“What are you talking about?”
His mouth curved up cynically. “Stop playing the innocent. It won’t work anymore.”
Bewildered, Diana said, “Gervase, the only money I have is the thousand pounds a year you settled on me, and I’ve saved as much of that as possible for Geoffrey’s future.”
“Ah, yes, Geoffrey,” he said, his voice soft and deadly. “Do you know who the little bastard’s father is?”
Quicker than thought, she struck him. Her palm hit his cheek with a flat slapping sound, the force of it rocking him back.
She recoiled, aghast not just at the rage in Gervase’s eyes but in horror at herself, that she could be physically violent to someone she loved. For a moment she feared that he would offer violence in return, but with visible effort he held himself absolutely still.
“Another veil falls away,” he said sardonically, the mark of her hand reddening on his cheek. “I thought you honest, kind, intelligent, gentle. There isn’t much left of my illusions.”
Shaking her head in distress, she whispered, “Gervase, I’m truly sorry. But how could you say that about your own son?”
He raised his brows in disbelief. “You want to pass your bastard off as my son? I suppose you can try. He looks so much like you that anyonecouldbe his father. I suppose that’s literally true. Any man could be his father.”
“Don’t you everlookat anyone?” she exclaimed furiously. “If you really saw Geoffrey, you would know how much he resembles you. That’s one reason I didn’t want you to meet him. But you no more recognized him than you did me.”
His mind worked, trying to find the resemblance. “He’s too young. A child of mine would have to be eight years old now, and what is Geoffrey . . . six? . . . seven at the outside?”
Her hands were clenching and unclenching as she said with careful precision, “He was born on the tenth of February in the year 1800. Nine months after our farce of a marriage. He’s small for his age, but he’s eight and a half years old now. I couldn’t bear to name him for his father, so I chose Geoffrey because it had the same initial as Gervase. Shall I show you the registration of his birth?”
He looked unbearably torn. She could see how much he wanted a son in spite of his belief that he was unworthy of children. “That would prove nothing. You could have borne a babe who died in infancy with Geoffrey the child of a later liaison.”
Defeated, Diana covered her face with her hands. She had known that her identity would be a shock to Gervase, but had never imagined this total, tormented repudiation. If he did not have the desire to believe her, proof would mean very little.
Ignoring her withdrawal, he asked, “Did you pay the barmaid to disappear so you could take her place? I’ve always wondered just how big a fool I was that night.”
She dropped her hands wearily. “You still don’t know? It was my room you entered. Since you were drunk, you must have become lost in those rabbity passages.”
“I should have known it was a waste of time to ask you for the truth!” he said caustically. “It couldn’t have been your room; the door opened with my key.”
There was a chair behind her, and Diana folded into it, too drained to stand. When Geoffrey was an infant, she used to sit in this chair to nurse him. “Those were old, crude locks. Any one of the keys would probably open every door in the inn.”
That gave him pause. Then, “You really are a clever little liar, knowing how to raise doubts. I shouldn’t fault myself for having believed you for so long.”
She wondered if there was a way to break through his anger to the underlying fairness. Perhaps it was too soon to expect him to be fair. Too soon, or perhaps too late. “Didn’t you ever wonder where your luggage was? Not in my room.”
He simply looked at her impassively, then turned to leave. She jumped up and went after him. “Gervase, wait! What are you going to do?”
His hard stare kept her at a distance. “I shall walk out and get in my carriage and return to London. If I am very lucky, I will never see or hear from you again.”
She lifted one hand to touch him, then dropped it again. “How can you just leave? We are married, we have a son!”
He laughed bitterly. “You are truly an extraordinary woman. Did you honestly think that after you made your grand announcement, told me how much of a fool you had made of me, how our time together was a lie from beginning to end, did you really think I would welcome you as my wife and install you as Lady St. Aubyn for all the world to see?”
Contemptuous lines showed beside his mouth. “You wouldn’t like the change in status. The gentlemen who now pay for your favors would expect them for free if you were of their class.”
“Will you stop talking as if I’m the Whore of Babylon?” she cried. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth, but I never lied to you, not once!”
As silence lengthened, a muscle twitched in his jaw. Finally he said, “Your whole life was a lie.”
The desolation in his voice was so profound that she could no longer suppress the tears she had been fighting. As they flowed unchecked down her cheeks, she made a last desperate attempt to remind him of what they had had. “I love you, and you said that you loved me. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Oh, yes, it meant something,” he said softly. “But apparently the woman I loved never existed.”
“Gervase, please!” Her cry came from the heart.
