The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,64
face, she didn’t show it in her bearing. That alone made him wonder about her past.
Con showed her to the stairs and then around the corner to his mother’s suite. The door to her private sitting room stood open.
He paused to rap once on the doorcase. The bright satin of his mother’s purple grown assured him that she was inside. Waiting. This was it. “Mother? I apologize profusely for being late.”
“Do you?”
He went in and saw that she had one eyebrow raised teasingly. Her expression elsewise appeared anxious, and he felt badly for causing her to worry. She’d feared he wouldn’t come.
“I promise I do. Have you met Mrs. Dalton? She came to help me with Oliver.”
His mother shook her head and regarded the nursemaid with warm interest. Or was she looking at Oliver?
“In that case,” Con said, eager to get on with it, “Mrs. Dalton, may I present Clara Alexander, Lady Montborne. Mother, this is Mrs. Dalton.”
His mother inclined her head. “How do you do?”
Mrs. Dalton bobbed again. “Very well, your ladyship. Lord Constantine has been ever so nice, and I’ve never been in a grander home.”
Mother winced almost imperceptibly, though her smile remained gracious. Did she know they couldn’t afford this house? Even after all they’d done to protect her sensibilities? Shame stained Con red all the way to his toes.
“Please,” she said, “make yourself at ease, Mrs. Dalton.”
The nursemaid found a chair in the corner and went to it. Oliver went with her. Con remained stiffly at attention. He hadn’t settled into his role, and then there was the awkwardness of the situation. How was this to go? Did he just come out with an introduction? To a baby? What was he even to say?
The longer he paused, the more uncomfortable he became. He indicated the child squirming on Mrs. Dalton’s lap and extended his other hand toward his mother. “I would like to formally present my son, Oliver Nathaniel Spencer, age four months.”
Mother inhaled sharply. Tears came into her eyes. “I’ve waited so long to hear those words. Oh, Con. He’s beautiful.”
She didn’t rise from her perch at the edge of the couch, but gripped her small fists tightly against her knees and looked fervently toward the baby. Con’s conscience reared. But he wasn’t anywhere near to setting up his own nursery, and she was so desperately, desperately lonely. What was the point in denying her this pleasure?
Besides, Oliver was his son now.
“Would you like to hold him?” It sounded like someone else’s question. They weren’t words he’d ever directed at anyone before.
She nodded without hesitation. Oliver was looking around the room, one fist in his mouth. He appeared adorable and alert, squirmy enough to give Con’s mother something to manage but not so edgy he wouldn’t take to being held. Con surprised himself with his confidence in his assessment. He surprised himself even more when he went over, reached out and masterfully plucked little Oliver from his nursemaid’s arms, then cuddled the lad to his chest with one arm and crossed the room to his mother.
Oliver instinctively grabbed hold of Con’s cravat and mangled it in his plump little grip. Mother’s eyes widened and Con smiled, because he supposed he had been more worried about his appearance a few weeks ago than he was today. But a drawer full of identical, starched cravats was only a few steps away in his bedchamber, and there was something delightful in the innocent destruction a small child could wreak as he explored his new world.
Mother didn’t comment on Con’s change of heart, for which he was grateful.
Stopping just before her, he pried Oliver’s grip from his linen cravat and handed down the baby. Greedily, she hugged the small boy to her. She pressed her cheek against the top of his head and drew in a breath undoubtedly laced with Oliver’s warm baby smell. “I love him already,” she breathed.
When the cuddling became too much for Oliver, she set his feet on her knees and held him up so they were face-to-face. “You’re a good lad, aren’t you?” she cooed, brushing a kiss onto his forehead. “It’s not your fault your papa has been hiding you away.”
Con didn’t really need any more guilt added to his already heavy burden, so he took himself to the side of the room to observe from afar. Mrs. Dalton also made herself almost invisible, tucking herself into the small chair she’d selected. She seemed to enjoy watching his mother and Oliver playing together.