Page 2 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“Return him to his family! They would not accept Adam when he was alive, but now that my husband has died, they want his body?” Noelle flared. “It’s a trifle late, isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened and for the first time it was fire, not ice, that flared from them. “I am well aware that I did not arrive in time to save Adam from the disastrous consequences of his marriage to you.”

Noelle drew in a sharp breath, shocked. “Are you implying that I harmed Adam?”

“I am implying nothing. I am saying plainly what we both know—if he had not run off with you, Adam would be alive today.” His words pierced her, and Noelle could say nothing as he continued, “I will regret to my dying day that I did not keep him out of your clutches. But I am not too late to save his son.”

Tears sprang into her eyes, and Noelle turned away to hide them from him. She laid Gil back in his little bed, buying herself time to force down the pain and anger that threatened to swamp her. She hated this arrogant man. But she had to think of her son. She must take care of him, and Carlisle Thorne was the only person who might do that. If he was offering to provide support for Adam’s baby, then she must accept it, no matter how humiliating, no matter how much it galled her.

Not looking at him, carefully keeping her voice drained of emotion, she said, “And how do you propose to do that?”

“Ah. Yes. Now we are at the heart of the matter, aren’t we? No need for any pretense; you are ready to bargain. What is your price?”

“My price?” She turned to face him, confused. Was she supposed to figure out how much it would cost to raise her child? And what an odd way to put it. “I—I’m not sure—”

“You must have a number in mind. What will you take to give me Adam’s son?”

Noelle stared at him, stunned. “You want to buy my baby?”

“If you want to call it that.” He frowned. “Did you expect me to hand over a pile of banknotes and leave him here with you? To let the earl’s grandson be raised in...” he gestured vaguely around the apartment “...in this? In the sort of life you will lead? No. I can assure you I will not. The earl is his legal guardian, as you must know. The child will be earl one day, and he shall be raised at Stonecliffe, just as Adam was, in the care of his grandmother and grandfather. You will take the money and be on your way. A thousand pounds.”

“No,” Noelle said weakly. She was too shocked to put her thoughts into order. He could not really expect her to sell him her child.

His mouth tightened. “Two thousand, then. You’ll have money, your jewelry, your clothes, and you won’t have the burden of a child. Even a woman of your face and form would find it difficult to attract a protector with a baby in tow. Here.” He reached inside his jacket to pull out a small pouch. “I haven’t that much in coin with me. I will have to visit the bank. But here is a deposit on that.” He tossed the pouch down on the table. “I’ll return tomorrow for the boy.”

With that, he turned and left the room as abruptly as he’d entered it. All the air in the room seemed to be sucked out with him. Noelle could hardly breathe. Her heart hammered, and she stared at the pouch as if it were a snake. Thorne thought she would sell Gil to him.

No, he wasn’t Gil to that man. He had called him the boy. The baby. Adam’s son. He’d never once said his name. As if Gil were a thing, a possession that belonged to the Rutherfords. Anger surged in her, breaking her paralysis. Noelle picked up the small leather pouch and hurled it at the door. It hit with a satisfying thud and fell to the floor, spilling a few gold coins. If only she’d been quick enough of mind to have hurled it at him as he left.

The noise jarred Gil awake again, and he began to whimper. She picked him up and tried to soothe him, but it was difficult with her own feelings jumping about so. Carlisle Thorne was a rigid, uncaring, ignorant bully. How dare he intimate that she was the sort of woman who would find a “protector” now! That she would become some man’s mistress!

Without knowing her, he had judged and condemned her from the very beginning for the crime of loving a man above her station. He labeled her “common” because her father was a teacher instead of a peer. Her father was a respected scholar, a learned, thoughtful man to whom other academics turned with their questions. He was a man superior in manner, mind, soul, and every other way to someone like Carlisle Thorne.

Gil was both hungry and wet. As she tended to his needs, her anger drained away. She nursed him, rocking, and considered what she would do and say when she faced Thorne tomorrow. Her desire was to throw the coin purse in his face as she screamed invectives at him. But that would serve little purpose and would only confirm his low opinion of her.

Instead, she should be as icy as he was, hand him back his money and order the horrible man to leave. She would make it clear that she would never think of handing her son over to him or the earl to raise. He would be furious. She was certain he was unaccustomed to being denied. It made her stomach clench to think of confronting him. He was a frightening man—his size, his implacable face, his cold, gray eyes. But she would do so because she had to. She stroked her finger over Gil’s soft cheek, smiling down at him. She would do anything for Gil.

But what, she wondered uneasily, would Thorne do when she refused him? What if he decided to simply take the baby from her? What if, when she told him no, he snatched Gil from her arms and strode off? Her insides churned at the thought. She couldn’t stop him; even a mother spurred by terror and rage could not match his strength. Surely a gentleman would not resort to such a thing. But then, she would never have imagined that a gentleman would try to buy her baby.

She tried to remember what Adam had said about Carlisle Thorne. He’d termed the man “like a brother” to him, though he was no relation, but bitterly added that Thorne was more his father’s son than Adam himself.

Sometimes when he was in his cups, Adam called Thorne dictatorial, straitlaced, unfeeling, a traitor. He even intimated darkly that Carlisle was probably glad to have Adam out of the earl’s life so that he could be the man’s son. Noelle had dismissed much of what he said as exaggeration, born from his hurt at the man’s abandonment of him. After all, Adam also told her smiling stories about this time or that when Carlisle pulled him out of some fix or other.

But now, having met Carlisle, Noelle thought perhaps Adam had not been harsh enough in his assessment. Thorne was more than unfeeling; he was cruel. No man of any sensitivity would want to take a child from his mother or tell a grieving widow that she was responsible for her husband’s death. He obviously despised her. She could well believe that he was capable of stealing Gil from her.

Even if he did not snatch the baby right out of her arms, there was the very real possibility that the earl would go to court to take Gil legally. Thorne had said that Adam’s father was the child’s legal guardian, and Noelle was well aware that women had few rights in this world. Her father was a freethinker, very interested in the rights of individuals, including women. When she had told him she wanted to marry Adam, he had said acerbically that as soon as a woman married, she ceased to exist in the eyes of British law. She could not own property. She was subject to her husband’s authority. She had no recourse if he beat her.

A widow did have some stature. She could, at least, own property. But Noelle suspected it could very well be true that she could not hold legal guardianship of her child. Thorne had seemed quite confident in his statement, and she was not naive enough to believe a court would favor her claim over that of a nobleman. She had seen too many instances of young “gentlemen” at Oxford slipping out of any consequences for their behavior simply because their fathers were men of importance.

She stood up and paced the room, her nerves jumping. It wouldn’t be enough to refuse to give Thorne her child. She had to make sure Gil was out of the man’s reach. She didn’t know where she would go or how she would live, but it was clear that she had to leave. Now.

He would be pounding on her door again tomorrow, and she needed to get as far away as she could before he went looking for her. Laying Gil down on the bed to coo and kick, she began to gather up clothes. She could take only the barest essentials. Everything would have to fit in a bag she could carry, for she could not haul around a trunk.

She grabbed a sack from Adam’s studio. She felt a pang at leaving his paintings, but she must. She stuffed a dress and undergarments into the bag, as well as clothes and nappies for the baby. Wrapping up a hunk of cheese and some bread in a napkin, she tossed that in, as well. What else? The jewels. She must take those; they were her only source of money. Noelle scooped them up, adding the necklace and bracelet she wore.

Last, she made sure Gil was dry and dressed warmly, then found the plainest dress she owned and her sturdiest boots and put them on. She tied on her cloak and covered her golden hair with a scoop-brimmed bonnet that partially shielded her face. She must look as nondescript as possible.

She wasn’t sure where she would go—Italy, or perhaps Prussia. Thank heavens her father had insisted on her learning Latin, French, and Italian, calling them the languages of beauty and learning. Latin would do her little good, but the other two would stand her in good stead. She had studied German, as well, simply because she was adept at languages. Those would open up most of Europe to her.