Page 8 of His One and Only Lady

If he didn’t miss his mark, she’d been crying. Her eyelashes were still spiky and her cheeks flushed—one quite red in truth. He’d have the reason why from the woman waiting patiently, hands clasped before her plain blue gown and head slightly angled as she observed the reunion.

She possessed a subtle regal dignity, an effortless elegance that bespoke aristocratic heritage. Mayhap, she, like so many unfortunates, had fallen on hard times and been forced to make their way in this unkind world.

Now wasn’t the time to scold Bernadine for running off. Especially as he hadn’t heard her side of the story. He’d never known Bernadine to lie.

Half-turning in his arms, she waved toward the woman, standing a few feet away.

“Purty, this is my papa.”

He took the woman’s measure from the top of her head to the black tips of her well-worn but polished half boots. Upon closer inspection, the woman was rather pretty in an unassuming way.

She approached him, and Theran found himself looking into eyes almost as green as Bernadine’s. Where Bernadine’s were a clear emerald, this woman’s were a turbulent ocean green.

A hint of something—trepidation?

No, by Jove. Reproach shadowed her gaze.

He scowled.

Who was she to find fault with him?

High cheekbones and winged almond-brown eyebrows accented the delicate planes of her oval face. Her creamy skin, plum-colored lips, and dark fan of eyelashes needed no cosmetics to enhance them. According to le beau monde standards, she was no great beauty, but neither had Imogene been.

His daughter’s rescuer possessed inviting features with the merest hint of mystery. As if something more went on behind those lustrous eyes in direct contrast to the calm deportment she presented. Undeterred by Theran’s disapproving glare, she met his gaze directly, sharp intelligence in hers.

“Mr. Rutland. I am Purity Mayfield. I came across your daughter hiding in an enclosed garden.” She angled her slender form toward a tall row of beeches on the far side of the estate grounds and gave a graceful flick of her hand. “Over there. There’s a secret garden of sorts, not easily detectable unless you are directly in front of it.”

Bernadine had been clear out there by herself?

Miss Mayfield met his gaze again, hers brimming with expectation.

Theran smothered his earlier annoyance at her judging him. She had found Bernadine and brought her safely to him, after all.

“I thank you, Miss Mayfield, for returning my daughter to me.” He glanced downward to Bernadine’s mop of ginger curls. Love for her constricted his throat momentarily. “She is my everything.”

Miss Mayfield’s eyes went soft at the edges, and something shifted in the depths of her eyes. Theran swore genuine fondness colored her expression when she gravitated her attention to Bernadine.

Bernadine wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek against his chest. “Papa, I like Purty better than Aunt Athena. Can she be my mama instead?”

Miss Mayfield made a choking sound even as an involuntary noise echoed in Theran’s throat.

He raised his startled glance to Miss Mayfield’s, prepared to offer an apology, but stopped with his mouth parted.

Her expression had grown taut—no, thunderous—and fire all but sparked in her marine-green irises.

“Might I have a word with you in private, Mr. Rutland?”

Her request was perfectly composed, but a thread of steel edged her question.

Few women in service dared such impertinence.

An uneasy sensation tiptoed across Theran’s shoulders.

“As we are unacquainted, might I inquire why?” He kissed Bernadine’s crown, enjoying holding her. Soon she’d be too big to do so.

She smelled of lemon and cinnamon.

“It’s regarding something I overheard.” Miss Mayfield’s gaze settled on Bernadine again. “Something I believe you should be made aware of.”