Supposing she truly was his.
He thought he could believe Julianna in this; that she would never falsely claim to have borne his child. Still, he had also believed her incapable of keeping said child from him for the past two years, whilst she had carried the babe in her womb and then watched her grow. That she never would have remained an ocean away when she could have returned. Told him the truth.
After he had a look at the child, he would know for certain, he thought.
But that had not been the reason he had demanded to see her. Not in truth. The notion there was a child in London who was his was…Hell, he could not describe it. He was filled with awe. With something that felt dangerously close to love.
Yes, he could care for a child and despise the child’s mother for her sins. For spending two years in America and only returning to tell him the truth because she wanted to claim her share of some dead uncle’s fortune.
His fists were clenched so damn hard, his nails bit into his palms, his knuckles standing in stark white relief in his lap as his carriage came to a halt. He had not bothered with the trappings of civility. No gloves. He was lucky he was even wearing a damned shirt.
The door opened. He leapt to the street, eschewing the step.
Sidney was single-minded in his pursuit. Up the pavements. Julianna was a few paces ahead of him, and he caught up to her with ease. She remained pale. Her countenance was a study in treacherous loveliness and concern.
Good.
She bloody well ought to be concerned.
She ought to be fucking petrified, full stop.
“Please do not make a scene,” she whispered as they made their way into the entry hall.
He laughed bitterly. “Too late to plead, madam.”
He was not promising her a goddamn thing. He owed her nothing. Not manners, not respect, not a speck of understanding. He was here to see his daughter and that was all.
She worried her upper lip, and damn it, he still wanted to kiss her there, on her lush, lying mouth. The mouth that had haunted and taunted him from across a vast ocean. The one he had dreamt about last night and woke up remembering this morning.
“Please see Lord Shelbourne settled in the emerald salon,” she requested of the butler, a telltale quaver in her voice. “I will be joining him in a few moments.”
If the servant found it startling for Lady Julianna to arrive with a guest in tow, he did not show it. Nor did he blink an eye at her request.
But Sidney bloody well did. He caught her elbow when she would have fled. “My lady.”
She turned back to him, those insufferable blue eyes so wide. Fringed with coppery lashes to match the freckles on her elegant nose. Her lips parted.
She swallowed, and he tracked the motion in her creamy throat like a starving man. “What is the matter, my lord?”
For a stupid moment, part of him yearned to haul her against his chest and take that mouth of hers. Before the butler and any watching servants. But then he remembered what she had done. And the thunder inside him erupted once more, chasing the lightning. Reminding him all he felt for her was foolish, baseless lust.
“Be quick about it,” he ordered her sharply, releasing his hold on her. “I haven’t all day.”
“Of course.” She dipped into a curtsy before retreating.
His gaze followed. He was briefly mesmerized by her silhouette, all that fiery hair. And then he shook himself from her thrall and trailed the butler to the salon.
He was instantly met with the reason for the room’s name. Fifteen shades of green assaulted him at once. A velvet settee, the Axminster, the damask wall coverings, the drapery at the windows, jade, olive, emerald.
He had no wish to sit. Instead, he began pacing the room. Staring at the pictures on the walls. More green—horticultural lithographs and landscapes. The entire affair looked as if it had been decorated by the hand of a woman. Which seemed unlikely. The Marchioness of Leighton had been living abroad in New York for years.
Perhaps the tastes of one of Leighton’s paramours, then.
His brief distraction dissipated the moment the door opened, and Julianna crossed the threshold, holding a tiny slip of a girl in her arms. She had dark ringlets, a round, pale face, green eyes, and Sidney’s own chin with the divot in the center. On her cherubic countenance, the dent resembled a dimple.
The warmth in his chest burst and spread.
She was beautiful.
