The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,56

But she could be pleased with herself as she watched them from afar, knowing she’d chosen the best possible man to be Oliver’s father.

Mayhap it was time to ask him about Devon. He didn’t seem to be ready to move to the drawing room posthaste. “I saw Finn today,” she began.

She stopped when his face tightened. Her heart seemed to turn over. Did he care?

“So you said in your note.” He sat Oliver on his knee. “I trust you didn’t get into a shouting match in the middle of the park. I believe our goal is to bore the gossips to death, not titillate them.”

She hadn’t even considered that. Had they been indiscreet? At the time it had seemed like he was hounding her; certainly they hadn’t been taking a pleasant stroll. She hoped no one had taken notice of them. Funny, as at the time she’d prayed for a kind stranger to intervene. “Not a quarrel. He did try to take Oliver from me. I would have screamed without a second’s hesitation, had he succeeded.”

Con straightened. Finally, she had his attention. “The rotter. How did you hold him off?”

She remembered Nicholas’s anguished eyes. Perhaps “take” was too strong a description. He’d wanted to hold Oliver. Would he have stolen him?

Maybe. Maybe not. She must assume the answer was yes. “I mentioned the canal in Devon to him, my lord, and relieved his mind about our dubious history. A crumb of information that places us both in the same area at the same time.”

Con went silent. He dandled Oliver by rote, clearly deep in thought. Her instinct was to fear for her son’s safety. As though Con might forget altogether he held the baby. But quickly, unsettlingly, she realized that his handling was instinctive. He didn’t need to think directly about Oliver to keep him from coming to harm.

“I wish you wouldn’t have told him,” he finally said.

Con sounded weary, not angry, but a churning in her belly sent her rushing to explain. “He already knew about the canal. He was more surprised that I knew. I seized upon that doubt and attempted to double it by…” Here was her opportunity to explain her true quandary and trust Con would want to help her. “…by telling him that we are about to set out on holiday to see it for ourselves.”

“We?” He glanced down at the top of Oliver’s downy head. “All of us? I can’t possibly afford a trip to Devon. Even if I could”—he shot her a warning look, as if to quell any offer to finance the trip—“I don’t think it’s at all the thing for a man to take his mistress on that sort of venture. Mixing business and pleasure is bound to be seen as inappropriate.”

“I don’t think so,” she said carefully.

“Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Hm. She hadn’t. A man’s business was a matter for his wife to handle, not his mistress. Nonetheless, she couldn’t give up.

But how did she convince him?

She’d already settled on telling the truth. What was a little more truth now? “I spoke thoughtlessly to Finn. I reached a bit. But surely you can see the imperativeness of following through. I fear what Finn will think of my untruth if we don’t go.”

Con’s lips turned down. He adjusted Oliver’s gown and touched his round cheek. Then Con looked up at her with those devastating eyes and said, “We could stay here and attempt to make our relationship just as convincing.”

His voice held a gravelly hint of promise, as though he were willing to follow through…

She was close. She quelled the urge to push too much, when he’d given her the perfect opening to do so. “We could, I suppose. I don’t think staying here would be quite the same.” She walked closer to him, then turned and stood by his side. Presenting herself as unified with him, as opposed to a quarrelsome wench. “I read a bit of news in the papers that might be of interest to you. The Grand Canal Company has made headway. Exciting, is it not?”

He seemed to mentally pause, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “What kind of headway?”

Perfect. He was distracted. “Something about puddle clay.”

He formed an ironic moue with his lips. “Yes, of course. That was going to be my first guess.” He returned to cooing at Oliver.

She shrugged. “I’ll fetch the copy when we go downstairs. I saved it. I thought you might like to speak to your solicitor