Page 14 of Her Beautiful Bastard
Still avoiding his gaze, she forced a tense smile. “Of course, Mr. Clayton. I am certain he missed you sorely. In fact, I was just thinking that I should release him for the day, so he can spend time with you.”
Henry bounced on the balls of his feet, a wide smile lighting up his little face. “Oh, Papa, can I? Can I, please?”
This time when Sinclair smiled, turning the full force of that warm expression on his son, Lydia’s chest tightened, the air stolen from her lungs. She’d forgotten how beautiful it was … how beautifulhewas.
“Now, now,” he chided. “I’m certain Miss Darling has an entire afternoon worth of lessons planned for you. We shall not let her hard work go to waste, shall we?”
“But, I insist,” she blurted, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to quit the room, to get away from Sinclair so she could pull herself together. “His lessons can wait one day, and I hardly think I need worry that he will suffer for it.”
He was looking at her again, and this time, she couldn’t resist lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. His pensive stare bored into her, seeming to try to unravel her, to peer inside her soul. A shiver raced down her spine, but she maintained her composure—back erect, chin slightly raised, hands folded.
He put an arm around Henry. “Very well, but only for today. Tomorrow, you are to return to your studies and apply yourself. Yes?”
Henry nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
Taking that to mean she could leave, Lydia turned away from the pair and swiftly began untying her apron strings, draping it over the back of the chair behind her desk.
“Enjoy your day of respite, Miss Darling,” Sinclair called out as she hurried passed him.
That stopped her in her tracks, and she paused, staring up at him for a moment before nodding, her face warming under his unguarded perusal.
“Thank you, Mr. Clayton.”
She fled, breaking into a run once she reached the corridor. Her breath raced as she gathered her skirts and dashed toward her bedroom just down the hall. The pressure in her chest had become unbearable, and she needed to closet herself away and find the space to grapple with her tangled emotions, to accept what had just happened.
Throwing open the door, she stumbled over the threshold, barely making it inside before she crumbled. The panel slammed behind her just before her knees gave way and she sank to the carpet, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.
This could not be happening. She could not have found the perfect position in the perfect household, only for it to turn out that the father of her charge was the man who’d touched her soul with a kiss. She had fought her foolish heart for so long, reminding herself over and over that she would never see him again. After he had disappeared like some sort of phantom, she had been determined to forget him, to try to carve out a quiet life of her own removed from the sorts of things that would make her long for a man she could never have.
How was she to get on now? How could she work for this family, encountering him daily, knowing he lived under the same roof as her? How could she watch him interact with the son he’d made with another woman? God, what would it feel like to watch him show Lady Clayton affection, give her those devastating smiles of his?
It was ridiculous to feel betrayed knowing he had gotten married and sired a child—ridiculous to feel as if he’d ripped her heart out and swallowed it whole. Yet, that was exactly the emotion that overcame her as the first tear fell, streaking off the edge of her jaw and wetting the bodice of her gown.
She had spent years pining for him, missing him, thinking about him and imagining that he thought of her, too. Lydia had wanted to be a part of his life, a part of his world, a part ofhim. Coming face to face with him today, she realized now that there could be no room for her. And why should there be? He had everything a man could ask for … Lydia couldn’t possibly mean anything to him when measured against all of that.
Lowering her head and drawing her knees up to her chest, she buried her face against her skirts as the first sob tore from her chest.
A few hours later, a composed Lydia left her chambers on a summons from Mr. Welby. She had spent the afternoon shut away, trying to get her tumultuous emotions under control. After a good, long cry, she had bathed her hands and face with cool water from the washstand, then sat in one of the chairs near the window, gazing numbly out at the scenery.
However, it had been difficult to put Sinclair Clayton out of her mind, when he and his son eventually came into view. The two had set out for a ride together, Henry nestled in the saddle in front of his father, who kept him safe with an arm around his waist, his other hand maintaining a tight hold on the reins. The large stallion they sat carried them away from the house, its inky black tail and matching mane fluttering in the breeze.
Her heart had throbbed, the pain of it dulled now that she had cried what felt like every tear her body could produce. She had accepted that the man of her dreams belonged to someone else. And why wouldn’t he? He was handsome, wealthy, and charming. What woman wouldn’t want him? Even his low birth wouldn’t have been a deterrent if Lady Clayton had desired him badly enough.
Wrinkling her brow, she watched father and son ride, growing smaller in the distance as the horse picked up speed once clear of the cherry groves and in an open field.
A sudden realization niggled at the back of her mind, demanding closer inspection. Turning away from the window, she paced across the room, thinking over what little she knew of her new employers. Henry was four years old … yet, she and Sinclair had metfouryears ago. She gasped, a hand coming over her mouth as she realized that he had to have been married the night they’d met. Not just married, either. Lady Clayton would have been pregnant or just given birth to Henry.
Closing her eyes with a pained sigh, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. She’d had no right to feel betrayed, to be hurt by discovering her employer was actually the man she’d shared that special night with so long ago. She’d had no right, because, in truth, Lady Clayton was the one who had been betrayed. Her husband had traipsed off to London, leaving her lying in—either pregnant or with a newborn child—while he spent his time carousing at balls and kissing unknowing debutantes in darkened gardens.
Bitter bile rose up in the back of her throat as memories of that night rushed back to her mind … the subtle hints at Sinclair’s status as a married man.
Will I see you again?
I doubt it very much, angel … but, this is the way it must be.
Of course it had to be that way when he was married. Why would he want to see her again when he was wed to Lady Drucilla Clayton, perhaps the most beautiful woman Lydia had ever seen? She’d been a temporary distraction, an amusing little plaything for him to enjoy for a short moment before discarding.
Do you believe that I wish I could be the sort of man to court you and win you?”
