Chapter Two #2
He adjusted the baby in his arms now, unaccustomed to holding such a small, fragile thing.
‘Release her,’ he said to his man. He didn’t think she meant him any harm—not physically, at least. But as for his reputation…
Whether her claim was true or not, he was aware her actions could damage him beyond repair and his family could do without yet another controversy. This might destroy his fragile father.
Had he destroyed her?
His footman loosened his grip and Bea tugged her arms out of his hold.
Edward stared down at the baby and his heart clenched.
‘I’ve never even held a child before—I could not have sired one,’ he muttered, shaking his head.
He looked so small, so delicate…precious, like the ornaments in his father’s home that he’d always been told not to touch. He almost felt intimidated by the boy.
He searched the sleeping child’s face, looking for any signs of resemblance.
Yes, the boy had a shock of dark hair, like him, and his skin was of an olive complexion, like all the Harringtons, and all right, he might have a small patrician nose, which might later on give him a strong and noble profile, just like Edward and his brother, he thought with a twist to his gut, but there was nothing else to signify they were related.
Instinct told him the boy was his, a warm fluttering fullness exploding in his chest at holding his son for the first time, yet he felt a weakening in his muscles and his head was shaking in overwhelm, still desperately trying to deny it.
He had determined never to be a father before William’s death—not after his own painful upbringing.
If it wasn’t a necessity, he would never choose to have children. Why should he believe her?
Then a thought struck him. Had Bea learned of his brother’s passing and heard that he was potentially weeks away from inheriting his father’s title?
Was that what had caused her to seek him out now?
After all, her timing was uncanny. She couldn’t know about his imminent engagement, but she must have realised her appearance would have maximum impact today, the first day of the Season.
Perhaps she was hoping it would make him more inclined to pay her off to keep her quiet so that this potential scandal would go away.
He fought for control. This kind of thing happened all the time—women trying to trap a man. He did not have to take her at her word.
He went to pass the child back to her. ‘Here.’
She shook her head, taking a faltering step back. ‘I can’t,’ she said, distressed, her throat sounding thick with unshed tears. ‘Please. I need you to take him.’
His stomach roiled. ‘Impossible!’ he said again.
‘I need you to take him,’ she repeated, wringing her hands, her voice cracking. ‘I can’t look after him anymore.’
A trickle of dread seeped through him, for that was not what he was expecting her to say.
He had thought he would hand the child back and she would announce a price for her silence and the boy’s upkeep.
Instead, she was asking him to look after the child?
It was inconceivable. He was in no position to take on the boy and he certainly would not be doing so.
Yet, looking down at Bea, he had the alarming feeling she was about to bolt like one of the wild horses on the estate at Longwood, leaving him standing there in the street holding the baby, and he wanted to tell his footman to seize her again.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘You are willing to hand your child over to a stranger and just walk away?’ A lick of anger fired up in his stomach. What kind of mother deserted their child?
His own…a voice inside his head mocked. His own mother had done exactly that. Whether the blame lay with her or not.
‘You are not a stranger, you are his father,’ Bea said.
‘I was not even aware of his existence until just moments ago,’ he spat, his voice rising. ‘I do not even know his name. Or how old he is.’
‘It’s Thomas and he’s six months old.’
His breath stalled. ‘Thomas,’ he repeated. It had been William’s middle name. She couldn’t have known that. Was it some kind of sign?
He glanced at the boy, as if to check the name suited him. It did.
Edward’s constricting lungs made it hard to breathe.
He returned his cool gaze towards her, his mind whirring.
‘Six months, you say?’ He did the maths.
He shifted the baby in his arms. He desperately wanted her to take him back.
‘If that is the case, why are you only just coming to me today? Why did you not tell me before—when you found out you were with child? Or immediately after he was born?’
His anger flared—at the situation; at his mistake, if he had been so foolish to get this woman with child. But also because she had kept it secret from him for all this time.
‘Because I knew you’d react like this. I knew you wouldn’t want to know. But now I have no choice,’ she said. ‘I have come to realise you will be able to give him a far better life than I can. I want that for him,’ she said, swiping at a tear that had escaped down her cheek.
A better life? He almost laughed. If only she knew how far from perfect his own life had been, she might think differently.
He’d always felt restricted by the limitations placed on him due to his father’s position—now, more than ever.
He wasn’t sure he would subject anyone to the same relentless judgement, or the strict guidelines by which he had to live.
Glancing around the busy street, he realised her tears—the fact they were even talking at all—were drawing looks from passers-by, causing a scene, and that was the last thing he needed.
He had a ball to get to. He’d almost forgotten he had a bride to meet, and the irony wasn’t lost on him.
He knew he had to marry, that it was his duty to have a child and protect the Harrington legacy as a matter of urgency—but what were the chances, that on the day he was going to meet his future fiancée, the one woman he’d never been able to cast from his mind had turned up and was telling him he already had an heir, even if he was an illegitimate one?
‘Get in the coach,’ he said, moving the child into his one arm as he reached out and gripped Bea’s elbow with his other hand. ‘I do not want us to be seen here like this.’
‘No!’ she said, as if stricken by the contact. She tried to wrangle herself out of his grasp.
His fingers burned at the feel of her cool skin. He knew it was improper to touch her with his bare hands, and yet, they had done a lot more before.
He sighed, letting her go. ‘Look, Bea,’ he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
‘I will not discuss such a sensitive matter with you out in the street—in full view of every passer-by and the gossipmongers of the ton. We will have more privacy in the coach. You cannot expect me to just take the child—not without us discussing things further,’ he said, glad his voice sounded stern.
‘Be reasonable. You can speak to me inside or not at all.’
Her fingers reached up to graze her temple, a frown creasing her brow.
His footman moved to hold the door of the coach open again.
‘I will have George take you home afterwards,’ Edward said, softening his tone just a little. He needed her to agree.
She looked warily between him and the other man. ‘Very well,’ she relented, resigned, before she moved to step inside the carriage. ‘As long as you are not doing the driving. I’ve seen how that turns out,’ she threw at him.
Edward clenched and then unclenched his hand.
He turned to his man and lowered his voice.
‘You will not repeat a word of this to anyone,’ he said through gritted teeth.
Though he knew his footman was unlikely to gossip, the threat of this fresh scandal had him riled.
‘This situation shall be resolved imminently. I shall prove that this woman is lying and she will have no more bearing on this day, or my future.’
Steeling his resolve, Edward drew in a breath before he curled his big body inside the coach after her, slamming the door shut behind them.
Bea watched as Edward manoeuvred his tall, muscular frame into the seat opposite her.
He held her gaze for a long moment, the air thick with tension and the expensive scent of his spicy cologne.
He gingerly placed their son down on the seat beside him, seemingly relieved to have Thomas out of his arms, before running his palms over his solid thighs.
Had she made a mistake in coming here? She didn’t remember Edward being this intimidating before.
She could feel the anger vibrating off him, his reprimanding, piercing gaze boring into her, and she resisted the urge to pick up her son, pull him close to her chest and make a hasty retreat.
Yet she was trembling so much she didn’t think she could walk, let alone run.
Besides, she knew that she mustn’t, not now she’d come this far.
Edward was still the most attractive man she had ever seen.
She had been charmed by him the moment she’d met him that night at the inn, but his tone and his touch had been gentler with her then.
She had foolishly fallen into his arms much too easily.
She still couldn’t believe she had given up her virtue to him, and after just a few short hours in his company.
There had not been a day in the fifteen months since that she hadn’t thought about that night, especially as she had the consequences to remind her.
Her beautiful baby boy. But even though Edward had never been far from her thoughts, nothing could have prepared her for coming face-to-face with him again.