“A red circle on his right hip,” Jeremy said flatly, “identical to mine. Proof that he is my son.”
Harriet could remain still no longer. She turned and ran, uncaring of the noise her boots made on the gravel. Dimly, she was aware of Jeremy's voice raised somewhere behind her. Tears blurred her vision as the trees swallowed her up, and she didn't care if he had seen her or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Who's there?” Jeremy barked at the sound of footsteps on the gravel path.
“It is probably only a gardener,” Florence assuaged.
But Jeremy could hear the sound of running footsteps. A gardener would not run. Nor would a servant on a legitimate errand.
“Do not concern yourself,” Florence said, touching Jeremy's arm.
Without thinking, he drew away from contact with her, leaving her standing with open mouth and outstretched hand. A part of him had reacted in a visceral way to her touch. An instinct told him that he knew who was running away from him.
It cannot be… Why would she come here unannounced?
He broke into a run, heading in the direction of the fleeing footsteps. Rounding the yew hedge, he saw the disturbance in the carefully raked gravel from a hasty footfall. Where the path turned to skirt the trees on the edge of the estate, he caught sight of a broken branch, swinging still in the wake of whoever had roughly pushed it aside.
Jeremy ran in that direction, bullishly pushing through the trees and looking in all directions for more signs of his quarry. He saw branches swaying, earth churned, and even a fragment of lace on a bramble, as though torn from a woman's dress. He redoubled his speed and was rewarded by the sight of a flitting white shape ahead.
The copse was too thickly treed to see clearly, but he didn't need to in order to know who it was.
“Harriet!” he shouted.
The response was a whimper and an increase in the speed of the frantic flight. Guessing her direction, Jeremy forced his way through thicker undergrowth and reached an old poacher's trail, almost indistinguishable from the undisturbed woodland. He recalled it from his boyhood days, where he had once spent many weeks sketching away. Relatively unhindered, he sped on until he reached a clearing formed by a long-fallen beech. Harriet emerged on the other side, looking back over her shoulder.
She cannoned into him and screamed. Jeremy staggered back under the impetus of her flight and tripped over an outstretchedbranch of the fallen tree. Air rushed from him as Harriet crashed down atop him. For a moment, both of them lay, limbs entangled, breathing hard. Then Harriet was fighting to be free of him.
“Let go of me!” she demanded.
“I have!”
“Why did you chase me?”
“Why were you spying on me?”
“I had the right. You have ignored me. The last I knew, we were to dine with the Winchesters. Then I discover...”
Harriet was animated with anger, but at this last, her eyes filled with tears, and her voice became choked.
“That I have a son. Yes,” Jeremy said wearily.
Tears flowed silently down Harriet's red-tinged cheeks. Her eyes were wide and accusing.
“I have been torn between obeying my brother and pursuing my own happiness. Whether to put duty above my own desire. And all the time you were...”
“Facing the same dilemma,” he murmured.
“I had decided to choose my desire.”
“I cannot choose anything but duty.”
Harriet sniffed and nodded. “Just when I would like you to behave like a rascal, you become noble. I suppose you will marry her. It is Florence, is it not?”
Jeremy nodded tiredly, sitting on the fallen log. Weariness beyond his recent exertions pulled at his limbs, lowered his chin to his chest. He closed his eyes.
“Florence Courcy. Sister of the Earl of Pembroke. Cut off by him without a penny for her association with me. Destroyed by the reputation I have carelessly fostered.”
