Pity is for people who have lost someone dear to them. Or if circumstances have rendered them incapable of taking care of themselves or their family. You are neither of those things. Instead, you are a strong and capable woman who has risen above the adversity life dealt her. You have managed your own household for this past year, and in doing so have provided a happier life and a loving home for both yourself and your son. I see nothing there to pity.”
He made her sound almost heroic, Rachel acknowledged ruefully, when she knew she was far from it. Yes, she had done those things Lucien spoke of, but there had been no real choice in regard to managing things for herself since James’s death. The alternative had been to agree to allow her father to guide her during her widowhood, as he had offered to do. Rachel had gently refused the offer. Knowing herself finally free of James’s tyranny, she had balked at the idea of again placing herself under the rule of any man, even a gentle soul like her father.
Her chin rose. “I will never give any man say over any part of my life.”
“I should not dream of attempting to do such a thing. I like you exactly as you are.”
He did like her, Rachel realized as she saw that emotion in the warmth of his gaze. So steady and sure. A man who knew who he was and what he was. And what he wanted.
He wanted her.
Rachel had absolutely no doubt about that as she met his unwavering blue gaze. “I like you too,” she acknowledged shyly.
“I had begun to suspect that might be the case,” he said with satisfaction.
Rachel allowed the bubble of laughter rising inside her to break free, relieved to let some of her tension go. “I truly had no idea of your dry sense of humor until today. You have always seemed so…aloof. Disapproving of all about you.”
“Perhaps that is because I am. Not disapproving exactly, but certainly jaded, even cynical.” He grimaced. “I am aged seven and thirty and have seen far too much of life, and the people in it, to suffer fools gladly.”
Rachel now saw him as being decisive, a man of action rather than inaction. But only if that action suited him and his own plans. She could see nothing wrong in that. He did not set out to hurt or trample over other people’s feelings, but he was not averse to doing so if he considered it the correct thing to do.
She liked him very much.
Enough to continue with their plan to return to his home rather than her own so that he might show her what pleasure truly was?
She drew in a deep breath. “I will come home with you after all.”
He nodded. “It is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.” There was not the least expression of triumph in Brooketon’s demeanor.
For which Rachel was truly grateful. That brief conversation with her blackmailer earlier in the Walkers’ entrance hall had unnerved her, but she could not allow a man such as that to continue to frighten and terrorize her. If she did so, then he had won. James had won.
What of those damning letters?
What of them? No matter what threats her tormentor issued, he would ultimately do exactly as he wished, with no regard for her or her behavior. As such, she might as well enjoy Brooketon’s company while she could.
“Would you care for a brandy?” Lucien offered once they were settled in the sanctuary of his study. Rachel had removed her cloak but was by no means relaxed as she perched on the edge of the chaise as if ready for flight.
Lucien had brought her to the least formal room in the house, comprising of a large desk and chair, several bookshelves, a comfortable chaise, and a deep red Aubusson carpet. The stained glass windows shed a rainbow of light over the room during the day, but for now, he had instructed the fire be lit in the hearth. The flames were already warm and cheerful.
Nevertheless, he could sense whoever had spoken to her in the entrance hall of the Walkers’ home during his absence, whatever had been said to her,
He made her sound almost heroic, Rachel acknowledged ruefully, when she knew she was far from it. Yes, she had done those things Lucien spoke of, but there had been no real choice in regard to managing things for herself since James’s death. The alternative had been to agree to allow her father to guide her during her widowhood, as he had offered to do. Rachel had gently refused the offer. Knowing herself finally free of James’s tyranny, she had balked at the idea of again placing herself under the rule of any man, even a gentle soul like her father.
Her chin rose. “I will never give any man say over any part of my life.”
“I should not dream of attempting to do such a thing. I like you exactly as you are.”
He did like her, Rachel realized as she saw that emotion in the warmth of his gaze. So steady and sure. A man who knew who he was and what he was. And what he wanted.
He wanted her.
Rachel had absolutely no doubt about that as she met his unwavering blue gaze. “I like you too,” she acknowledged shyly.
“I had begun to suspect that might be the case,” he said with satisfaction.
Rachel allowed the bubble of laughter rising inside her to break free, relieved to let some of her tension go. “I truly had no idea of your dry sense of humor until today. You have always seemed so…aloof. Disapproving of all about you.”
“Perhaps that is because I am. Not disapproving exactly, but certainly jaded, even cynical.” He grimaced. “I am aged seven and thirty and have seen far too much of life, and the people in it, to suffer fools gladly.”
Rachel now saw him as being decisive, a man of action rather than inaction. But only if that action suited him and his own plans. She could see nothing wrong in that. He did not set out to hurt or trample over other people’s feelings, but he was not averse to doing so if he considered it the correct thing to do.
She liked him very much.
Enough to continue with their plan to return to his home rather than her own so that he might show her what pleasure truly was?
She drew in a deep breath. “I will come home with you after all.”
He nodded. “It is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.” There was not the least expression of triumph in Brooketon’s demeanor.
For which Rachel was truly grateful. That brief conversation with her blackmailer earlier in the Walkers’ entrance hall had unnerved her, but she could not allow a man such as that to continue to frighten and terrorize her. If she did so, then he had won. James had won.
What of those damning letters?
What of them? No matter what threats her tormentor issued, he would ultimately do exactly as he wished, with no regard for her or her behavior. As such, she might as well enjoy Brooketon’s company while she could.
“Would you care for a brandy?” Lucien offered once they were settled in the sanctuary of his study. Rachel had removed her cloak but was by no means relaxed as she perched on the edge of the chaise as if ready for flight.
Lucien had brought her to the least formal room in the house, comprising of a large desk and chair, several bookshelves, a comfortable chaise, and a deep red Aubusson carpet. The stained glass windows shed a rainbow of light over the room during the day, but for now, he had instructed the fire be lit in the hearth. The flames were already warm and cheerful.
Nevertheless, he could sense whoever had spoken to her in the entrance hall of the Walkers’ home during his absence, whatever had been said to her,
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