The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,126

then, faster than she could stop him, and leaned toward her so that his face was mere inches from hers. “I told you not to waste your breath. I won’t waste mine. Get the hell out of my house.” With that, he whipped away from her so fast, a cool breeze blew in his wake. He stopped in the doorframe. “And Elizabeth? Never, ever try to use my grandson against me again.”

Two days of freedom did nothing, in Con’s mind, to erase a month of stench from his person. It permeated him. No matter how often he traded his coat for a clean one or how hard he scrubbed at his newly shorn hair with lemon soap, everywhere he went, that putrid stink clung to him.

Then there were the night terrors.

And the ravenous hunger.

The retching whenever he thought of his cell.

He’d lived through his sentence, the part that hadn’t been commuted. He still didn’t fully understand why he’d been set free.

Why had the man who’d ruthlessly seen him into the clink helped him to get out?

Con did know it was Elizabeth’s doing. Bart had told him the story of how she’d thrown herself on her father’s mercy and begged the earl to request Con’s offense be pardoned. But Con would have sworn her father hadn’t the heart.

And yet, he was standing proof that Lord Wyndham did have it in him to pardon. Whether he’d pardoned Con’s crime or Elizabeth’s, Con might never know. But the fact was, the earl had intervened enough that Con had been commuted. He ought to be overjoyed—he was. And yet, his sentence wasn’t over. The hulks wouldn’t let him be. Their ghosts followed him everywhere, even to Merritt House, until he went near mad hearing their creaking, groaning boards, and the constant shuffle of men unable to get comfortable.

He set out at a brisk pace into the park across from Merritt House, taking the same route he’d taken the day before. Too early to encounter anyone he knew and at too fast a pace to be required to make conversation even if he did. He used his long legs to his advantage, intending to clear the park before anyone had a chance to even know he was there. He needed time to think about Elizabeth. His wife. He’d yet to see her, though he wanted to hold her so badly, he could weep for the wanting.

He knew she’d had him set free. He was so very, very glad for it. He’d been on the ship only a month and already, he could barely recall his life before that hell. But in spite of knowing she’d faced the earl for him—her own personal demon, and Con’s—he hadn’t completely forgiven her for using him. He couldn’t, not until he knew the reason why she had risked her pride for him.

He may be under the spell of a practiced seductress, for all he knew. Because she hadn’t been there for his release. And she hadn’t come to see him since.

He stopped suddenly at the sight of a familiar little boy pulling himself at a crawl across a white blanket. His heart felt as if a fist squeezed it. Oliver.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t leave.

There was no walking away, not from his son.

Con scanned the cluster of people hovering around the crawling child. He identified a pretty woman who was obviously a nursemaid. A gently bred woman who must be Finn’s wife. And Finn.

Con’s teeth ground.

No. He was done being angry. In all fairness, there was no right or wrong person in this fight. Both Finn and Elizabeth wanted nothing more than custody of their child, a natural inclination Con now understood.

Con was only a pawn. An incidental victim of their war. Still, he couldn’t turn away. Finn felt like the enemy.

“That’s my boy,” Finn said proudly to his wife, causing Con to tense muscles toughened by hard labor.

“There’s a good lad. Come over to Papa.”

Con tore his gaze from Finn to look at the baby he’d missed more than he’d thought possible. Oliver was so big now. He was crawling. He pointed with a chubby hand toward a dog playing fetch across the lawn. “Pup-pup!” His little hands and knees stumped toward the animal. The dog was leagues away at Oliver’s disjointed pace, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. “Pup-pup! Pup-pup!”

Con turned away. He shouldn’t be watching. Oliver seemed happy. Finn wasn’t a monster, just a father who wanted his son. Observing them tortured