Page 8 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“Bloody he—” He cut off his words with a glance at the child, and continued in a growl, “What is wrong with you, woman? What do you think will happen if you get into my carriage? I can assure you, I have no designs on your virtue.”

“I didn’t think you did. But I’ve had ample experience with your methods.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to explode, but he bit it back. “I will hire you a hack, and I will follow you. Will that be suitable?”

She wanted to protest. It seemed somehow that giving in to him on anything was a step closer to defeat. But then Gil put his hand into hers and said, “I’d like to feed the ducks.”

“Very well.”

They did as he suggested, and a few minutes later Gil was happily tossing bread—bought by Diggs—to the ducks while Noelle found herself in the bizarre situation of sitting on a park bench beside the man who had terrorized her for years. Noelle presumed that Thorne was presenting this picture of reason and calm because he didn’t want to incur Gil’s animosity. Or perhaps he wanted to keep her from spreading the tale of his many attempted abductions. She suspected he planned to offer her better terms for selling her child.

But what would he do when she refused? Would he then simply take Gil? She would be unable to stop him. Panic welled in her, but she fought it down, clenching her hands tightly together on her lap. She could not let him see her fear. She had learned over the years that weakness was the surest way to encourage any man. Thorne said nothing, studying her for a long moment. Noelle knew she must take the initiative. “I don’t know what you think this will achieve.”

“A truce, perhaps.” His voice was light, but his gray eyes watched her intently.

“I will not sell you my son now any more than I would have five years ago.”

“I never proposed purchasing him. I offered to lift a burden from you.”

“Gil was not—and never will be—a burden to me. I will not give him up to you.”

“I’m not asking you to give him up,” he snapped. Drawing a breath, he went on, “He was a baby then; it would have made little difference whether you or another woman took care of him. But I would never think of ‘ripping’ him away from you, as you so dramatically put it. Whatever my opinion of you, he is attached to you and would suffer from the loss. I have no desire to hurt Adam’s son. I am merely offering Gilbert the life he should have. The one you have stolen from him, I might add.”

“That I have stolen?”

“What else would you call whisking him away to endure a life of poverty and squalor, bounding about from town to town like a rubber ball? Having no place in the world! Raising him among the lowest sort of humanity, exposing him to God knows what experiences.” Red stained Thorne’s cheekbones as his voice turned louder, sharper.

Tears sprang unbidden into Noelle’s eyes at his harsh description of the life she had given her son, but she blinked them away. “It was you who forced him into a life on the run. If you had not hounded us from place to place—”

“I did not hound you. Yes, I looked for Adam’s son. I wanted to talk to you, to see him, to—damn it!” He broke off and jumped to his feet, saying tightly, “I swore I would not do this.” He paced a few steps away then swung around and returned, his voice once more calm. “I have no interest in exchanging recriminations. I want to talk about the present possibilities. Whatever arrangement we make would, naturally, include you, as well.”

“And what would that arrangement be?” Noelle had little hope it would be anything she could accept.

“Providing for Gilbert’s welfare and education. Making sure he is housed and clothed in the state to which he is entitled. He is the Earl of Drewsbury; he should be raised as—”

“The earl!” Noelle repeated, surprised.

“Yes, of course. When his father died, Gilbert became the heir to the earldom. I am sure you must realize that.”

“The heir, yes. Someday he’ll be the earl, but he’s just a boy now. Adam’s father—”

“Lord Drewsbury died two years ago,” Thorne said bluntly. “Even though Adam’s son is a minor and I have been named his guardian, the title is his, as is the estate. The boy should live there. He should get to know his people and form friendships with his peers. He should have servants. He should have decent clothes and food. Learn how to ride. He speaks well enough.” There was a hint of surprise in his voice that grated on Noelle. “But he needs to know so much more to take his place in society. He must learn how to be a gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t want him to learn how to be a gentleman like you,” Noelle shot back. But in truth, his words hit too close to her own worries that she had deprived her son of the things he should have.

“Would you rather the child have no idea how to act, what to say, how to look? That he be an outsider in the world he must enter? He needs to learn about his property, how to manage his affairs, how to handle his money. Good Gad, would you have him go into that world like a lamb to be shorn by mountebanks and sharps, to fall into the clutches of some adventuress—” Thorne cut off his words and looked away.

Noelle supposed it was an improvement that he at least stopped short of saying an adventuress like her. He was right about all those things. She didn’t want Gil to be tossed into a world that would look down its nose at him, that would decry his lack of sophistication. It hurt to think that her beloved child might turn into one of those arrogant young men, viewing the world through the narrow lens of aristocracy, but if he also had her leavening influence, surely that would not happen. His father, after all, had not been the arrogant, dictatorial snob Carlisle Thorne was. “What is it you want me to do?”

Triumph lit his eyes. “I want your son to come home. For you and Gilbert to live at Stonecliffe. There is the house in London, but I think you and he both would be happier in the country. Where you can, um, adjust more gradually to the change in circumstances.”

“Where I will not embarrass you with my lack of breeding, you mean.”

“I didn’t say that.” But the flush along his cheekbones told her that was exactly what he meant. “The country is a better place for a boy—there’s much more for him to do, more freedom to move about. You would have an ample allowance, to use as you please.”

He would, of course, think it was the money that concerned her. It was, she thought, a clear indication of Mr. Thorne’s nature. The offer sounded idyllic, everything that she could dream of. But could she trust him? Why, after all this time, was he so willing to let her live with Gil at the estate? So reasonable, even generous? Was it that in such an isolated place, it would be easier to get rid of her without anyone noticing? She suspected that Thorne would like to, but was he that wicked?

She thought about the ruffians he had hired over the years and their attacks. She thought about the ice in Thorne’s gaze and his contempt for her. Yes, perhaps he could despise her that much. More prosaically, he might hope that she would grow so bored in the country that she would return to London, leaving Gil behind. Or that he could set himself so firmly into Gil’s life, maneuver into his affections so well, that as time passed, he could separate Gil from her.