Page 12 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

Gregory’s brows continued to climb his forehead. His lips curled as he stared at the words, reading them once more, but Rodney’s meaning was clear enough. That business of hers—the bazaar of which Mrs. Stuart was so proud—had been built through thieving?

As Tessa had deemed it her right to use the law to punish me with debts, I saw no reason not to use it to protect myself. So, I exercised my right as her husband to seize the income produced from that business venture, which in the eyes of the law belonged to me.

Realizing we were at a stalemate (or more likely, Tessa knew I could take control of her business at any point, should I wish to), we settled into an uneasy peace. Or ceasefire, rather.

Throughout this time, I did not keep her from seeing the children.

No matter how much I detested being near her, I made certain they were available when she wished to visit and that I was present to ensure she couldn’t corrupt them.

It was well within my right to deny her even that kindness, but I could not deny my children when they wished to see her—

The study door creaked open, and Gregory jolted.

The journal fell from his lap and clattered to the ground, and he glanced over to find Faith standing in the doorway.

The child didn’t look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the desk and the chair her father usually occupied.

She clutched a book to her chest with one arm as her eyes drifted over the shelves of books and fell to Gregory on the sofa.

Faith’s gaze held his for a long, silent moment before he motioned for her to join him. She shut the door behind her and climbed onto the sofa beside him, settling into the cushions.

Gregory sat stiffly, spine ramrod straight.

His hand hovered for a moment over the back of the sofa, unsure whether to rest it there or let it fall around her shoulders.

The child didn’t lean against him—didn’t even glance in his direction—and his chest ached with the absence of something he couldn’t name.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to make sense of the book she clutched or the way she stared straight ahead, but there was no clear answer.

Every word that came to mind felt awkward.

Every movement felt clumsy. Gregory wasn’t made for this—whatever “this” was—and the longer they sat, the more certain he became that he was going to fail her.

His fingers twitched, restless with the need to fix something he didn’t understand, and the longer they sat, the more the room seemed to press inward, too quiet, too still.

Gregory tucked the letter out of sight and turned the book toward her. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to speak. “I was reading your father’s journal. He wrote about you.”

Faith straightened the tiniest bit, and Gregory opened the page he had been reading. Leaning closer, she fairly tucked herself into his side as she studied the writing. Returning to the start of the passage, Gregory read aloud the portion about the rug, and a faint smile graced the child’s lips.

“‘But then, I suppose such peculiar behavior ought not to be surprising, as she has an ongoing feud with the ottoman—’”

But Gregory’s reading was cut short when Faith giggled. It was a tiny little thing—hardly more than a chuckle—but he forged ahead.

“‘As she toddles around the parlor, Faith points to it and scolds the poor article in a string of incomprehensible babble, which is made all the more surprising by the fact that the child tends to speak little in general. For reasons known only to herself, she lectures it, deems it “naughty,” and banishes it to the corner. It takes all her might to push the thing there. Heaven forfend anyone who dares to move or use the footstool.’”

As he read, Faith settled her weight into his side, cuddling into him until Gregory felt free to rest his arm around her.

She remained tucked beside him as Rodney’s words filled the air, his love evident in every syllable as he described the goings-on of his children and all those little things that brought light and laughter to their days and made the sacrifices and anxiety their parents suffered worth the effort.

“‘Though Tessa continues to be miserable—’” Gregory’s voice cut short, though his eyes swept over the rest of the passage.

She is determined to blame me for all her troubles—as if it is my fault her figure hasn’t returned to what it was before the children. Of course, I’ve held my tongue and pretend I do not see the alteration…

Gregory shut the book and turned a smile to the little one who had seen far too much unhappiness in this world and did not need a glimpse into the tumultuous thing that was her parents’ marriage. Whatever was to come, there was no reason to fill her head with such terrible things.

“Perhaps we ought to read some of your book,” he said, nodding toward the one she clutched tight.

Without a word, she offered it to him, and Gregory flipped open the cover to find illustrations of princesses, castles, and witches.

“Fairy tales, is it?” he asked with raised brows. “I thought you read nothing but astronomy at present.”

“I like the happy endings,” she whispered, and Gregory couldn’t help it as his arm tightened around her.

Holding her fast, he nodded. “As do I.”