Chapter Twenty

Ophelia stood and stretched out her aching back.

She didn’t yet have much of a bump, but she could certainly feel the extra strain on her body.

The evenings were growing cooler, and soon autumn would be upon her.

She would need to ensure that she got enough firewood for the winter months.

Getting it herself would be an impossibility, of course. But she’d befriended a local farmer’s wife who had a strapping son. She was quite sure the young man could be prevailed upon to help out a poor widow.

Calling herself a widow had lent her a semblance of respectability.

She was sure that there were people in the local village who would eventually figure out who she really was. Aside from her father’s eyes, she knew she was the picture of her mother.

But so far, she’d managed to enjoy some anonymity. And for that, she was eternally grateful.

A cool breeze whipped her hair across her face, and she pushed it back impatiently.

The modest selection of vegetables she’d collected from her mother’s garden would do for a hearty soup and hopefully, the longer she spent salvaging the vegetable patch that had grown wild and unruly, the more it would yield in years to come.

As always, thoughts of the future came with a pang of sadness.

She missed Caleb with a ferociousness she hadn’t even known she was capable of feeling.

It wasn’t just that she was alone with only herself to rely on.

Her brother had been surprisingly generous – although that was only after Ophelia had implied that she would tell his precious ton her real name, her real relationship to the pompous earl. If she was very frugal, she would be all right. And more importantly, her child would be.

He’d handed over the money she would have received for a modest dowry with the proviso that she never see or speak to him again. Ophelia had happily accepted.

She was luckier than a lot of women in her position would have been and for that, she was grateful, of course.

But it didn’t stop her from being miserable without Caleb. It didn’t stop her dreaming of him and wishing for things that couldn’t be.

She imagined his child, a son or daughter with the same impossibly bright blue eyes, the same incorrigible grin. And she knew that much as she would love her son or daughter, it would be a constant reminder of the love she’d lost.

He would have been an excellent father, Ophelia knew.

Would be, in fact. To his legitimate children.

The very idea brought tears to her eyes.

Being with child had made her a veritable watering pot.

But her new friend Mrs. Brown had assured her that was perfectly normal.

Sometimes, she wondered if she should have told him. If it was unfair to deprive him of at least the knowledge of his child.

But then she’d remember those sparse visits from her father. A stranger, who patted her on the head then sent her away so he could shamelessly use her mother.

Mama would be so happy, so excited in the days leading up to one of his visits.

But then he would be gone, and she would be miserable for days. Sometimes weeks.

Ophelia knew she’d probably be the same. That she’d spend her child’s life waiting by the door for scraps from the man she loved.

And she knew that she’d been right to walk away.

But that didn’t make it any easier to live with.

Her feelings were in danger of overwhelming her again, so Ophelia bent to pick up her basket then straightened, intending to busy herself inside the cottage in an attempt to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

“Ophelia.”

She froze at the sound of a male voice calling her name.

No! It couldn’t be.

Nobody knew where she was. She hadn’t told the earl. There hadn’t been any point.

Had she missed him so much that she’d imagined the marquess had found her? Found out who she really was?

She was afraid to turn around, knowing her poor, battered heart couldn’t take much more of this.

“Siren.”

It was him!

She spun around to find him standing before her.

The basket fell from her suddenly lifeless fingers, and she could only stare, her eyes greedily drinking in every inch of him.

He stood beside a beast of a horse. She hadn’t even heard his approach, so lost in her thoughts had she been.

Ophelia realised with a start that this was the first time she was seeing him in the sunlight.

He was stunning. An odd choice of word to describe such blatant masculinity perhaps, but it was true.

She had thought at times that the candlelight played a part in making him seem so darkly attractive, but now she knew it was him.

His hair was more chestnut than black in the golden evening, and his eyes blazed even more fiercely blue in the sunlight.

His clothing and hair were rumpled and untidy, but all that did was add to his rugged handsomeness.

She looked back up from his muddied boots into his intense gaze, a lump forming in her throat.

She watched as he carried out his own examination of her, holding her breath when his eyes slid past her stomach without reaction.

Could it be that he didn’t know, then? But if that was the case, why was he here?

“Ophelia,” he said again, taking a tentative step toward her, as though afraid that a sudden movement would make her bolt.

Maybe it would, come to that.

A part of her wanted to turn and run.

A bigger part wanted to run into his arms.

So, she remained still as a compromise.

“You found me,” she said for want of something else to say.

“I did,” he answered.

“You know my name.”

This time he smiled, and her heart galloped.

“I do. But I prefer Siren.”

Oh, so did she.

To Ophelia’s horror, she felt her eyes fill once more.

“What are you doing here?” she suddenly blurted, rapidly blinking back the tears that threatened.

“What do you think?” he answered. “You left. Disappeared without a trace. I had no way of finding you. No way of knowing if you were dead or alive.”

A pang of guilt twisted in her gut.

She hadn’t thought that her disappearance would worry him.

Frankly, she hadn’t been sure he’d care.

But here he was. Looking for all the world as though he cared.

“I’m sorry,” she gulped. “I didn’t think you’d mind. Or notice.”

His face darkened ominously with her words.

“Not notice? Christ, Ophelia. I’ve been going slowly mad these past two months. I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve hired people to look. I even attended damned Society events, hoping to hear word of you.”

Ophelia could only stare at him as her mind tried to make sense of what he was saying.

“But – but how?” she stammered.

He stepped closer still, and she caught the sandalwood scent that would forever remind her of him.

“How? By finding the Earl of Batten,” he said.

Horror filled her at his words.

The earl.

So he knew. Knew that she was a bastard. Did he know about her child, then? Their child?

“I saw him at a ball. Saw that he had eyes like yours, though of course not beautiful, not enchanting.”

She swallowed hard at his words.

He didn’t sound angry with her or disgusted by her birth.

“It took a little persuading, but he finally told me your story. About your mother and your father. About the circumstances of your birth. And finally, about this cottage. He guessed this was where you’d come.”

Shame filled her.

“I’m surprised he told you,” she said gruffly. “He never wanted anyone to know the shame of my existence.”

“Well, like I said – it took some persuading. Let’s just say, his eyes are currently more black than silver.”

She felt her jaw pop open at his words. He’d hit the earl?

“You hit him to find out where I was?”

“No, I hit him because of what he was saying about you,” he answered, anger flashing through the pools of his eyes.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t like him disparaging you,” he said a little redundantly, since he’d hit the blighter. “I could have quite happily killed him.”

“Well, thank you. But what could he have said that wasn’t true? I am the bastard daughter of his late father. He owes me no respect.”

“Siren, I didn’t let him disparage you. And I’m not going to let you disparage yourself.”

She glared at him.

“Are you threatening to harm me, as well?” she asked, shocked to her core at the idea. “Kill me?”

His smile was positively wicked, and her toes curled before he even spoke.

“Him, I wanted to kill,” he said. “You, I want to kiss.”

Before she could react to his words, Caleb had pulled her into his embrace and captured her mouth in an earth-shattering kiss.