James made no reply.
“I would not worry if I were you,” Sir John said, an ironic twist to his mouth. “Women don’t stay with me. No doubt Miss Rogers will prove no different than the rest. She will be looking for her escape any day now and there you will be—ready to rescue her.”
Mind in turmoil, James went downstairs and found Hannah alone in the drawing room, staring out the window at yet another coastal storm. For a moment he stood there gazing at her profile, remembering how his heart and body had burned when he’d held her in his arms, when he’d seen her step from her bath, and when she’d touched his face. ... Now his heart cooled and he tasted ashes in his mouth.
He cleared his throat. “Hannah ... em, Miss Rogers.”
She turned and looked at him. For several ticks of the tallcase clock she studied him in silence. His shock and worry must have shown in his expression, because she whispered, “He told you, then?”
“Yes.” Betrayal snaked up his spine. “Why didn’t you?”
She shook her head. “I have never told anyone. Never spoken of it. Never would have, if Marianna still lived. In any case, I never dared imagine he might acknowledge Danny as his son. And I would never try to force him.”
“Regardless,” James said. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to stay here and pretend any longer.”
She made no answer, turning away and staring once again through the rain-streaked window.
“You don’t owe him anything,” James insisted. “Or at least, noteverything. And don’t tell me you plan to continue living under another woman’s identity. That cannot stand. Marianna Mayfield’s death must be recorded.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the law. And because you arenother.”
“I know that. But I am Daniel’s mother. And like it or not, Sir John is his father.”
Bile soured his throat. “You will stay with him because he—a married man—took advantage of you while you were in his employ? That is the sort of man you want?”
“It wasn’t like that. I know it was wrong, but it wasn’t like you make it sound.”
Grasping her arms, James turned her to face him. He looked into her beguiling blue-green eyes, and pain and longing washed over him. “But you want me. I know you do.” His whole body tensed with frustration. Why would she not admit it?
He gripped her shoulders, his voice a low growl. “Hannah, tell me the truth. I need to hear you say it.”
Composure crumbling, she whispered, “James, I ... You’re right, I do ... have feelings for you. But—”
His arms whipped around her and he crushed her to him,pressing his mouth to hers, swallowing her words. For a moment she kissed him back, meeting and returning the bruising fervor of his kiss. Then she wrenched her mouth free and tried to pull back.
“James, stop. You didn’t let me finish.”
He buried his fingers in her hair and pressed his lips to her temple, her cheek, her throat. “You love me,” he whispered into her ear. “What else is there to say?”
“A great deal.” She lifted her palms to his chest and pushed a few inches of space between them. “James.” She drew in a shaky breath. “There is more to life than feelings or desire.”
He shook his head. “Nothing is more important.”
“Yes. There is self-control, and doing the right thing even when it is painful.”
“No,” he growled. “You shall not be the sacrificial lamb here. I won’t let you do this.”
He turned abruptly and strode from the room.
Chapter20
Long after James had stalked away, Hannah remained, staring out the window at the lashing rain, wind-bent trees, and grey sky as evening darkened. Yet she saw not that storm, but another stormy night early last spring, when she had still lived in the Mayfields’ Bristol house....
Hands clasped before her, Hannah glanced around the drawing room. Lady Mayfield’s customary armchair was empty. She had gone out. Again. Meeting her lover, no doubt. Sir John stood before the hearth, imposing in evening clothes, one hand resting on the high mantel, the other propped on his hip. He stared at the fire, expression brooding.
Outside, lightning flashed and rain lashed the windowpanes. To go out on such a night? How desperate she must be to see Anthony Fontaine. Hannah recalled unsettling images of Marianna and Mr. Fontaine flirting and stealing kisses in this room not long ago, but blinked them away. It seemed almost a betrayal to think of the two of them in her husband’s presence.
