Page 25 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

" A re you in love with Lord Felton?" His question burst forth before he could think of anything else to say. He had so many things he wished to express to the woman in his arms—the very woman whom he longed for and dreamed about every hour of every day. The mere thought of her with the earl had almost made his head explode, and reading the missive had nearly stripped him of all self-control, so that he might bellow at the world—and Rosalind, too.

Damn it all to hell, he needed to get a grip on himself and his emotions.

"And what if I am? Is that not what you want me to be?" She raised her chin, and he longed to clasp it, tilt it upward, and kiss her into submission.

Her answer, however, threw his mind into turmoil, and he could not think straight nor form the words to agree with her. He should, of course. That was why Rosalind was in London—to find a husband and marry.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted them, and he stepped away, letting go of her arm and schooling his features. He could not go after her in such a manner.

She was right, of course. He was blowing hot and cold, and he needed to stop. He had told her to marry someone else, to fall in love, and he needed to let her do so.

"So long as you keep your reputation intact, that is what I wish. But in the future, do not pass notes with anyone. It is not becoming of a lady of your stature, and can raise eyebrows if the knowledge becomes public."

Rosalind's eyes narrowed, and Nathaniel had never seen her look at him with such loathing. Yet that was exactly what he wanted her to feel for him. Any other way would have led them to end up in each other's arms until they lost their senses entirely.

"You're a hypocrite. Stay away from me." Rosalind turned on her heel, walked into her room and slammed the door in his face. He sighed and closed his eyes, hating that she now detested him. He despised that he had been unable to control his emotions, wants, and needs around her, and now she was hurt and upset, angry with him .

"Come, Your Grace." Lady Smithe linked her arm with his. Unable to rally any denial, he allowed her to lead him back downstairs to his office. "I shall speak to Rosalind when she has calmed down and all will be well. She's a dear girl, and I'm certain that Lord Felton’s courtship is honest and above board. We are just not used to being in positions of responsibility, and we too must bend and learn throughout the Season."

All true, he could not argue her points. Still, as he sat behind his desk with work strewn out before him, he could think of nothing else except the woman upstairs who was seething over his actions. He hated himself for hurting her.

"I'll be attending the Tatton ball this evening, Lady Smithe, so I shall help you chaperone Lady Rosalind. We shall ensure that Lord Felton is genuine before we allow him any more leave with our charge." If he allowed him within an inch of Rosalind at all.

"Very good, Your Grace. Until tonight."

Lady Smithe left him then, alone thankfully, so that he could sit and think. Dwell in his own misery. That was more the truth of it.

L ater that evening at the Tatton ball, Nathaniel once again was forced to watch his ward be escorted about the room, danced with until her smile was as wide as ever and her cheeks pink with pleasure.

Knowing she was angry and upset, he was relieved to see her enjoying her time in London. He took comfort in the fact that her admirers were many and that she was never without friends or good company. A bittersweet emotion washed over him as he downed the last of his whisky and called over a footman for another glass. This was how it was supposed to be. This was him fulfilling his duty.

Lord Kelter escorted Lady Rosalind to his side, and disappointment stabbed at Nathaniel that she did not give him any attention or greeting. She merely stood beside him, animatedly speaking with Lord Kelter and giving him the cut direct.

Nothing that he didn’t deserve.

"I say," Lord Kelter said with a smile, "how lovely it is to have the Ravensmere family back in London. The legitimate ones, at least."

His lordship laughed and Nathaniel almost spat out his whisky at the viscount’s words. He stilled and looked to Rosalind who frowned at his lordship as if he’d sprouted a second head.

"Excuse me, my lord? Legitimate? Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, well, as to that," Lord Kelter stuttered, catching Nathaniel’s eye before clutching at his cravat as if it were too tight. And it would be a noose about the bastard’s throat if he did not keep his mouth closed. Nathaniel glared at him, warning him not to say a word, and Lord Kelter stumbled over his reply, unsure and weary as his gaze darted between Nathaniel and Rosalind.

"Nothing, my lady. I misspoke."

Rosalind, quick of mind and tongue, did not seem swayed. "No, you did not misspeak, my lord. But I am interested in knowing what you meant by legitimate Ravensmeres . Are there illegitimate ones?" She laughed, but when Lord Kelter did not, silence soon fell between them.

"Your Grace?" she asked, meeting Nathaniel’s eyes directly. A question in hers that he did not wish to answer.

Dear lord, what would he say? What could he say? He had hoped she would never come to know what her father was about in London while they were huddled away in the country like orphans.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked, trying to change the subject and avoid answering her query.

She crossed her arms and shook her head. "No, I do not wish to, but you, Lord Kelter, will answer me and tell me what you meant by those words if the duke will not."

"I ah… Well…it is not confirmed. No one really knows for sure…"

Nathaniel cleared his throat. Was it hot in this ballroom? Why was the space so stuffy? “Come, let us dance, Lady Rosalind. I have not had the pleasure this evening.”

"And nor will you,” she replied curtly. “Now tell me, Lord Kelter," she demanded, her voice brooking no argument.

The viscount sighed, and Nathaniel winced, knowing the fellow was about to crumble.

"There is a rumor, Lady Rosalind. Possibly the worst-kept secret in all of London, but your late father, the duke, had a mistress. With his association with that woman, he fathered three daughters. Illegitimate Ravensmeres. That is all I meant." Lord Kelter looked down at his boots, shamed by his own big mouth. "If you'll excuse me. I think I see someone…Lord and Lady…is after me."

Rosalind rounded on Nathaniel, and he steeled himself for the coming conversation.

"My father fathered children in London, and you did not tell me?" she demanded as she pushed past him. He followed close on her heels, trying to keep up as she slipped through the crowd, her determination to leave after such news obvious to all who noted her distress. He caught up to her just as she hailed a hackney cab, forgoing the ducal carriage.

"How long have you known this?" she demanded, her body all but radiating with tension.

He stood at her side and ran a hand through his hair, wishing he had told her and that she had not found out by some slip of the tongue from some foolish fop. "I've known since I inherited the title."

She looked up at him, her eyes welling with tears. "So everyone in London knows that my father had a family here in town—illegitimate ones—while his legitimate children rotted away in the country."

The carriage rolled to a halt before them, and he went to assist her up, but she pushed his hand aside, calling out a direction and attempting to close the door on him before he could join her.

He ignored her wish to be alone and climbed in, sitting across from her. "Not everyone knows, but people suspect, yes. The duke allowed them to live at the London home on Grosvenor Square. That is probably why he never sent for you girls to come to town."

She gaped, and he hated the duke in that moment for hurting her—for crushing and possibly squeezing the last ounce of love she held for her father from her soul.

"My room—it was decorated so nicely. That wasn't for us at all, was it? The room used to be another's." She paused, looking out the window as she wiped a tear from her cheek. "Whose room was it?"

Nathaniel rubbed the bridge of his nose as an ache began to thump between his eyes. "The room was Miss Helena’s room prior to them being forced to leave the moment the duke passed."

"And where are they now?" she asked, watching him from the shadows. He could see she was upset. He longed to go to her, to comfort her, but he dared not. She was not in that state of mind—and perhaps might never be again, not with him.

"Cheapside. The duke purchased them a home prior to his death to ensure they would not be homeless."

She nodded. "So he loved them?" There was bitterness and hurt in her tone and he could not blame her for it.

The pain in her voice tore him in two, but he could not lie. "Yes, he loved them very much."

Just as he feared that he loved Rosalind more than anything or anyone in the world, even himself. He hated seeing her in pain. He wanted her happiness and contentment, nothing else would do. He sighed, unsure what to say or do to make any of what she learned right. "I'm sorry, Rosalind. I should have told you."

She looked out the window, quiet and contemplative. "Yes, someone should have."