Page 25 of A Duke in Her Fate
Isla was studying him with a strange look. “You seem distracted. Is everything well with you?”
“I…” Yes, he was fine. Ronan was perfectly healthy. Only his nephew wasn’t and he didn’t like being away from the lad. His hand fell to his pocket watch as he pondered how long it might take him to return home. But he caught himself just in time from being so rude. “I’m fine.”
“You’re certain?”
There’s a little boy in my house, that’s what I need to tell you, Isla. A little boy who doesn’t have a father or a mother and hardly has an uncle. I don’t know what to do for him or with him or around him and I hate it. I hate everything. I am so blasted alone and I cannot ask a soul for help. I am perfectly certain that everything is all wrong.
“Fine.”
“All right. Well, I only wished to be sure. It is typical by now of our time together you would have a dozen questions for me,” she added with a light smile. “You’ve hardly said a word, Your Grace. Don’t you wish to continue the inquisition?”
That was what he should do. Ask her questions about how she manages children. What she thinks little boys should learn and do. How she plans to mother any sons or daughters that she could have someday, what she would do with the one he would give her who was in need of someone today.
Except Ronan’s tongue felt all knotted up and he didn’t know how to ask her any of those questions at all.
“Not particularly,” he admitted while the hostess returned with their offerings. He nodded his thanks before nudging his cup aside. “Do enjoy.”
“I shall, thank you.” She beamed after sniffing her coffee and then leaned forward to select a strawberry-covered biscuit with cream. It was a beautiful little pastry that disappeared in one bite between two lips redder than the fruit she ate.
It also rather matched her dress, he noted, the warm pink doing well in highlighting her ruddy cheeks. The warmth highlighted the small spattering of freckles high on her cheekbones that he always liked to count. There were twenty-three in total.
Yes, overall the pink was a fine color for her. She looked extraordinarily pretty in it, especially today. Her hair curled very prettily, looking extra shiny.
A few years ago, I would have been flirting outrageously to draw out every blush I could from a beautiful woman like Isla. How the devil did I even do it?
“Perhaps,” Isla said as she took no note of his distracted thoughts, “I should have a turn to question you.”
He blinked, not certain he understood. “I beg your pardon?”
“Tell me about yourself, Your Grace. You didn’t always know you would be a duke, isn’t that right? What did you pretend to be as a boy?”
His eyes couldn’t tear away from her face even as he tried. Watching her cool down the steaming cup of coffee with those curved lips did nothing to help him focus. “A pirate.”
“Ah, dashing and dangerous. Yes, I could see that very well,” she teased. “And does this pirate drink tea?”
“No. I prefer chai.”
She fluttered her eyelashes and like a scoundrel he was drawn in. “Oh? What is that?”
“A spiced tea blend from India. I served there… Well, almost.”
“Almost? I didn’t know you ever went into service,” she said, and then took a bite into another pastry. Crumbs covered her lips even when she attempted to catch them with her other hand. He started to move to help brush them away, but stopped himself just in time. “What compelled you to serve?”
“A friend inspired me and I was bored,” Ronan found himself admitting. It was easy until it wasn’t. He forced some of the words out even as they twisted his heart. But wasn’t this why he was here? To tell her? “But that didn’t matter. My family needed me. Oliver was born over two years ago, and I couldn’t stay away after that.”
She paused. “Oliver? Who is that?”
“My… son. That is why I came to speak with you today,” he added.
“To,” she hesitated and set her hands down on the table, “to tell me about your son? I had no idea. I never heard anything. Were you wedded previously?”
His mouth dried. No, hardly anyone knew. No one had really known him and they certainly hadn’t known his sister. London was never the life she wanted, not when she could do anything she liked whilst her father and brother had everyone’s eyes on them. So when Oliver was born, and when his sister died, no one knew a thing.
How do people talk about the hardest and worst days of their lives?
Shifting on her seat, Isla slowly reached forward to cover one of his hands with hers. The touch was gentle and tentative. Comforting, or almost. He wasn’t sure. He withdrew too quickly.
I’m doing this all wrong. Blast it. This isn’t right. I should have waited and now I’m ruining everything all over again.
