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She stared, truly shocked. It’d not occurred to her that he might try to blackmail her in this way. “But why?”
He raised his eyebrows in what looked like genuine surprise. “Because I want you, of course. You’re just as much mine as the children are.”
“You don’t want me. You haven’t seen me—haven’t made love to me—in years. I know you’ve taken another mistress, probably more than one.”
Lister made a moue of distaste at her mention of the bedroom. “Please, Helen, we needn’t be so crass. Never think because I don’t visit you as often that I’ve forgotten you. I’m really quite fond of you, my dear; please believe it. And when you’ve come back, why, I may find it in my heart to reward you with a small trinket.” He seemed much struck with the thought. “Yes, I think sapphire earrings or perhaps even a necklace. You know how I like sapphires on you.”
He stood and crossed to her, offering his hand to help her rise.
Helen closed her eyes, trying to beat down panic. He sounded so reasonable, so sure that he’d get exactly what he wanted. And why shouldn’t he? Lister was a duke. He had gotten everything he’d ever wanted in his life. But not her.
Not her.
She opened her eyes and stared at him, this man she’d loved so long ago, this man who was the father of her children. She placed her hand in his and rose to stand before him. “I’m not coming back.”
His eyes became hard and opaque, and his fingers tightened into a vise around her hand. “Now, don’t be foolish, Helen. You’ve already put me out. I don’t think you’d like to enrage me.”
She caught her breath at the implied threat, twisting her hand, trying to free herself. He let her struggle for a moment more and then abruptly let her go. He stood smiling. She stared at him, wondering if she truly knew him at all. Helen turned and walked from his sitting room and his house. She almost ran down the front steps and into the waiting sedan chair. Once enclosed in the small space, she allowed herself to shake. Dear God, could she do it? If returning to Lister was the only way to get Abigail and Jamie back, could she stand firm against him? No. She already knew in her heart. No.
If she had to choose between her pride and her children, she would concede her pride.
“MAMA,” ABIGAIL WHISPERED.
She stood in the duke’s house, in the old nursery, and watched as far below a lady who looked very much like her mama ran down the steps and entered a sedan chair. The men lifted the chair and trotted down the street and around a corner.
Abigail still stared out the window, though.
Maybe the lady hadn’t been Mama. It was very hard to tell from way up here, and there were bars that prevented her from getting very close to the window, but she hoped it was Mama. Oh, how she hoped!
She turned reluctantly from the window. The duke had brought them to his house, because his real family was away in the country. He’d stuck them up here in the hot old nursery and made Mr. Wiggins and a maid watch over them. The maid was better than Mr. Wiggins, because she mostly sat in the corner looking bored. Mr. Wiggins often looked bored when he watched them, too, but he also teased them. He’d already worked Jamie up into a screaming fit today.
Now Mr. Wiggins had left and the maid nodded off in the corner. Jamie had fallen asleep after his fit. Again. He was sleeping an awful lot, and when he was awake, he was sad. Not even the huge set of tin soldiers interested him. At night Abigail had heard him call Mama’s name, and she didn’t know what to do. Should she try to run away with Jamie? But then where would they go? And if—
The door to the nursery opened, and the duke came in. The maid lurched to her feet in the corner and bobbed a curtsy. The duke ignored her.
He looked at Abigail. “I’ve come to check on your welfare, my dear.”
Abigail nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d hardly spoken to the duke since he’d brought them from Scotland. He’d never hit her or Jamie, but something about him made her very nervous.
He frowned a little, not an angry frown, but one that seemed to mean he was irritated. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
“The Duke of Lister.” Abigail remembered the curtsy she should’ve dropped when he entered.
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand impatiently. “I meant who I am to you. You know how I am related to you, don’t you?”
“You’re my father,” Abigail whispered.
“Very good.” The duke flicked a smile at her. “You’re a bright little poppet, aren’t you?”
Abigail didn’t know what to say to that, so she was silent.
The duke strolled to a shelf where dolls sat in a row. “Yes, I am your father. I’ve provided for you all your life. Fed you. Clothed you. Gave your mother a house in which you could sleep at night.” He picked up a doll and turned it over, stared at it, then replaced it on the shelf. “You liked the house where you lived with your mother, didn’t you?”
He turned and looked at her with the same expression on his face he’d had when he examined the doll. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
That smile flicked across his face again. “Then you will be happy when you, your brother, and your mother return to that house.”
