Page 80 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
He lifted his gaze to hers, and she could see anguish within the dark depths. “You hurtled yourself at a man for mistreating a horse. I should have done the same to my father when he took his fists to my mother, but I cowered in a corner, afraid that if he remembered I was about, those massive paws would land on me next.”
“You were a child. Your mother didn’t expect you to protect her. I daresay, it would have broken her heart, caused her more pain had you been hurt as well. You can’t blame yourself for his ugly behavior.”
Taking another long sip, he shifted his attention to the flames. “I went to his hanging.”
“Oh my God. Someone took you? A child? They should be horsewhipped!”
A corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly as his eyes came back to hers. “You don’t believe in whipping horses.”
“I believe in whipping people when they behave badly. You should not have had to witness your father’s death, no matter how horrible he was. You should have been spared seeing him die.”
“No one took me. I went alone. I grew up on the streets, knew my way around, didn’t fear getting lost. Never told anyone.”
“It’s not a place for a child.” Not a place for an adult. She had no memory of ever attending a hanging, but she could well imagine the gruesomeness of it. Her heart ached for him, that he had seen something so horrendous. That it had been his father up there made it all the worse.
“Quarter of a century ago, it served as entertainment. I was only eight, but still I recognized that I should be ashamed. I stood in that crowd and looked up at those gallows and was mortified that the creature up there with the noose about his neck—like an animal—had anything to do with me. And worse, I wept, because I loved him. I hated him, I despised him, knew the brutality he was capable of, knew he had killed my mother, and yet, somehow, to my mortification, I still loved him.”
She couldn’t help herself. Too much distance separated them. She rose, crossed over, knelt before him, and took his free hand. Feeling the tenseness in it, she stroked the long callused fingers, the wide palm. “I believe we can love a person without loving the things he does. He was your father. A bond existed between you.”
“A bond. Yes.” After he downed the last of the whiskey, he set aside the tumbler. Then he cradled her cheek. “His blood courses through me. And that, sweet Phee, is why I will never marry, why I am unworthy of a wife or children or the family who took me in. Because of the legacy he left to me. I can’t impose it on others.”
Tears welled in her eyes. That this man should believe those things was unconscionable. “You’re not your father.”
He laughed low, darkly. “Did you not see the way I went after Morris? I have my father’s hard hands and his harsh temper. I’ve spent my life trying to keep it under control, but it’s always there, seething beneath the surface. I can’t escape it.”
“Morris deserved your temper and your fists. It would have taken me much longer to beat him as he deserved, so I was very grateful you were on hand to handle the task for me.”
He chuckled, a relaxed sound that reverberated through her. She didn’t want him harboring these dark thoughts, going to these shadowed places where his past would haunt him. She wished she had the power to make him forget about his father, all he knew, all he’d witnessed. Perhaps there were some things that a person should not remember.
“You were quite the hellcat,” he said.
“Tempers serve a purpose.” Pressing a kiss to his knuckles, she repeated, “You’re not your father.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“You can. You must.” She sighed deeply. How could she explain it? “I know I don’t remember you from before, and that you make little cryptic comments from time to time that indicate we might not have been the best of friends—I don’t know why, and I don’t care. Because I know you now. I know who you are. I know how kind you are. You let me keep a horse, a cat, and a dog. You bring me supper and take me on picnics in the garden. You don’t shout at me even though I’m an awful housekeeper. You don’t complain that I purchase things for Marla with your coins. You try to help me remember, and you’re patient with me when I don’t.” Reaching up, she combed her fingers through his hair. “I refuse to believe that there is anything of your father in you. You are your own man. I find you to be quite remarkable.”
With a growl, he pulled her onto his lap, took her mouth as though without it, he might die. It was a sentiment she completely understood because she had not wanted to go another moment without kissing him. She had been so glad to discover he was still here. She thought she would never have enough moments with him. She’d come to despise the moon because when it rose in the sky, he departed. She much preferred the sun because it brought him back.
Pulling away, he gazed into her eyes, and within his, she saw burning desire that sent her heart to galloping. He plowed his fingers into her hair, held her still.
“This between us is so dangerous,” he said, his voice rough and raw.
“You won’t hurt me.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, shook his head slightly. “You should not be here.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
“I’m on a frayed tether.”
“What does that mean?”
Drawing back, he gave her a wry smile. “That I want to be with you in ways that an honorable man would not. I won’t ruin you. I won’t.”
She thought he was trying to convince himself more than convince her. Was it wrong of her to be flattered that he desired her? Did it make her wanton? Probably, but she didn’t care. She wanted to encourage him to throw caution to the wind, but then she recalled why he was here. She’d promised not to distract him, yet she’d managed to do just that. “Can you tell me about this meeting you’re having with the partners?”
He seemed relieved by her question, that she was willing to change the subject, lead them away from temptation.
