Page 43 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

The modesty of the desire was precisely what he had expected. She did not yet permit herself to dream of anything that might draw her too far from the care of her sisters.

“Allow me to ask the same question of you, my lord.”

“Why?”

She wrinkled her nose in a manner he found far too endearing. “Am I not allowed to be curious about you?”

His chest behaved most peculiarly around her, tightening as though it could no longer contain the steady, relentless thrum of his heart. It made him unaccountably wary, yet irresistibly intrigued.

She tilted her head, studying him, her warm brown eyes bright with inquisitiveness. “Have you no dreams, my lord? Surely there must be something you long for.”

“I do not dream, Miss Whitley. Dreams are for men who cannot reach what they desire, and there is very little beyond my reach.”

“How boring your life must be.”

Her answer surprised him. Was his life boring? Had ease made it unchallenging? Was that why even Aphrodite had lost its power to divert him before Red? Irritated by the direction of his thoughts, he glanced down at Darcy. “There is something you should know,” he said, his tone shifting.

Her gaze flickered to his, alert at once.

“My father made provision for your sisters.”

Her steps faltered, and she stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes. “He did?”

“Yes. My man of affairs reported that my father intended each of your sisters to receive ten thousand pounds. I shall see that his intention is honored.”

For a moment, there was only relief, bright, unmistakable, and profound. It softened her expression, eased something that had long been held in tension.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice catching. “That is a fortune. It will change everything for them. Oh, I am so relieved.”

She fell silent, and he saw the quick turn of her thoughts. A faint tightening touched her mouth, and a shadow crossed her eyes before composure could conceal it.

“He made no such provision for you,” Sebastian said, reading the unspoken question in her expression. “At least, none has yet been found. Williams will continue his inquiries.”

Miss Whitley looked away. “I had no such expectations for myself.”

Her tone was steady, yet the hurt beneath it did not escape him. His father had been present in her life, guiding and shaping her in small ways, yet had made no provision for her future. It was a reality as cold as it was unjust. “Have you no other family?” he asked.

She hesitated, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass case before them.

“None that I know of. My mother once said her parents died when she was very young. She was raised by a distant cousin, though she never spoke of that relation again. I have no notion whether they yet live.”

Miss Whitley drew in a breath, steadying herself. “Did he leave anything for my mother?”

“Not that I have uncovered as yet,” Sebastian said.

Pain crossed her face before she could conceal it, and a tear slipped free. She brushed it away with a soft, unsteady laugh, pretending it was of no consequence.

“My mother was always so certain he loved her,” she said. “Yet he left nothing, not even the smallest provision, though he knew how cruel the world can be to a woman left with illegitimate children.”

Something tightened in Sebastian’s chest. “Love had little to do with their arrangement. Whatever existed between them, it was built upon betrayal,” he said, unable to keep the coldness from his voice.

Miss Whitley flinched. “My mother taught me that love is our light in darkness, our strength when we are weak, our comfort in grief, our wisdom when we are lost, and our hope when all else fails,” she replied quietly. “I saw her live those truths in every moment she spent with your father. How can what they shared have been anything but love?”

“It may have been loneliness,” he said.

Emotion flickered raw and unguarded in her eyes. “I am certain my mother loved your father. She endured the threat of scorn to be with him. She helped him break vows made before his wife and before God, all for loneliness?”

Sebastian scoffed, wondering why the devil he was indulging a conversation that unearthed so many emotions he had long ago buried beneath layers of carefully cultivated indifference. “You speak of it lightly because you have never felt it, Miss Whitley. Loneliness is not a mild discomfort to be endured. It has teeth. It rends. It burrows into a person until one will grasp at whatever promises relief, whether it is right or wrong.”