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Melina felt a chill at her toes that crept up, but she hid her shiver. ‘I have never even seen poison.’
‘You have yet to marry.’ He brushed his hand across his knee, picking at the doeskin. ‘My wife killed my son’s grandfather. My wife— How do I tell my brothers that our father is not here because my wife didn’t want him around any more?’
‘I have met Ben. If Cassandra’s ways were so obvious—if it could be suspected that she would do such a thing—you know he would have told you. Did you suspect, before you became ill, she might try to murder your father?’
‘Do not ask such a question.’ His eyes, dark, locked on hers. ‘I know you are trying to make a point, but to even suggest I could have imagined such a thing and allowed it to happen is intolerable. And along with my father’s death on my conscience, I have her spawn with Ludgate to keep.’
‘He said he would care for her.’
‘I may not think much of the child, but I do not trust him to find a home for her.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘You’ve never even seen her.’
‘It doesn’t matter. She’s a little girl. An orphan, in a sense. My father left me to starve and has no wish to see me. She shouldn’t suffer because of something she had no control over.’
‘Happens all the time. Though I’ll pay her way.’
Melina spoke softly. ‘Then let me take her back to Melos. She should have a family. I will treat her as a daughter.’
Warrington shook his head. ‘My problem. My responsibility. I will see to it. Broomer can locate a couple willing to raise her as their own. I will examine his choices. You already have sisters to concern you.’
‘You would send a servant for such a duty?’
‘I would send the best person for the task. And that is Broomer. He knows what goes on in the world outside the peerage because he doesn’t always have work inside the house and finds his way among the streets. When he talks, people think he is a simpleton and they don’t notice how much he listens. I didn’t at first. I’ve already told him that the little girl might need someone else to care for her and he knows of a place where she might find a home. When she and Jacob arrive here, she can meet her new family.’
‘She does have a name.’
‘Yes. She was named for her father. Thank you for reminding me. But I had not forgotten.’
‘Perhaps you should forget. Remembering only serves one purpose—to cause you discomfort.’
He shut his eyes. When he opened them, he turned his head from her. ‘That is one thing I will change. I will make the people who take her agree to give her a new name. Something they choose. Perhaps it will give them closeness to her.’ He pushed himself up. ‘This isn’t her fault. I want the past behind me, and even if she doesn’t know it, so does she. She deserves a chance to begin anew.’
He opened a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of ink and paper. ‘I’m sending Whitegate’s butler a note. I never took my father’s room after he passed. Cass and I had living quarters of our own, smaller but comfortable. Now I want my things moved to my father’s chambers. While Jacob is here, the changes can be made. I’ll return with him.’
Melina wanted to touch him, but didn’t. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to caress his jaw, feeling the skin, or slap him to try to shake him from his feelings.
‘You’re not accepting and forgetting, you’re just pushing the reminder where you cannot see her,’ she said. ‘You still have the rage.’
‘I do have the anger.’ He dipped the pen in ink and wrote as he spoke. ‘I just found out for certain that my wife killed my father. For nothing. No true reason. The only person she really had reason to kill was me. But I know she didn’t like my father. Didn’t like his wife and didn’t like his controlling so much of our lives.’ He dipped the pen again and continued writing.
Melina turned her back, feeling like a goddess. One who had come to earth only to discover that men were mortals and could not accept a peaceful world when they had opportunity.
‘It is only what is inside you keeping the pain alive for you.’ She did not face him, but her voice was loud enough that he could easily understand her words.
‘A person who has never been burned cannot know what it is like to have the experience of fire consuming the skin and the way it lingers. The deeper the burn, the longer it takes to heal and to forget the pain.’
