Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(74)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

And if she felt some small disappointment in Christopher’s leaving, that was only to be expected. She’d grown… fond of the boy.

“I’ll come fetch him tomorrow, shall I?” Louise said.

Isabel blinked. “Yes. Yes, of course. That will be quite all right.”

And it would, wouldn’t it?

LATE THAT NIGHT, Winter pushed open the door to his room in Isabel’s house, weary both in mind and spirit. The sight within brought all his senses to the alert, however: Isabel lay in his bed, and from what he could see, she wasn’t wearing anything.

He closed the door behind him. The room she’d given him was much nicer than his former room at the home. On the same floor as her own bedroom, it was, he suspected, a guest room rather than one usually assigned to a servant. The bed was large and comfortable, and there was just enough furniture to make the room pleasant: a chair to sit by the fire, a chest of drawers and a dresser with a basin and pitcher for washing. She’d made sure, he was certain, to give him a room that he’d find homey without being ostentatious.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Her eyelashes drooped and a smile played about the corners of her lush mouth. “Why, Mr. Makepeace, I know our lessons were short, but I do think I covered enough for you to be able to understand why I might be here.”

Her tone was so brittle that he immediately was worried. “What has happened?”

She pouted. “Must there be something wrong for me to be here?”

“In these circumstances, yes.” He crossed to the bed, looking down at her. “Tell me, Isabel.”

She turned her face aside, saying nothing, but her sweet lips trembled.

He could not bear the sight. He climbed into the bed fully clothed and gathered her warm little form against himself, smoothing back her glorious hair. “Isabel.”

Her breath caught raggedly. “Do you remember when you first came here and you met Christopher?”

“Yes,” he murmured into her hair, wondering where this was leading.

“I was quite cold to him,” she said.

“Isabel,” he protested.

She swiped at her face. “No, I was. He’s but a little boy and it wasn’t his fault, but he reminded me of everything I don’t have—everything I can never have—and I just couldn’t stand the sight of him. He made me feel too much. Back then I wished desperately that Louise would simply take him away. Find another home for him to live in.” She laughed and then quieted. “You’re going to laugh, but my wish has been granted.”

He closed his eyes in sorrow. She’d just begun to open her heart to the boy. Just begun to let herself feel some joy in their relationship. To have Christopher taken away now was a terrible blow.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Where does she plan to go with him?”

She twisted her fingers in the front of his coat. “She’s found herself a protector—a rich importer of goods. That’s where she was this morning: She’d taken Christopher to outfit the both of them in new clothes at this man’s expense. He dotes on her, Louise says, and has leased her a fine town house.”

He frowned, staring over her head. “That does not sound like it would be the best place for the boy to live and grow up.”

She stilled. “I thought the same, but I fear my affection for him is clouding my judgment. I want Christopher to be happy. Surely he would be happiest with his mother?”

Her voice was both hopeful and fearful as she asked him the tentative question.

He sighed. “I don’t know if he would or not. All I know is that he seems quite happy here. You seem quite happy to have him in your house with you.”

“Yes, but what I feel and think isn’t the point,” she said earnestly. “I should think only of Christopher and his interests. I need to do the right thing.”

He laid his head against hers, breathing in her scent, content simply to hold her. “Sometimes doing the right thing is no sacrifice.”

ISABEL LAY AGAINST Winter’s wool coat, the coverlet pulled to her shoulders, listening to his breath under her ear.

“There’s more.” His voice rumbled against her cheek. “More than Christopher, isn’t there?”

She burrowed into his warmth. She didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t he simply make love to her and make her forget?

But he stroked her hair gently instead. No one had ever done that before, and she thought now that she might forever miss his hands in her hair when he left.

“Tell me,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut like a little girl, as if not seeing him would make the telling easier. “I saw a… friend today, a dear friend, and she confided to me that she is expecting a child.”

His hand stilled against her hair before resuming. “I’m sorry.” His voice was a deep whisper. “I know that must’ve been hard for you to hear.”

“It shouldn’t be,” she insisted, balling her fingers in the lapel of his coat and tugging. “I should be able to hear joyous news and celebrate with a friend. I shouldn’t be so small, so concerned only with my own problems. I should be a better person.”

His chest moved beneath her cheek as he shrugged. “So should we all.”

“You don’t need to,” she whispered. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“I’m far from perfect,” he murmured. “I thought you would know that by now.”

No, the more she knew him, the more perfect he became: selfless, strong, kind, caring… the list went on and on. In contrast, she felt small and mean and undeserving of love.

“You don’t know the worst,” she said.

“Then tell me.”

She inhaled to steady herself for her confession. “My friend is not married. The child she carries is out of wedlock. Naturally she’s distraught. She hardly knows what to do. In her despair, she wept as she told me her plight, and all I could think was…”

It was too terrible; she couldn’t say the words.

But he knew them anyway. “You wished the babe was yours.”

“Why?” She jerked back from his embrace but still clutched his lapels. “Why? Why must she carry a child who will destroy her life while I… while I cannot—” She couldn’t go on. Her throat was clogged with all the tears she’d held back for years.

He wrapped his arms around her and for a moment she resisted, pulling back. Her fears, her little jealousy, her weeping, were all so horrid. So ugly. He must hate her or at the very least feel pity for her, and pity was the last thing she wanted from him.