Almost.
“They know I have the means to see him cared for. One final act of kindness for their sister, their daughter, I suppose—despite their disapproval of her profession.” He sighed, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling, his expression distant. “Whatever their reasons, they’ve made it clear they don’t want him back.”
His gaze flicked back to hers, and for a moment, he did not look so very detached.
“The article in theEnquirerimplies that you’re his father,” she said carefully, watching him.
“I’m not,” he replied, his voice firm.
“I know.” She believed him. But thetonwould not, not when the alternative was so much more entertaining. “What will you do now?” she whispered, half-afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t leave him to be someone else’s problem.” It wasn’t what she expected. Before, he’d been quite clear that he wouldn’t be keeping the baby.
“Why not?”
She couldn’t help but stare, almost mesmerized, as she waited for an answer.
“London doesn’t need another orphan,” he said eventually.
Whenever Melanie tried to dismiss him, to believe the whispers and accept he was every bit the rogue society claimed, he’d say something unexpected. It was always just enough to pull back the curtain, to hint at complexities she imagined, but couldn’t see clearly.
“You… will keep him?”
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He is my responsibility.”
For a man who had deliberately shunned every noble expectation that came with his title, he certainly didn’t shun the needs of the poor, of those with the greatest need. It was an irony that didn’t escape her—that beneath his mask of indifference, the Duke of Malum carried burdens most men would ignore.
And yet…
“Why…?”Why had he chosen a brothel over Society?
When he turned to meet her eyes, she realized her question needed no explanation. It struck her then—this unspoken understanding between them was exactly what she had meant when she described the gestures that couples in love shared.
“Why do I run theDomus?” A cynical smile played on his lips. “If I don’t, someone else will.”
The words hit her gradually at first, but then, his meaning washed over her.
Another man might not consider himself their protector—which he did.
It was something she should have realized before, when, after realizing he’d made a mistake in hiring that woman to care for Ernest, he’d not taken it lightly.
He’d been angry with himself.
They sat in silence for a moment, the creaking of the carriage filling the space left by his answer. Melanie let her thoughts wander, piecing together the fragments he’d shared about himself.
Society had loved his father, and his father had loved Society—more than Malum’s mother, more than Malum himself. He’d said he’d been raised without affection, the admission delivered with deliberate matter-of-factness.
Perhaps too much deliberateness?
Melanie tried to imagine what that might be like: a childhood without warmth, without the reassurance of a loving hand or a kind word. It was a hollow existence she could scarcely comprehend, and yet it explained so much.
Perhaps that was why he wouldn’t simply send Ernest away. For all his claims of indifference, there had to be something within him that wanted to ensure that one child, anyway, would know something different.
She turned to study him again, his profile sharp and composed as though nothing could touch him. But there was something more…
Reed, Helton, and the rest of her family might think Malum had no choice but to offer for her, but deep down, they all had to know better. Nothing could truly compel a man like him to act if he didn’t want to. And yet, here he sat, helping all of them with no real benefit for himself.
It was something a man who didn’t care would never do.
