Page 57 of Charity

He kissed her hair. “I’m sorry.” Oscar removed a few pins from her tightly bound hair, loosening the locks until she looked more herself, less drawn by her grief. “But I’m here now, and I’ll not leave you again.”

Agatha snuggled against his chest, her hand digging into his coat pocket and tugging out his handkerchief. After a short, delicate blow, her fingers clutched at his coat. “You were wearing this last night.”

A weary sigh escaped him. “I’ve yet to go home.”

She sat up, hands splayed across his chest. Agatha’s eyes were red from crying, her cheeks splotched with angry color, but wariness tightened her eyes. “Where did you go? The hells?”

He smoothed his fingertips across her damp cheek. “Daventry offered me bed space. We talked quite late.”

“Oh?” She sniffed. “You mean you drank quite late. You reek, my lord.”

“Sorry.” Oscar pulled her against his chest, enjoying the feel of her arms wrapped around his neck. “I should go and change, but, quite frankly, I’d not like to leave you alone.”

Agatha stilled in his arms then began to pull away. “I’m not alone.”

He slid his fingers along her jaw gently. “I know your grandfather is still here, but I’d like to stay. Let me. Please.”

Word would spread, and everyone would know by now that he’d run to her front door and barged into a house in mourning. The whispers would reach Penelope eventually.

The sense of rightness swelled as he held her in his lap, offering comfort during her time of need. He wasn’t going to leave her. Not again. Lord Thorpe would sue him for breach of promise, and Oscar would marry Agatha. If the Carrington name was dragged through the mud in the process, he could not regret it.

Movement at the door caught his attention. He turned his head and met his mother’s shocked expression. Her expression turned to a glare.

Once upon a time, that look would have cowed him. But those days were over. He could not please everyone, and it was high time he tried to please just one.

He stroked his hand down Agatha’s back, thankful she could not see the disapproval on his mother’s face. She’d be embarrassed, and Agatha had nothing to feel guilty about today. She needed him as much as he needed her.

When Oscar pressed his lips to Agatha’s hair, she snuggled deeper into his arms. His mother took a step back, her hand rising to her mouth to hold in a gasp.

Yes, Mother, I’m holding the woman I love. Can you tell that from where you stand?

Apparently she could, because her eyes filled with glittering tears and she turned her head away to give them privacy.

In his arms, Agatha stirred and looked up. She always managed to make him feel a better man than he was. He had to tell her about his mother at the door. But, oh, how she looked at him with such longing.

Regardless of his mother’s presence at the door, the dead body down the hall, and the scandal of the situation, he dropped his head to press a gentle kiss to her lips. She smelled delicious, warm, and in every way his.

He kept his kisses light, undemanding, offering his love, strength, and anything else she wanted to take. When their lips parted, her contented sigh proved she’d needed him.

“My mother is waiting in the hallway,” he whispered, holding her still when she would have jumped from his arms. “It’s too late to hide anything, precious. No more lies. No more secrets. Agreed?”

Agatha blinked up at him then her eyes softened. She cupped both hands to his jaw and returned his tender kiss. “No more secrets.”

How had she been so blind? Poor Thomas had thought that no one could win his granddaughter’s interest, but that was because Agatha’s heart had already been claimed. How wrong they both had been. Estella pushed the cold cup of tea away with a weary sigh. How her son had come to be so intimately involved with Agatha Birkenstock she didn’t know, but she grieved for the girl.

Her heart was bound to be broken by his marriage if it wasn’t already.

“Am I disturbing you, Mother?”

She looked up. Oscar’s face was filled with contrition and uncertainty—exactly the same expression Lynton had worn yesterday. She closed her tired eyes, willing the day of shocks to be over. “No. Of course not.”

When she opened them again, Oscar was perched on a chair opposite. “I am sorry for your loss, Mother. It must be difficult.”

Estella drew herself upright from her slump. “I should have expected it. He wasn’t a young man any longer.”

“No. No, he wasn’t.” Oscar shuffled in his chair. “Manning said you were quite disturbed by his death. Can I do anything for you now?”

“Lynton said that, did he?” Bitterness over Thomas’ death added a bite of anger to her words. Lynton would likely be happy to have Thomas out of his way.