Amelia sat as if frozen. She stared up at Thomas’s familiar face and saw caginess there. Her reaction to what he’d revealed mattered, and yet she wasn’t sure whether to hug him for being so honest or throttle him for keeping his son a secret for so long. Eventually, she just sank back against the squabs with a defeated sigh.
“Why would you keep that from us?” Not just from her but from Raphe, as well. Granted, they’d known each other for only a couple of months, but with all the events that had taken place since, Amelia knew Raphe considered Thomas a brother. He would never have kept something this important a secret.
There was also the way she felt about the matter. Their recent differences aside, it hurt her to imagine that he hadn’t trusted her with the fact that he was a father.But he’s doing so now, Amelia. Gazing into his dark brown eyes, she waited for him to answer.
“I have made a habit of never mentioning Jeremy to anyone,” he told her frankly. His palm rested against his thigh, producing a stiff posture of resolved control. “As a duke and an active member of parliament, I do not have the luxury of avoiding public scrutiny. With Jeremy’s illegitimacy in mind, I have always sought to protect him from that.”
She understood him immediately. Exposing a child to possible insults and unfavorable whispers before he was ready to either ignore them or respond in kind, would be cruel. But Thomas’s comment raised a whole new question.
“Who’s the mother?” Other questions followed until a stack of them formed in her mind:Do you love her? Why haven’t you married her? How could you be so reckless with your lovemaking?
“I cannot tell you that,” he said.
“But—”
“There are people in my life that I seek to protect at all cost.” Shifting, his foot scraped against the floor of the carriage. “All you need to know is that Jeremy’s mother died in childbirth and that I have pledged myself to raising Jeremy with the same opportunities available to legitimate children. It has taken up a great deal of my time these past five years, but I am determined.” His voice shook with emotion, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes shone with a sheen of moisture.
Reaching out, Amelia clasped his hand in her own. “I respect and admire your decision.”
His jaw tightened. “Thank you.” A moment passed before he continued. “This is why I have decided not to pursue any woman in earnest.” He gave her a serious look. “Courtship and marriage take vast amounts of time and energy.”
“You’re a busy man.” She knew she stated the obvious but could think of nothing else.
He squeezed her hand. “The fact that I am accompanying you on outings and to balls at your brother’s request should tell you something about my high regard for you and your family. That being said, and especially in light of what transpired between us last night, I would urge you to refrain from hoping for a deeper connection with me. Because honestly, I do not have room for that right now.”
Doing her best to maintain a calm demeanor and hide her inward scream of frustration, Amelia slipped her hand from his and offered a pleasant smile that would never convey how she truly felt. “It was just a kiss. If you think it caused me to have expectations, then you are mistaken.”
“You’ve seemed to fluctuate between hurt and anger since it happened. You also suggested that I should ask for your hand, so I naturally assumed the kiss meant something to you and that my... withdrawal... caused you pain.”
“Then allow me to alleviate your concerns.” Deliberately, she thought of all the housework she’d had to do when she’d lived in St. Giles. It helped push aside her emotions. “I am neither hurt nor angry, simply worried that my lapse in judgment last night would give you cause to think less of me.”
A frown appeared upon his brow. “Amelia—”
“What happened between us was a mistake. I think we can both agree upon that.” And since they had now arrived at the house, she was saved from having to endure another second of this conversation. Exiting the carriage with his assistance, she proceeded up the steps and through the front door.
A group of hardworking men were reconstructing the stairs, the banging of hammers and loud chatter a thankful distraction from Amelia’s tumultuous emotions. “How are you progressing?” she asked as she went to take a closer look.
“Quite well, I’d say,” one man told her. “T’will be faster once the floors ’ave dried—that’s takin’ a right long time, that is. But once it’s done, we’ll be able to plane ’em an’ sand ’em before puttin’ in the fresh planks.”
“And the walls?” Amelia asked.
“We’ll get to those once the floors are good an’ sturdy.”
Thanking him for the update, Amelia continued through to other parts of the house while Coventry remained in the foyer. He probably had no desire to be alone with her again since that would require them to either talk or feel as though they ought to be talking. She was grateful she didn’t have to do either and silently thanked him for the consideration.
By the time he returned her to Huntley House, they’d said no more than a handful of words to each other, which was regrettable since it only increased her foul mood. What she truly wanted was to forget—to erase yesterday from her mind in order for her and Coventry to go on as friends. She missed their amicable repartees, but neither could she summon the courage required to get past the gaping hole in her chest. So when they arrived at her door, she bid him a good day and went inside, not offering him another glance.
When Thomas arrived home, he slammed the door so soundly behind him the entire house shook. Jones came running while his mother emerged from the parlor. “Is everything all right?” she asked.
He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do right now was explain himself. “I need a drink,” he muttered after handing his hat and gloves to Jones.
Striding past both of them, he entered the parlor and went straight to the sideboard. Pouring a large measure of brandy, he downed it in one swift gulp and then poured himself another.
“What happened?” His mother’s voice was gentle.
He turned to face her, aware that he probably wore a dark scowl. “I would rather not speak of it.”
“You went to see Lady Amelia though—to escort her to the house?”
