you put me through this ordeal?” she said, pressing her palms to his chest to move a little away but not quite out of his embrace.

“Because you needed to heal. I told you that.”

“No, I mean, why do you care? You, personally. About me.”

He tipped his head to one side and smiled. “Because I just do.” She watched as he lowered his head, knowing what he was about to do. He kissed her on the lips, long and thoroughly.

Already weak from her emotional outpouring, Louise dissolved at the soft pressure of his mouth over hers. She lingered, enjoying the moment, then sighed. “No one in my family cared enough to face the truth. No one,” she said. “It’s a forbidden topic. My fall from grace.”

The tenderness in his gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to something with more sizzle.

“Mr. Byrne?”

“My Christian name is Stephen,” he reminded her.

This would take some getting used to. “Stephen. I understand you’re a compassionate man. Comforting me and being my confidant is one thing, but . . . I need to know what you’re thinking. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, well—” He lowered his lips to her throat and kissed her once, twice, thrice in a descending pattern to the top edge of her bodice. “I’m just trying to convince myself not to throw you down on this stone floor and make love to you.”

She reached up and placed her palms on either side of his face to make him look up from her breasts and into her eyes. “That would be a very ungentlemanly thing to do.”

“I suppose so. But then—”

“—you’re not a gentleman.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and released her, as if the simple action of opening his arms required as much strength as lifting a smoldering timber off of Amanda. “But if you stay out here another five minutes with me, your reputation will be shot to hell.”

She smiled. “I suppose so.”

He took her by the hand. “Back to the ball, Princess.”