and I felt like I’d ruined it for her. I wanted to tell her to get the damn book. Get whatever damn book she wanted; I’d pay. I wanted to tell her to quit the modiste, that I’d set her and the baby up with a small townhome somewhere pleasant. She didn’t have to work.
“Ginny, I…”
With a clenched jaw, she replaced the other book. “You what?”
She’d gone from indifferent to angry. Why the hell was she angry? I wanted to scream at her, to shake sense into her pretty head. She’d left me, damn it all. She’d not told me about the baby. Frustrated, I raked my hands through my hair.
But I was tired of yelling. Tired of fighting. “You should have told me about the baby.”
She turned and looked at me. She held a popular gothic book in hand. Something I’d heard the women of the ton discussing with glee. It was intriguing to see her with a sensational novel, to be reminded that she was just like any other young woman, when at times I thought her otherworldly.
“Why?” Her eyes narrowed and I thought for a moment she might actually throw the book at my head. “Why should I have told you?”
It was a ridiculous question, I was the father, after all, yet it was a question I found hard to answer. “I could have helped you.”
“At what cost?”
She barked out questions like we were in the military. Frustrated, I stepped closer. So close I could smell the scent of fall upon her gown. Smell her warmth and spice. “Cost to you, or me?”
“Both.”
She tried to skirt around me. “You never would have helped me for free, you made that very clear. I would have had to give up my freedom. Have everyone know that I was your mistress, my child labeled a bastard.”
I grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop and face me. “That’s not—”
“Ginny,” an older man with glasses appeared at the end of the aisle. His gaze went immediately to my hand on her arm. I didn’t miss the wariness in his gaze. She had friends here. Friends who would protect her. She deserved that. “How lovely to see you. Have you found anything to your liking?”
Ginny shook off my hold as she gave the man a blinding smile. “Not today, Mr. Ward.”
She replaced her gothic novel and swept by the both of us, heading toward the front door. I followed. Mr. Ward watched us with keen interest.
“Why, Lord Chambers,” someone called out. “Fancy seeing you here! I didn’t take you for a reader.”
“Yes, well, I am,” I muttered. “Good day.”
I shoved open the door and burst outside, looking for Ginny. She walked swiftly ahead through the small park, in the direction of the modiste. “Oh no you don’t,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re not getting away.”
I hurried my steps, following. Unfortunately, the park was not empty. A variety of people strolled along the paths. Some were employees taking breaks, others were men and women I’d socialized with at parties. Men and women who knew me, who would recognize me. I kept my pace even, tipped my hat to more than a few acquaintances, but centered my focus on that lovely backside.
I reached her quickly. “You should have told me, Ginny.”
She released a harsh laugh. “And what would you have done if your fiancé had found out?”
I paused in the middle of the little park. “Most men keep a mistress.”
She stopped a few feet away, and spun around to look at me, her face thunderous. “And are you content to be most men, my lord? At one time, long, long ago, I thought you were different. I thought you were someone special. You’re nothing but a spoiled, arrogant lord.”
Her words hit me hard.
After all the names my father had called me, after the many times my mother had pointed out my flaws, this hurt the worst. I realized, in that moment, I actually wanted to be the man she’d assumed I was those months ago.
“I did not grow up rich, Ginny. I might not have been as poor as you, but we had our struggles. It was only after my father’s cousin died without an heir that we came into our wealth.”
She sneered. “Do you dare compare your life of ease to a life of begging for food? Practically freezing to death on the streets because you can’t afford a room? What a good man you are.”