Page 61 of Redemption

For a moment, she thought he might not allow her to pass, but he stepped out of her way just enough that she was forced to brush against him as she entered the salon. As she slid past him it was impossible not to breathe in the warm male scent of him. It assaulted her senses in the same way it had done all those years before.

Eager to put physical distance between them, she quickly moved deeper into the room and jumped at the sound of the salon door closing. Whirling around, the determined look she saw hardening his features caused consternation to send tension spiraling through her. It was obvious he was a man on a mission. But what terrified her was not knowing what tactics he would employ to achieve his goal. Suddenly in need of something to fortify her, Beatrice turned away from him and went to the side cart that held cognac and Madeira. Hands trembling, some of the wine she poured spilled out onto the top of the small sideboard. She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves.

“Shall I pour you some cognac?”

“Not at the moment.”

The quiet response only made her more nervous. Lionel had always been at his most resolute when he was quiet. It meant his plan of action would be either verbal or something far more dangerous. God help her if he decided to use seduction as a means of achieving his objective. She reached for her glass of wine only to find her body engulfed with heat as he reached around her and forestalled her. Dear Lord, he’d chosen seduction.

“In fact, I think I’d prefer something a bit more flavorful.”

The husky sound of his voice filled her ear and reminded her of other times he’d used persuasion to secure her agreement to do as he commanded. Although his body wasn’t touching hers, it still felt as though she was pressed into his chest. The sudden desire to lean back into him made her heart skip a beat. No sooner had the thought entered her head than his mouth was caressing the side of her neck.

It was the only part of him that touched her, yet it was as if he’d bound her to him with an invisible rope. Alarmed by her growing desire to simply lean backward into him, she drew in a sharp breath. Beatrice knew she was in great peril, and she quickly darted away from him. The fact that she was able to do so without him stopping her made her realize he’d allowed her to do so. Facing him, Beatrice eyed him warily.

“Why are you here, Lionel?”

“I think you know why.” Steel could not have been more inflexible than his voice as he studied her from across the space separating them. His assessing gaze sent a tremor through her. As quickly as she could, she hid her trepidation behind a puzzled expression.

“No, I don’t. I thought we’d settled things between us the other night.” She arched an eyebrow at him, and he muttered something unintelligible.

“I’m here because you owe me an explanation.”

“An explanation,” she gasped in disbelief. The arrogance he projected as he scowled at her emphasized his height and strength. Even after all these years he still reminded her of a sleek, dangerous tiger. Even the smallest of gestures he made reflected power. The fact that he could still affect her so easily caused a long-buried anger to slowly rise to the surface. “I owe you nothing.”

“Don’t you?” he snarled as he took a step toward her.

“No.” Beatrice tilted her chin upward in outrage refusing to retreat in the face of his anger. After all these years, he believed he was owed an explanation. She was the one who’d been left waiting at the chapel hoping he had only been delayed and not abandoned her. She was the one who’d suffered the agony of losing not only him, but their child as well.

“I think you should go, my lord. As I said the other night we cannot resurrect the past.”

“I’m not trying to resurrect the past, Beatrice,” he said in a voice tight with anger. “But I do want the truth.”

“Truth? What truth?” she exclaimed with a bitterness that sliced open wounds she’d thought were long healed.

“The truth about our child.”

“Our child?” she choked out.

At his words, the past rushed up to meet her. It filled the space between them like an unexpected deluge that threatened to drown her. How could Lionel have uncovered the truth? Other than the doctor and midwife, her sister had been the only soul who’d known she was carrying Lionel’s child. It was her sister’s hand she clung to throughout her labor, and her sister who had comforted her through the three horrible days that followed. Even if he had uncovered the truth, he’d given up the right to question her the day he’d deserted her. She owed him nothing.

“Are you going to deny that Rhea is my daughter?” Lionel ground out the words as anger slashed across his autocratic profile. “Our child?”

“Rhea—yes, I deny it,” she snapped. “Rhea is my niece.”

“A niece who looks remarkably like you.”

“Olivia and I were sisters. We were often mistaken for one another.” She shook her head fiercely. “It is not surprising she looks like me, but Rhea is not your daughter.”

“I’ve found a midwife who says differently.”

“And where did you find this midwife?” she demanded with antipathy as her heart twisted in her chest.

“In Breaton Village.”

The simple reply pulled the air out of Beatrice’s lungs, and she fought to keep from swaying on her feet. He’d visited the quiet place she’d retreated to during her confinement. As she met his gaze, Lionel’s mouth was a thin line of determination and anger. When she didn’t speak, he released a violent noise of disgust.

“Damn it, Beatrice, tell me the truth. Is Rhea my daughter?