Page 34 of A Remarkable Rogue

With him.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you for several months.” The countess folded her hands delicately in her lap. For a moment, she reminded him of Sydney Rowland, so elegant and feminine on the surface, so resilient and determined beneath. “But the time wasn’t right until now.”

A warning chilled down Nate’s spine. “Speak to me in regard to what?”

“I don’t know exactly how to begin.” She lost the battle to remain still, and her fingers played nervously with her teacup on its saucer. As if realizing she was fidgeting, she dropped her hands to her lap and forced another overly bright smile. “I think perhaps… Well, I’m not certain…”

St James rested his hand reassuringly on her arm. “Just begin, Mother.” His eyes darted back to Nate. They were the same hazel color as his. The same eyes, Nate had been told, as their father. “There’s no way to make this easier for any of us.”

Nate steeled himself as she nodded once, decisively, and rushed out, “We want to recognize you as a son of St James and welcome you into the family.”

His heart stopped. In that terrible moment, he could do nothing more in his shock than stare at her while the soft whisper of her voice echoed like a pistol shot inside his head.

Recognized? Now, after all these years… No.

Hell no.

“We arenotfamily.” Each harsh word tore from Nate through clenched teeth. He shoved back from the table and stood. Tea was over before it had begun. “And you have no right to—”

“Captain Reed—Nate.” With a pained expression, she slipped to her feet and placed her hand on his arm. “Please hear us out.”

“Us?” Nate’s eyes narrowed at Sinclair as the man rose from his chair. A stab of betrayal pierced him. “You’veplayed a role in this?”

“Mother is hoping for better relations between you and our family,” Sinclair admitted. “She’s hoping you and I can make amends.” He paused. “I’m hoping for it as well.”

Nate clenched his hands into fists. When his mother found herself with child, she had no choice but to flee. Only the lie of being a widow and the kindness of distant relatives had saved them. Even then, their existence had been hand-to-mouth on a maid’s salary that was barely enough to put food in their bellies and clothes on their backs.

And now the Sinclairs wanted tomake amends?

“It’s too late for that,” he bit out. Twenty-seven years too late.

“No,” she corrected quickly, almost desperately. “I don’t believe that. I’ve—I’ve been trying for seven years.” Her voice grew so soft that he could barely hear her. “You just didn’t know…”

Seven years?Nate had known about the Sinclairs for over a decade. At fifteen, he’d accidentally discovered that his real father was the Earl of St James. That fact had made no difference to him then, and it made no difference to him now. But how could the countess have been trying for seven years? Seven years ago, he’d just entered the army and was happily headed to…Christ.

The world shifted beneath his feet, and Nate held his breath, waiting for the earth to crack open and plunge him into the fires of hell.

Except that he was already there.

“When the earl died, I was able to give money to your mother,” the countess admitted, her voice trembling. She reached out with far too much familiarity to touch the red sleeve of his uniform, and it was all he could do not to yank his arm away. “She used it to buy your commission, and Lady Agnes called on her acquaintances in the War Office to have you become part of the First Dragoons.” She guiltily dropped her gaze to the table, where none of the food or tea had been touched. “It wasn’t much, but it was all we could do at the time,” she explained quickly as if desperate to soften the blow of the news. “Now, we can do more, if you’ll let us. All it takes is a first step.” She gestured at the table in futile hope of convincing him to rejoin her and finish the tea.

But Nate was done here. For good.

When he didn’t return to his chair, she admitted softly, “I cannot make up for all the years that you and your mother were wronged by what my husband did, but I’d hoped—”

“Is that what you think happened to us?” Nate let out a bitter laugh. “We were wronged?”

She flinched at the venom in his voice, but he didn’t care any longer if he upset her.Wrongeddidn’t begin to describe the hell his mother had gone through.

Isabel Sinclair bravely answered his accusation. “In terrible ways that I cannot even begin to imagine or deign to think that I could ever put right. Yet I want to try, if you’ll let me.”

Never.He threw his napkin onto the table and spun on his heel to leave. “Good day, Countess.”

“You had tea with Agnes yesterday,” she called out quickly. “That’s what gave me the idea to invite you this afternoon. I only wanted to try to…” When he walked on, she blurted out, “I was jealous of Agnes.”

Nate stopped in his tracks. Jealous? She couldn’t be serious!

“She said she had a marvelous time in your company.”