This man loved his daughter. It was undeniable. And Julianna had kept him from her for an entire year. An ache welled up within her. She had been wrong to keep Emily a secret.
What else had she been wrong about?
Had she been wrong about Shelbourne as well? Just when the evidence against him seemed to mount, far more evidence in his favor countered the scales. She could not deny that the appearance of Mrs. Edwards that morning had been hurtful. As had the knowledge the beautiful woman had been her husband’s mistress. But she could not fault him for decisions he had made when Julianna had been absent.
She had been in New York City, an ocean away, so certain he was a careless rogue who had never possessed tender feelings for her. That their idyllic summer at Farnsworth Hall had been nothing but a lie. A mere passage in time for him when he, the experienced, handsome rogue, had suffered from country ennui, and she had been the sole lady available. That he had taken advantage of her love for him and her naïveté both, and that she had been the one left to suffer, with a babe in her belly and a broken heart.
But if all that were true, why would he have fought for her now? Surely he would not have ended his arrangement with his mistress. Nor would he present her with such a thoughtful gift. One inscribed with those words that had bored deep within her, so deep she did not think they could ever be removed.
There was one thing she was certain of. She still loved him. She always had, and she always would. What that meant for her, for them, she could not say. It almost seemed as if everything depended upon this next moment.
The heaviness of it all fell upon her, with the crushing weight of a boulder.
“You have returned.”
His low observation shook Julianna from her reveries. Her gaze flew to his, and an answering spark of heat flared to life. But this time, it was different. Deeper. Hotter. Laden with hidden meaning.
Longing flooded her. Did she dare trust him? Dare risk her heart again? Dare she stay in London instead of running from him again?
But then, how could she not?
She swallowed. “You are making a habit of visiting the nursery, I see.”
“I love her,” he said simply. “I am making up for the time I missed.”
There was no censure in his voice. Neither resentment nor blame. He was simply stating truth, and she could acknowledge it. If she had made the wrong decision in going to America…if she had fled him for no good reason…if everything he had told her this morning had been true…and if she chose to leave him now, with so much unsaid, so many unanswered mysteries…
Questions assailed her, a torrent of them, and for a heartbeat, she could not move. Could not speak.
“I am sorry for the time you both missed,” she said.
It was not the first apology she had given him, but there was a difference in this apology. Because she understood, having watched him with Emily on countless occasions, that he was an excellent, caring father. And she understood more than ever how much he had missed—that entire first year. How much she had changed, from the tiny baby Julianna had gazed down upon with wonder to the giggling, vibrant little girl who was already walking on her own.
“I understand why you left, Julianna.”
His words surprised her. She found her capacity to move at last, crossing the chamber until she found the chair not far from his and settled herself there.
“You do?” she asked, careful to keep her voice quiet, lest she wake Emily.
“If you had asked, I would have told you the truth. But I cannot blame you for leaping to conclusions after seeing another woman kissing me in the street.” His jaw clenched as he said the last. “I know how I reacted when I saw you with another man in New York City.”
“You are the only man I have ever kissed,” she said, and she did not know why.
But it was true.
“You are the only woman I want to kiss,” he returned. “Now and forever.”
Her breath caught. “Sidney.”
Those were dangerous words he had just uttered. Dangerous to her heart, dangerous to her ability to keep the walls between them in place. Her defenses had already started to crumble. He had been dismantling them all along, brick by brick, kiss by kiss. With the way he loved their daughter. In the way he was looking at Julianna now. Soon, the remnants of the wall would disintegrate altogether.
“Julianna,” he persisted, saying her name with feeling. “I mean those words. You are all I want. Hell, you are the only woman I have ever wanted.”
“Language,” she reminded him.
“Our angel is sleeping.” The ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. “She likes when Papa rocks her for her naps.”
“You are a good father,” she admitted. “Once, I would never have believed you could be, but you have proven me wrong.”
