Page 11 of Never Tempt a Widow

She shook her head.

“Then I’ll tell you what I surmise. Your parents chose a spouse for you, for whom you did not care. In your attempt to escape what was, in your eyes, an impossible match, you let some other fellow sample the goods. When he got you with child, your parents decided to force you to marry the husband of their choice, who magnanimously agreed to take you, despite the fact that you were ruined. Such was your ingratitude, that you ran away and chose instead to raise your babe in penury and obscurity. Hardly the best choice for the child.”

She recoiled, and her eyes moistened. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.”

He gave her a shake. “Then tell me what it was like, damn it! I need to know.”

There was a mewling cry from the cot, and Rowland released her instantly, turning his attention to his son.

But Fina reached the cradle before him, hefting Edgar up, unlacing her bodice, and offering up a pert pink nipple. The child took it greedily. She eased herself into the nursing chair and settled Edgar comfortably while he drank.

Watching them together, like mother and child, was a dagger to the heart. It was a scene of such sweet domesticity, giving the impression a bond so tight, a barrier so high, that he felt excluded.

And to his shame, he wanted not just the child but the woman who held him. A peculiar sensation had him in its grip, stimulating both his emotions and his lust. He should give the pair their privacy, but his feet refused to move.

He forced himself to return to his chair and allowed himself the luxury of staring. Bitterness surged up in him. It should have been Lavinia in the nursing chair, with Edgar sucking contentedly at her breast, not this woman with all her secrets and preposterous demands. He ought to hate her for even considering taking Lavinia’s place. He ought to hate himself for his weakness.

Fina’s expression as she nudged at Edgar’s wispy hair was soft, loving. Her long lashes caressed her flawless cheek as she gazed down at him, and the babe stared back at her, thankful, curious, hungry for more.

It was a stirring scene. He was reminded that he was still a man, despite his frozen heart. Did not his body have needs? He ought not to settle for just one child in his nursery, just in case—God forbid—anything should happen to Edgar.

It was shocking, appalling, impossible. Felix would never let him hear the last of it. Only…

“If this theoretical marriage of convenience you envisage were to founder, I assume you wouldn’t expect to take any of our children to live with you?”

Her head shot up, a look of horror on her face. “Our children? There would only be Edgar, and he is—and always will be—yours alone.”

“You don’t want to have children?”

“Not by you. Nor by any other man. Another condition of the marriage would be that… that you would leave me alone.”

“By which you mean, not come to your bed?” Convenient for her, then. But perhaps not for him.

Colour suffused her face, and she busied herself with Edgar again. “I cannot take you to my bed. That is a condition of our arrangement in which there can be no compromise.”

“We don’t have any arrangement. And we’re not going to have one. If you’ll stay and feed Edgar until I can find another wetnurse, I’ll pay you double—no, triple what I paid Mrs Radford. I’ll rent you a bigger cottage, with a larger garden. I’ll buy you a donkey and cart so you can take your goods to market—anything you need. But I won’t marry you.”

The colour fled from her cheeks. “I told you—I don’t want your money. I want the protection of your name.”

“Why should I give you that when you won’t tell me exactly who I’ll be protecting?”

“I’ve given you my name—I just can’t tell you my history. You have to trust me.”

“Miss Seraphina Hamilton—I can’t find it in myself to do that.” He’d think of something to make her stay. Even if he had to shackle her to the chair. “Now—it’s getting late. Do you want supper sent in to you, or shall you join myself and Felix at the dining table?”

“I’d like my supper sent in, please.” Her voice was low, and her expression was now hidden by the fall of her hair. Edgar still suckled, but his eyes kept closing. He was happy. At least one of the Cavendish males was.

Rowland stalked out into the passageway. How Felix would laugh when he told him what had transpired! He should laugh himself, but he was too confused by his reaction when he’d watched Seraphina feed his child—there had been something so right about it.

But to do what she demanded would condemn him to a loveless, lonely future. And that, he discovered, was the very last thing he wanted.