Part 29 (1/2)
”I didn't even try to run. Jim found out later that Langdon visited the brothel every Wednesday night for a virgin. But his sins weren't as grave as mine. He was the heir apparent, so my offense was much worse.”
”He deserved what you did to him.”
He gave her a self-mocking grin. ”I always thought so. Now you know my sordid past. When the old gent came to Scotland Yard to confront the boy who had murdered his son, he decided I was his grandson.”
”Why?”
”My eyes. Silver eyes run in the family.”
”I've met Marcus Langdon. His are silver.”
”Yes.”
”But surely there was more than that.”
”The old gent asked questions. 'Do you remember a tall man with dark hair?' 'Oh, yes, sir, yes indeed.' 'Your father?' 'Oh, yes, sir. He held my hand.'” He shook his head. ”He made it so easy.”
”You didn't have any of those memories.”
”Of course not.” He began rubbing his brow.
”Is it your head?”
”Yes, I think it's the flowers here. Their scent is so strong.”
”Come and put your head on my lap.”
He didn't hesitate to move closer, to rest his head on her thigh. She began to ma.s.sage his temples. He moaned low. ”Almost makes the head pains worth it to have your tender ministrations.”
”I worry about these headaches you're getting.”
”I've had them for years, Catherine. They come. They go. They're of no importance. If they were, surely I'd be dead by now.”
She smiled down on his rugged face, took a moment to trail her fingers over his nose. ”What happened to your nose?”
”I got into a fight. In gaol, they don't segregate children from adults while we're awaiting trial, so we were at the mercy of big bullies and the worst society has to offer. Some individuals in gaol deserve to be, but that's not pleasant picnic conversation. Tell me about your brother.”
”Sterling?”
”Have you another?”
Bending down, she kissed the tip of his nose, before returning to rubbing his temples. ”I told you. He and Father had a row, but I don't know what it was about.”
”How is your father?”
”Not well. He grows paler and thinner every day. He can't speak, can't tell me what he wants. I thought to take him out to the garden for a spell, but his physician doesn't agree.”
”I should think if given the choice between spending his final days in bed or in a garden, an Englishman would always choose his garden.”
”You think I should disregard the physician's advice?”
”I think you should do what you know in your heart is right.”
She brushed her lips over his. ”Thank you for that.”
He rose up, twisted about, and latched his mouth onto hers, kissing her hungrily, laying her down in the process. He tasted of wine. She thought she'd never again sip on red wine without thinking of him.
She ran her hands up into his thick, curly locks. She thought of him as a child, how unruly his hair must have been as he'd raced over the bleak and rugged moors. She thought she could hear the sea in the distance and a.s.sumed if they walked farther, they'd eventually meet up with the cliffs.
She drew back from his lips. ”Are there any portraits of you as a child?”
”No.”
Sometimes it was difficult to get information from him, not because he was being obstinate-although he was certainly that-but because when she looked at him she saw the Earl of Claybourne. When he looked in a mirror, he saw an imposter.
”Are there any portraits of the earl's grandson-before you came into his life?”
He gave her an indulgent smile. ”You're trying to find something in me that simply doesn't exist.”
”So there is one.”
”In the room that the old gent referred to as the Countess's Sitting Room.”
”Will you show me?”
”Catherine-”
”Please. I'm not trying to prove you're Claybourne. Honestly. But the old gent must have seen something in you, so it's the closest I'll come to seeing you as a lad.”
”Why would you-”
She pressed her finger to his lips. ”Do I really ask for so much?”
He arched a brow, causing her to smile while rolling her eyes. ”All right. I suppose I do.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her chin. ”But you don't ask for anything I'm not willing to give.”
She liked this aspect of him, when he wasn't quite so dark and brooding, when he teased her, when he made her so terribly glad to be with him.
He rolled off her and helped her to her feet. They began packing away their picnic.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees. She glanced toward the distant road, and a sense of foreboding sent a s.h.i.+ver through her. She didn't know if it was the prospect of looking at the true Earl of Claybourne as a child or something more sinister that disturbed her.
Luke had visited this room only once and it had given him a blinding headache then.
The old gent had brought him here, to show him the portrait and to explain how his wife had died in this room, died with grief over the loss of her firstborn son and grandson. The room had carried a heavy flowery scent back then-no doubt the lingering presence of the countess-and Luke had attributed that to causing his headache.
But the room now smelled of furniture oil, and yet still his head began to pound as he watched Catherine trace her fingers over the faces in the portrait without actually touching the canvas. She took a step back. ”They look to be very happy.”
”The old gent thought they were.”