Weight lifted off his shoulders. Rather than send for him when faced with one of his mother’s episodes, she’d resolved the matter herself. She’d assessed the problem, come to a decision, and coped with his mother’s frailties in her own way.
His mother had become upset while he was away, and the sky hadn’t collapsed around them.
“I much prefer this room, actually.” She twirled around. “I’ll have a view of the gardens rather than the street, and we’ll still have access to one another’s chambers.” After she’d explained that she’d already spoken with an architect and that she planned on settling into a different guest chamber until the work was complete, she turned to him and lifted her chin as though daring him to find fault with her idea.
“I did not consult with you because you weren’t here and—”
Chase cut off her explanations with an approving kiss. Her lips didn’t soften as easily as they had before, he had a bit of work to do, but for the first time in days, he didn’t feel as though he was slowly being buried by the burdens of the world.
“It’s a marvelous idea,” he murmured against her lips. Lips that by now were soft and welcoming. “Thank you.”
But when she broke the kiss, she stared up at him with skeptical eyes.
No, it was worse than that. They were filled with doubt.
She didn’t trustthis. His kiss. She didn’t trusthim. Damn his eyes, he’d done this.
“I’m sorry, Bethany.” But in his words, he heard his father, apologizing to his mother.
Only it wasn’t the same!
She nodded but stepped out of his embrace. “I realize that. And I accept your apology.” He knew precisely which word she was counting out. A-p-o-l-o-g-y. Seven letters. “But that doesn’t change how you feel. I promise I’ll be mindful to moderate my expectations in the future.”
It would be so easy if he could simply explain his blasted emotions by making love to her. It made all the sense in the world to communicate his feelings in bed… or with her lying in the clover beneath him.
Which was ironic, really. He’d never had any difficulties talking his way out of difficult situations in the past.
Difficulties that hadn’t involved his own emotions. It was just that… everything was different where Bethany was concerned.
She wanted to know his dreams, his fears.She wants to know my heart.Had he become so much of a shell that he couldn’t do that?
Collecting his calm, he attempted to organize his emotions into words.
He’d begin with his dreams.
“Can we sit?” A velvet-covered divan had been placed invitingly near the window.
Only after she’d sat did he take the space beside her. It wasn’t a large piece of furniture, so they couldn’t share it without the two of them touching. Taking hold of her hand, he moved it to his lap and stared down at her fingers.
“My dreams. You did want me to share them, correct?”
At her cautious nod, he returned his attention to their hands.
“What do I want? What do I dream about?” As he spoke, the answers formulated more easily than he’d imagined. “I want, more than anything, for my half-sisters to enjoy the lives they deserve. They are smart and beautiful and charming girls. I know it’s not practical, but my dream is for them to one day enter society. Not so much to marry, but to… to validate their existence somehow, as myfather’s daughters.” A great fist squeezed his chest to say this out loud. He’d seen the self-doubt in each of their eyes at one time or another. And already, Little Sarah practically apologized for her very existence. “I want Sarah to have the best teachers so that she can experience life in her own special way—so that she doesn’t have to feel afraid of the world outside of the house on Farm Street.”
He’d allowed himself to imagine such an outlandish outcome for the girls, for all of them, but he’d never voiced it out loud—not even to Blackheart.
He cleared his throat and Bethany’s hand squeezed his.
“More dreams… I want my mother to know peace and security so that she can cope with the things I can’t protect her from. Ever since…”
His voice closed up as emotions threatened to strangle him. The memory of the day he’d come home and found…
“You don’t have to tell me if it pains you. I never meant to pressure you.” Bethany’s voice sounded level and undemanding. He blinked away the burning in his eyes. He was a grown man, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as though telling her such things involved going into battle or taking on a gang of footpads.
“My mother knows about the girls. And about Beverly.”
“The solicitor told her?”
