immune to this hurt as he stated. The tightness of his mouth told her that no matter what his mother had said, her child had wished it otherwise. He wanted his mother's love, just as all children do, whether they receive it or not.
"I'm sorry, Hugh. That could not have been easy."
He grinned, the wicked and teasing gentleman once more. "What is not easy, my dear, is leaving you alone in this bathhouse to bathe without me. If you think my soul is tortured, it is, but only because of you and not because of a parent who may have had two sons, but only required one."
* * *
Hugh shut the door on the bathhouse and forced his legs to move toward the villa. The sanctuary of his tablinum. He supposed Molly would be curious about his past, his life when he lived in England. He'd not been prepared to answer such questions, not when he didn't want her to know he was the infamous Lord Hugh Farley, who had ruined a young debutante's life before fleeing to the continent.
Or so everyone thought.
Now the Duke of St. Albans, he supposed he could return to London, lift his nose to anyone who would naysay him, but it wasn't to be borne. He would not give the rats the gloating rights to curse his name and give him the cut direct. Not that they would. Not as one of the highest-ranking and wealthiest peers in England.
With the death of his mother and brother now too, all ability to clear his name was lost. There would be no redemption for him back in England, no matter how much he would like to return. To take up his duties for his father's sake, if no one else's, but he could not. His brother had ensured his name was mud.
Hugh strode into his library, closed the door, and went to the settee that sat before the unlit hearth, sinking into its plush cushions. With Molly intent on returning to England he would have to make a choice. Ask her to stay, to marry him, but therein itself was a problem. He could not marry her under false pretenses. Should he do so, any heirs they produced would not inherit his title, which left him with one choice.
To tell Molly the truth of who he is and the real reason he lived in Italy.
Unless, he could sign the marriage register in his real name without Molly being aware… Even so, he would have to check the legality of the marriage before any children were born.
What a conundrum.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the thought of admitting his lineage, his shame, not the feigned one his brother and mother had heaped on his head, but the shame of letting them force him to take the fall left a sour taste in his mouth.
Should he tell Molly the truth, he wasn't certain he could face the horror, the hurt that would shadow her pretty visage. He never wanted her to look at him as if she did not know who he was. To imagine her think him a cad who ruined a young woman's life was a shame he could not bear to see from her.
Why, however, was uncertain. They had known each other for such a short time, but the fire and the chemistry that burned between them were undeniable. Molly was a woman who had friends in high places. There would be little doubt in his mind that she would've heard of Miss Laura Cox and the wicked Lord Farley's ruination of her.
Hugh clasped his hands before his face, leaning on his knees, staring at the blackened hearth in thought. He would be better off leaving her be. Stop all flirtation, all clandestine trips to the bathhouse such as the one tonight. Stop the stolen kisses in the carriage and merely become the host he was supposed to be. Or even better, leave Rome and return to his country estate near Naples. Remove himself from the temptation that was Molly.
He swore, throwing himself back into his chair. The idea of leaving Molly was no more palatable than telling her the truth and watching her leave for London. It was a hopeless case and one he would have to think upon more. Tonight he could not decide his course of action. What he could decide upon, however, was that he needed a stiff drink. Or perhaps, many.
Chapter 8
The following evening Molly once again stole down to