Immediately Clarissa put her hands out to take the baby, but he wasn’t ready to give her up. Not when he sensed danger.
And then a voice from the top of the step said, “Hello, my son. It has been a while.”
My son.
The words made his blood go cold.
Slowly, he turned and faced her. She had aged since he last saw her ten years ago. Or had it been longer? Her blond hair now had streaks of silver. She was tall. He’d earned his height from her. And her bearing proclaimed louder than words that she was in charge—as all of London would agree. It had taken great skill on his part to avoid her at the few balls and routs he had been forced to attend out of obligation.
“Lady Fenton is here,” Gibson announced in a low voice, finally delivering the message he’d been anxious to convey. “I did not know what you would wish me to do.”
What he wished Gibson had done was toss her out on her regal buttocks.
Now it was up to him.
Of all the times in his life for her to make an appearance, today was the worst... and yet he allowed nothing of what he was thinking to show in his expression. She knew how to take advantage of any weakness.
His mother had remarried ages ago. Lord Henry Fenton was a renowned statesman, one of those men who lived and breathed Parliament.
She now came down the steps with the stately pace of one accustomed to holding court. “How long has it been, Lawrence, since we’ve seen each other. Ten years? Maybe more?”
“I truly don’t care,” he murmured, the sound of his given name on her lips setting his teeth on edge. “I hadn’t had a desire to further our acquaintance.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be happy to see me.”
“Yet, still you came.”
“I’m known for my persistence.”
“I know you for other things.”
She did not like that comment. What? Had she expected him to remain the confused lad she had deserted when she’d betrayed her husband? Her marriage?
Before she could respond, her gaze fell on Dora. The baby was awake. She lifted her head, her tiny fingers grasping Mars’s coat as if she, too, understood they needed to be wary of this creature. She regarded Lady Fenton with stoic curiosity.
“What is this?” his mother asked.
“She’s mine.” He sounded defensive, and he was. Dora was none of his mother’s concern.
“Yours?” she echoed. “With all that dark hair?” She stared harder, and then her expression softened. She took another step down the stairs. “Why, she is.” There was a hint of wonder in her voice. “What a sweet little face. She looks just as you did as a baby.” She lowered her voice. “Does she have the toe?”
This grandmotherly attitude surprised him, not enough to let down his guard, but it was still a bit unnerving. He gave a nod, even as he gathered his daughter closer. He would not share the sordid details of Dora’s birth with his mother. He did not want to give Lady Fentona secret that could be used against him. For all her smiles, this was not a social call.
And he knew of only one way to protect Dora—parentage.
He reached behind him with his free arm, finding Miss Taylor standing close as if ready to take Dora if he so wished. He pulled her forward up onto the step beside him, keeping his arm around her.
Lady Fenton eyed Miss Taylor with a frown. “Who is this?”
“She’s my wife, Mother. Let me introduce you to Clarissa.”
Chapter Six
Sometimes we roll along in life; sometimes life rolls over us.
—Book of Mars
Clarissa felt her brain freeze.What had he just said?
