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“My mother was a kept woman,” she said. “But I haven’t become a courtesan.”
“You were the daughter of a gentleman. A gentleman by birth.”
“If you’re suggesting the influence of my father’s blood is the reason I didn’t become a courtesan, it’s not. But if blood were destiny, this child would soar to far greater heights than me. The man who assaulted Tuppence is the son of a viscount.” She couldn’t resist adding with a hint of friendly mockery, “Technically speaking, the baby has even more noble blood than you.”
“Who is the father?” William asked with keen interest.
“Mr. Victor Kingsley.”
“I’m acquainted with the Kingsleys, although not well.” Twisting in his chair, William called out, “Pembroke.”
John entered from the hallway. “Aye, sir?”
“Another,” William said, lifting his empty glass.
After taking both their glasses, John asked Reina, “Ma’am?”
“Not for me,” she replied with a faint smile.
John went to the sideboard.
“So you intend to raise Mr. Kingsley’s natural-born son,” William remarked.
“My son,” Reina corrected. “He has nothing to do with that despicable family.”
“Despicable?” William repeated with a touch of amusement, as if she’d been overdramatic. “Because of a forcible seduction?”
Reina’s reply held the snap of icicles. “ ‘Seduction’ implies there was a modicum of desire or pleasure in the act. I assure you, there was none. His attack on Tuppence was brutal. And the family made sure poor Tuppence was prosecuted and imprisoned for trying to defend herself.”
“Forgive me,” William said, turning serious. “I didn’t mean to be cavalier. ‘Forcible seduction’ is a phrase that doesn’t always apply.”
“One might even say it never applies,” Reina replied, although her tone had softened.
John brought back the replenished glass of wine on the tray.
William took the glass and lifted it to his lips, his gaze falling on the Mary Cassatt painting that Reina had hung to the right of the fireplace mantel. The carved and gilded frame had been built in narrow proportions to keep from overwhelming the delicate work. “I’ve said before that you’re well-suited to be a mother,” he commented. “But Reina, anyone would question the practicality of this decision while you’re also trying to found a bank.”
She smiled and rested her chin on her hand. “Are babies ever a practical decision?”
“Not in my personal experience,” he admitted. “Even with my wife overseeing their care and rearing, I found them quite a disruption.” He paused and smiled as if at some distant memory. “Lovely disruptions, both of them.”
“You must have been a wonderful father.”
“I hope so. Had I to do it all over again, I’d be more patient. I’d spend more time with my family.” William fell silent, his stare turning so intent that Reina began to feel self-conscious.
“These things aren’t easily balanced,” he said. “Children and a professional career.”
“I’ll have help, of course. I’ve already hired a wet nurse. Trust me to manage my own affairs, please.”
“I do. But finding out that you want to raise this child—it makes me wonder if I shouldn’t broach an idea I’ve been mulling over for some time.”
The words infused Reina with fidgety dismay, making it impossible to stay seated. She left the chair on the pretext of drawing closer to the fire and extended her hands to its warmth.
“We’ve always done well together, you and I,” William said. “We share the same goals and interests. I wonder if you would consider—”
“William, I don’t think—”
“Wait. Hear me out.” He came to stand next to her, resting a hand on the mantel. “The things most women need a man for, you can supply for yourself. But men have their uses—and I’m in a position to offer you a better life than you have now. Marry me, and you’ll instantly become part of an exclusive world. You’ll mingle with the aristocracy, and everyone of significance in finance—”
