Earl of Gold (Lords of Scandal #7) - Tammy Andresen Page 0,9

he’d like to give her a lecture on the value of providing for oneself, another emotion entirely commanded his tongue. Sympathy. He knew about fending for oneself at an early age. “My father passed when I was thirteen.”

“You weren’t sent to an orphanage too, were you?” Her voice was rough with emotion as it pulled at the strings of his heart. Barely discernible. But he knew the memory hurt her still. He could feel her pain in his chest. It matched his own.

“No. I was the new earl of a broken earldom. I was sent to a different sort of hell.” One where young boys of the peerage were allowed to make his life a living nightmare. He still dreamed of a few of them on occasion.

Her large brown eyes caught his then and she leaned forward. “It’s so hard to be on your own from such a young age.”

Logan’s breath stalled. Because he knew where she was about to go. She’d tell him this was why she needed to help children, why he should give her more money. No one ever gave sympathy without an agenda. Hadn’t he learned that in life? Usually, he was more guarded with people, but tonight, he’d just foolishly opened himself up.

And now he’d have to explain to her that he’d built himself back up all on his own and people either helped themselves or didn’t. But the words lay heavy on his tongue. He didn’t want to say them to her.

She’d hate him for them and that…bothered him.

“It is,” he said, his jaw taut with tension.

“I was lucky too,” she whispered. “My parents’ house remained mine and a small income that paid for a nice orphanage until I was eighteen.” She sneered around the word nice. “But some of them are hell on Earth.”

Over the course of this evening, this woman had met his irritation with complete calm. She’d smiled and patiently explained her cause after waiting for hours. He admired her already. But the way she described the orphanages as hell made him shake inside. A small quiver deep in his gut. She was not a person prone to exaggeration. He knew that even in the short time they’d been acquainted. He made it his business to understand people.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to show him. He didn’t know why. He already knew how he felt on the subject. His life had purpose, order, and drive. He had a goal and he was closer than ever to completing it.

He’d not allow one woman to change his direction now. It was ridiculous that he’d even considered it for a single second.

Penny cursed herself. She’d revealed too much.

Her father had been a man of infinite patience and control. And love. He’d showed her the type of person she wished to be, and she’d fought through her teen years to hold onto her heart. To him.

Her nice orphanage was clean, and children were educated. But there had been no love in that place. It had been run on fear and efficiency. It could drain a soul.

She looked at the statue of a man across from her. Was that what had happened to him? He said he’d been sent to a different sort of hell. What hell had that been? And had it stolen all softness from him?

She shook her head. She had children to save. She didn’t need to go around trying to rescue the hearts of grown men, if that were even possible. She doubted it was. Adults were often too set in their ways to ever change.

It wasn’t that she didn’t secretly dream of marriage and children, she did. But to someone warm and kind, and ready to create a family of his own even as he continued to support her foundlings. A man that was a complete fiction, Penny was sure.

The carriage turned onto Adderley Street and slowed in front of her home. The one she’d grown up in. The paint was peeling now, the fence broken against the overgrown front beds. Her mother would turn over in her grave to see it.

Penny’s mouth pinched to think of this man seeing it. The Earl of Goldthwaite. Driving her home to the edge of the Docklands. She could already smell the tanneries.

But she refused to be embarrassed. She didn’t give these children a pretty place to live but they got bunches of love and that was what they needed to survive. To thrive.

He snapped open the carriage