Adrian leaned forward, hands on knees, meeting his brother’s gaze with all seriousness. “It always saddened me that you stopped painting. I hated him for that, more than anything, you know. You’d always been so happy while you were painting. You needed that escape.”
“I guess I still do,” Morgan admitted, sitting up straight as Hannah launched herself into his lap. “Perhaps once I’ve painted away the fire, I can attempt one of this little lovely.”
Hannah grinned up at him beatifically.
“Definitely a smile worth capturing,” Adrian said softly, as a pang of desperate longing lanced through him. He wanted what Morgan had. He wanted it so badly that for a moment he could hardly breathe.
Was this as close to a family of his own as he’d ever get? Much as he loved being an uncle to these beautiful children, he desperately wanted one or two of his own. Shaking the thought away, he gestured at Anne and lowered his voice. “Why don’t you want her to know you’ve started painting?”
Morgan grimaced, hugging his small daughter tight. “I don’t know. I suppose I just don’t think she’d understand the darkness of what I paint. I’ve tried so hard to keep our past from ever touching my family...”
“You’ve done a good job,” Adrian assured him quickly, unused to being the one to offer reassurances. Guilt filled him as he realized how seldom Morgan had spoken of the past and how unequipped he felt to say the right things now that he had. “You’re a wonderful husband and father. What you’ve built here”—he waved a hand around the snug, homey room filled with children and love—“is something that bastard can never destroy.”
Still, it saddened him that Anne was not strong enough to help Morgan deal with all the pain of his childhood. It seemed to him that if a woman loved you, she should love all of you, even the darkness.
Was Vanessa capable of that? Could she see past the mask to the scars and pain beneath, or was she, like Anne, the kind of woman who preferred that things always be pretty? One day soon, he’d either have to walk away for good or have the courage to find out.
Morgan smiled and hugged his daughter tight, causing her to squeal with happiness and press kisses all over his face. “You’re right. The past can’t hurt us now.”
But Adrian caught a glimpse of fear in his brother’s eyes before he buried his face in Hannah’s hair and couldn’t help his own suddenly overwhelming sense of dread.
He had a very bad feeling that the past wasn’t through with them yet.
* * * *
TWO WEEKS AFTER PROMETHEUS’Slast visit, Vanessa sat on a carved wooden bench under the shade of a towering oak, watching as her darling boy played tag with a group of other children. As his high, pure laugh rang out, a surge of pure happiness and affection welled within her.
“Look at him,” she urged Fiona, who sat beside her. “You would never guess that just a few short weeks ago he was held in that place and made to do unspeakable things.”
Fiona reached over and squeezed her hand. “He’s adjusting beautifully. Every day he smiles a little more. I think he’s finally realizing he’s safe here. Hopefully, the memories of that place will fade, and he’ll replace them with good ones.”
“I hope so,” Vanessa answered fervently. “I worry about him all the time.”
Fiona squeezed her hand again before releasing it. “You’ve surprised me,” she said with a laugh. “So many society women come here wanting to help out, but they soon lose interest. It breaks the children’s hearts when they come to care for someone and then they disappear.”
“I’m no society woman,” Vanessa replied with a hint of bitterness. “Most of those women think of me as a whore. They’d certainly never receive me in one of their fancy parlors.”
“Would you want them to?” Fiona gave her a rueful smile. “You and I enjoy a sort of freedom the likes of them will never know.”
“I suppose,” Vanessa said wistfully. “Still, I can’t help but envy them, with their fancy houses and servants to cater to their every whim. They never have to worry about where their next meal is coming from.”
“I’m sure a lot of them envy you.” Fiona gave Vanessa a quick glance before returning her attention to the children. “You’re lovelier than any of them. You could have any man you wanted, and without the shackles of marriage.”
“But I want the shackles of marriage,” Vanessa replied, glad to have another woman to talk to about this sort of thing. A woman who wasn’t jaded by a life in the theater. She’d had so few women friends in her life but had felt an affinity for Fiona since they’d first met. “I’ve had loads of offers. They all want me to be their mistress. But where is the security in that? Eventually, when you’ve lost your looks, they move on, leaving you just as broke as before.”
“You say that as though you’ve had some experience with heartbreak,” Fiona said kindly.
“I made that mistake once.” Heat crept up Vanessa’s cheeks. “There was a man... when I was sixteen. I thought he loved me, but he walked away after just a few weeks, on to the next lovely young thing.”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve had some experience with heartbreak as well.” Fiona forced a bitter laugh. “Is there anyone in your life at the moment?”
Thoughts of Prometheus flooded Vanessa’s mind, but she shook her head. “Not really. There is one man... Mr. Adrian Strathmore...”
She trailed off, a bit surprised at herself for bringing him up. Lately, he’d been attaching lines of poetry to the roses he threw at her feet, the words wrenching and beautiful. She’d read them and reread them, wishing she was educated enough to know which poet had written them.
“He’s the younger brother of an earl, but they say he was scarred in a fire... In any event, he comes to the theater nearly every night and watches me from his family’s private box. I’ve never truly seen him, but I can feel his gaze. He’s sent me flowers and poetry. I think he’ll eventually make me a proposition.”
“Sounds disturbing,” Fiona said with a pretend shudder. “What about Prometheus? What would you do ifhemade you an indecent proposal?”
