The change in conversation made her brain trip. She swiftly recovered and shrugged. “It will be summer soon enough, Mr. Dale. I see no reason to light a fire until we are well into October.”
“Hmm…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and swung his gaze back to hers.
She took a sharp breath. The intensity of his regard weakened her knees. He truly was a handsome man, even when he looked like he might like to strangle her. A pity they’d lost the chance to be more to each other. Her heart fluttered on that lamentable notion. Even now as he stood there looking at her as though she were a perpetual thorn in his side – an unpleasant problem he could not escape – she felt a magnetic pull.
Pointless, to be sure, since no one had ever loathed her more than he did.
As if to prove this, he told her in a crisp tone, “Stop meddling, Mrs. Lawson. Keep your daughter away from my son or so help me God, I’ll destroy her reputation quicker than you can hop into another man’s bed.”
Wilhelmina gasped. The threat was a blow she had not been expecting, the insult a smarting reminder of what he believed her capable. She gritted her teeth and glared at him, hating him even though he had every right to speak as he did. He was a father and he was doing what he believed was in his son’s best interest, but did he really have to resort to such brutal cruelty?
“Fine.” She had worse problems to deal with right now, like how to put food in her belly and pay Betsy’s salary until she managed to sell off more things. Sadly, Cynthia would have to accept the consequences of the divorce and sever ties with Michael. “I’ll speak with my daughter. You may rest assured she will be apprised of the risk she’d be taking if she were to thwart you.”
“Thank you.”
She scoffed. “It’s not as though I have any choice.”
“Nevertheless.”
When he did not move to leave, she raised her chin and set her hands to her waist. “If that is all, I would like for you to depart so I can return to my work.”
She bit off a, “Sir,” for good measure.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He hardened his features and stiffened his posture while she fought the urge to admire the chiseled edge of his jaw, the perfect line of his aquiline nose, his firm lower lip, and those deep, dark, coffee-colored eyes that threatened to be her undoing. He might be well over forty, but he was still a striking man. There was power in the breadth of those shoulders and strength in his overall stance. Unwittingly, she wondered what it might be like to be held in Mr. Dale’s arms. Not that she’d ever know.
Removing his hands from his pockets, he bowed. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Good day, Mrs. Lawson.”
He strode past her without further comment and left the house and her heart as dismal as they’d been before his arrival.
Damn that woman.
Nearly three weeks had passed since he’d last seen her, and yet she remained at the front of his mind.
With yet another curse, James forced his attention to the legal brief he was meant to deliver the following day – something to do with a widower who sought legal guardianship over his new wife’s children. Apparently the father of said children protested, even though he’d sired them out of wedlock. It was the sort of messy case that ought to hold his interest, and yet his thoughts kept drifting back to Mrs. Lawson and her dreary home.
He was fairly certain she skirted the truth regarding her reason for not lighting a fire. Out of pride perhaps? Certainly, having the purse stretched too thin was not the sort of thing one wished to confide in a stranger. Not that they were strangers, per se, but they definitely weren’t friends.
The sound of the front door opening and closing caught his attention. Michael was home. James glanced at the clock. It was nearly five in the afternoon. In another hour or two his son would depart for the evening, avoiding his company as had become his habit. For the most part, James had allowed him the space he required to work through his feelings. He’d kept his distance. But perhaps it was time to try and mend the breach. They’d always been close, after all.
James stood, crossed to the door, and opened it. He arrived in the hallway just as his son started up the stairs. “Michael. A word, if you will?”
There was a noticeable pause. Only Atkins moved about, hanging up Michael’s greatcoat and organizing his hat and gloves. The steady ticks from the longcase clock seemed louder than usual.
A heavy sigh sounded and then Michael stepped off the bottom step and approached his father. “Ten minutes. Then I need to get ready.”
James nodded his agreement, ushered Michael into his study, and followed him into the room. The door closed. “Care for a drink?”
“No thank you.”
James crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “Please have a seat.”
Michael glanced at one of the two chairs facing James’s from across his wide desk. He hesitated, making his reluctance to settle in for a longer discussion known. Another sigh, and he sat. James took a sip of his drink, returned to his own seat, and faced the resentment in Michael’s eyes.
“I don’t like what’s happened between us,” James began. “We used to be close.”
“And then you betrayed me.”
The unexpected charge caused James to flinch. “How?”
