Page 21 of Juliet's Touch

Chapter seven

Despitewantingtosleepfor days, Eric blinked himself awake. A few hours of rest would have to suffice because he had too much to do to laze in bed. He tried to sit up, but his stiff cock begged for release. To the devil with his base desires. He balled his fists and fought his need to touch.

Last night, he hadn’t been thinking when he wrapped Juliet in his arms and kissed her. Bloody kissed her. In public. After one taste of her sweet lips, he might become as lecherous and depraved as the men who visited The Pink Petal. Hopefully not, but there was always a chance. He was a man, after all.

Hours ago, with every intention of apologizing for his indiscretion, he retraced his path from the previous morning. Spotting Juliet in the distance, he’d been mesmerized watching her catch a snowflake on her tongue. Raw desire smashed into him. Since he couldn’t approach her with all of his blood in his cock, he slunk behind the corner of a building willing the damn thing to behave. Once he calmed his libido, he came out from hiding, but she had already turned her back to him. His heartheavy, and knowing it was for the best, he watched her walk away, a satchel hanging by her side. Perhaps she was traveling or leaving the city. He would not feel disappointment, because he was as well. Besides, he must never forget that a pugilist raised in a brothel could never be with a woman as grand as her.

His discipline again in place, his inconvenient problem deflated. He rolled out of bed and dressed.

After a trip to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, kippers, and a boiled egg, he knocked on Auntie’s door. He waited until he heard her approach.

“It’s Eric,” he said.

Flinging the door wide, she invited him in, animatedly declaring what a wonderful surprise it was to see him.

“May we talk?” he asked.

“Of course.” Her smile faded. “What is troubling you, my dear?”

This conversation was much too important to rush, so Eric made himself comfortable on her settee. Auntie perched beside him and took his hand in hers.

“Tell me.” She affectionately squeezed his palm.

Eric opened his mouth, then froze. Why were words so difficult for him?

“You’re making me quite nervous,” Auntie said.

Well, they couldn’t have that. He cleared his throat. “An investigator contacted me. He says my father wants to meet me.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“Did you know that my father might be a wealthy marquess?”

She dropped his hand, stood, and glided to her decanter. Her hands shaking, she poured one glass, then held up another. He declined with a subtle nod.

Drink in hand, she plopped onto the chair across from him, leaned back against the cushion, and gulped a generous mouthful before confessing, “Yes. I know.”

Meeting her gaze, he stared into her soul, searching for answers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She whimpered. “To what purpose, Eric? It isn’t as if he would have welcomed you with open arms. Why expose you to the heartache of a parent who didn’t want you after…” She stared at the liquid she swirled in her glass for so long that he suspected she was reliving the past. “Besides, it wasn’t my place,” she finally said. “If your mother wanted you to know, she would have told you.”

Probably not when he was a child, but perhaps she would have divulged her secret once Eric was older. Not that he would point this out or voice his frustration because this teary-eyed, kind-hearted woman did not deserve his ire.

“According to this private thief-taker, Lord Chesterhill offered my mother gifts in return for discretion.”

Auntie keened a low, heart-wrenching sob. “Oh, Eric. I’m so sorry. By the time I knew ’twas too late.”

“Explain,” he said.

She rested her drink on the side table, strolled to her desk, and rummaged through the top drawer, retrieving a folded piece of foolscap. Sitting beside him, she handed him the note. “I found this among your mother’s possessions.”

Eric unfolded the letter, then read:

“The 1st of October 1791,

My Dearest Cleopatra,

News of your condition reached me yesterday. What an unfortunate blunder, and what a shame that we must bring our business arrangement to an end. I have so enjoyed our time together. My solicitor has been instructed to ensure your every comfort, which includes a quaint cottage outside of London and a suitable allowance. Your silence and discretion are all I ask in return. Please report to J.P. Hoffman on Bond Street withina fortnight of receiving this. Bring this missive with you so that Mr. Hoffman can see to its destruction.