Hannah crossed the threshold and stopped abruptly, arrested by his appearance.
Sir John Mayfield sat in a regular chair at his desk, his wheeled chair left in the corner. He was fully dressed in trousers, waistcoat, frockcoat, and cravat, hair groomed and face clean-shaven. He looked younger without the beard—handsome, serious, and masculine. She could hardly believe this was the same man who’d lain bedridden for weeks. He looked far more like the man who had once swept her into his arms and into his bed. She drew a shaky breath and tried to force the memory away.
A sheaf of papers lay on the desk. He raised a hand and gestured toward the chair on its other side.
Hannah walked forward, hands nervously clasped together, and sat down. “Before you say anything,” she began, “I need you to know that after last night, I have decided we cannot go on as we are. I will not continue to lie to everyone. Or to myself.”
“I thought you might say that.” He bowed his head, inhaling deeply. “In time, I could try to have Marianna declared dead. But it seems premature at present.”
She pursed her lips in surprise. “Because you would need the Parrishes to testify, and they think the woman they saw floating away was Hannah Rogers?”
“Not only that. Though that will pose a problem.”
She frowned. “Then why—because her body has not been found?”
“Oh, I doubt she will ever be found.” A strange light shone in his eyes. “But we cannot be certain.” He held her gaze. “Willyou wait? Remain here with me until we can sort this out one way or another?”
Why did he want to wait, Hannah wondered, and what exactly was he asking of her? He had not come out and asked her to marry him nor, she reminded herself, had he ever told her he loved her. Did he want her as a lover but not a wife? Or did he dread marrying a woman enmeshed in scandal?
Once, she had wanted nothing more than to live as husband and wife with the father of her child. To know she and Danny would be taken care of. But that was before. In those old unspoken dreams, she had not tainted her chances by assuming Marianna’s identity, nor had she met James Lowden.
She faltered, “I ... don’t know that I should stay that long.”
Disappointment flitted across his face, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he opened a desk drawer and extracted his leather purse, and from it drew out several bank notes.
She watched his actions warily. “What are you doing?”
“I know you refused money for yourself before. However, now there are three of you to consider. Here is enough to set yourself up—along with Danny and Becky—in a place of your own while you work out what you wish to do next.”
She stared at him, not reaching for the notes. She whispered, “You want us to leave?”
He shrugged. “You will leave anyway, eventually. Why extend the charade any longer than necessary?” He laid the money on the desk between them.
She whispered, “The charade of being Lady Mayfield, you mean?”
His eyes glinted. “The charade of caring for me.”
“I do care. And I don’t want your money.” She pushed the notes away. “Not like this. It feels like ... a bribe to ease your conscience.”
“And what if it is?”
“Then I think you truly cruel ... and not merely callous and cynical as you pretend.”
“Ah, Hannah. You are the cruel one. Raising my hopes when I knew better.”
“How did I?”
“I thought I had finally found a woman who actuallywantedto be my wife.”
She stared at him, stunned by the open vulnerability in his eyes. Again she felt the stir of feelings she’d long ago laid to rest as futile and wrong. “Sir John, I—”
Then his eyes shuttered and his mouth hardened. “Never mind. We all know what a poor judge of character I am where women are concerned.”
Hannah felt as though she’d been slapped.
He glanced at her and then sighed. “Forgive me. It’s only that I am well aware money is all I have to offer. I am a broken-down man who can barely walk. Why else would you want to stay?”
Again, he held up a hand. “No. Don’t answer that. I am not fishing for compliments.” He turned to the sheaf of papers and briskly pulled forth several bound pages. “I have asked Mr. Lowden, against his better judgment and adamant counsel, to draw up a legal document—a trust for Daniel to provide for his needs and future education. I guessed you would not accept money for yourself. But I hope you will not refuse for Danny’s sake.”
