Dylan paused near the front door of the keep, where a torch still burned. He gave his father a hard look. He knew what Patrick was suggesting, and he wanted no part of it.
“I gave up twenty years with you, so you could be a bloody aristocrat and marry a woman like the one who waits within these walls.” Patrick gave him a weary smile. “I won’t have you give all that up so I can hear the word father from your lips now and again.”
Dylan shook his head, humbled to know Patrick was once again willing to sacrifice his own happiness for Dylan’s benefit. Having a father who loved him was going to take a lot of getting used to.
All of which made him even more determined to do what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt.
“What am I to do, pretend as though you and Grandmother are mere servants, just so Natalia will continue to think I’m good enough to be her husband?” Dylan met Patrick’s eyes, determined not to back down. “I’ve spent my entire life pretending to be something I’m not, and I’m tired. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“There’s nothing in this world I’d like more than to claim you as my son, Dylan.” Patrick smiled, and Dylan knew he’d managed to say the right thing. “But not if it means you wind up with a broken heart.”
“If she looks down her nose at my family, she isn’t worth getting my heart broken over.” More truthful words had never been spoken, but Dylan knew they wouldn’t protect him in the end. After all, Natalia couldn’t help her aristocratic sensibilities any more than Michael could.
“I’m glad you feel that way. And if you do, I think you should tell the lass the truth, son. She can’t blame you for things you had no control over. It isn’t as though you hid this from her when the two of you wed. You never know, she might surprise you.”
She might surprise you.
Dylan wanted to believe such a thing was possible, but he’d been disappointed too many times, by too many people. “I’ll tell her I’ve changed my mind, that I think we should live apart. She’ll have access to her blasted dowry, and she can live like a queen in London. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance.”
“I don’t think you’re giving the lass enough credit. But then, you know her far better than I.”
But that was the problem. Dylan really didn’t know Natalia at all.
He let his head fall back against the rough stone, staring up of the starry sky. He tried to imagine Natalia’s reaction to the news, tried to envision a scenario that did not end with her walking away.
His father was right—it would break his heart to bare his soul in such a manner, only to receive the ultimate rejection. No, far better not to give her the chance.
Patrick gave him a little shove. “You can’t sleep out here, lad. Best to get it over with.”
Dylan nodded in resignation and moved to open the heavy front door. Patrick entered first but paused just a few feet inside. “She waited up for you. That must be a good sign.”
Dylan shut the door behind them, then turned to follow Patrick’s tenderly amused gaze. Natalia slept awkwardly in one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. She was still fully dressed, her dark hair trailing in a silky pool on the floor. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. His heart squeezed as he realized that if he went through with his plan, he would never see her like this again.
“She looks like a wee angel, son.”
“Aye,” Dylan agreed hoarsely. “That she does.”
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone, then. But remember what I said.” Patrick smiled over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen. “You’re a good man, Dylan, and she knows it.”
You’re a good man. She’d thought so once, but Dylan knew he’d already destroyed that opinion.
After his father left, Dylan moved toward Natalia with the slow precision of the walking wounded. The only other time he’d been this numb and confused was during the Crimea. After the doctors had dressed his wounds, he’d defied their orders to rest.
Instead, he’d limped back to the battlefield and stared down into the lifeless faces of men who’d been like brothers to him. He’d tried to count them, to put a number and a price on all that had been lost. Their deaths had hurt far more than Ivanovich’s saber.
As he stared down at his wife’s sleeping face, he once again tried to add up the loss of something irreplaceable.
Despite his initial anger, learning Patrick Macpherson was his father was one of the best things to ever have happened to him. He couldn’t wait to get to know his father better, to bask in the unconditional love Patrick had already shown him time and again.
Unfortunately, the only other good thing in his life was Natalia, and he didn’t see how he could possibly keep them both.
* * *
Natalia wasn’t sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes, Dylan loomed above her. He said nothing, just stared down at her, looking so troubled, so lost and alone, she forgot her anger.
“Dylan.” She scrambled to a sitting position and fumbled to put her hair back into some semblance of order. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and sank to his knees on the floor in front of her. “I just want to touch you,” he breathed, burying his face in her lap. “I want to feel your hands on my skin.”
