Page 94 of Tempting the Marquess

Chapter20

The parlor had become a prison.

Two doors, and Penn stood guard outside one, while John lounged beside the other, staring out the window, and waiting for William to arrive. Her mother lay as still as death on a chaise, blonde hair matted with dried blood and starkly pale skin mottled with the start of terrible bruising.

Samantha dashed a hand across her eyes, then knelt down so their faces were nearly level. “Mother? Can you hearme?”

Her eyelids fluttered and eventually prized open, revealing the dull, unfocused gaze of someone in so much pain they had retreated deeply within themselves.

“You should never have come back,” Eva mumbled. “Should have stayed with Jane. You love her most, anyway.”

“You’re my mother.”

“I carried you, at least. Awful time. That’s how I guessed about your baby. You had me bent over a chamber pot every day. And labor…ugh. I wasn’t sorry when they said only one child forme.”

Samantha reached over and took her hand. “But who is my father?”

“Oh. You heard that, didyou?”

“I did. And…I’m glad. Very glad. But my real father isdead?”

“So many questions,” said Eva, closing her eyes. Eventually she opened them again, and turned her head. “I hate looking atyou.”

The words struck like a full-body blow. “Am I really sougly?”

“Not ugly. You just look so much like him, it hurts me. Those nasty curls of yours, they are from him. And your eyes. Exactly the same as Charlie’s. Gazing at me and wantingmore.”

“Charlie?” Samantha said carefully.

“Charles Buchanan, 3rd Earl of Claremont. He died of a fever not long after I became pregnant. Charlie was so excited…so eager to be a father. He thought Samuel for aboy.”

“He d-did?”

“Yes. But then he got sick. And he didn’t fight. He didn’t try to get well. He didn’t love me enough, and he died. I hated him then. So I went to the man who hated him also. John…” her mother finished with a pained cough.

Both speechless and anguished, Samantha stared at Eva. But there was no smirk on her face or even a vacant expression indicating a descent into madness, just stoic resignation. Someone with nothing left to lose finally unburdening a long-held secret. “Would you ever have told me the truth?”

“Never. But you are Samantha Charlotte so I wouldn’t forget what he did to my heart…damn you, stop looking at me. Go. Go, and never comeback.”

“No.”

“Run, you stupid girl,” hissed Eva, her temples dripping with perspiration. “Marry Standish. He’ll give you lots of money and gowns. There is nothing for youhere.”

Samantha took her hand and gently squeezed it. “I won’t leave you alone, Mama.”

“Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl,” said Eva, but a single tear rolled down her rouged cheek, leaving a pink streak in its wake. Then the lightest return pressure cameback.

After twenty years of indifference the gesture made Samantha want to sob her heart out, but crying was a luxury she didn’t have right now. She had to keep her wits about her, especially with John getting visibly more agitated, the longer there were no arrivals outside.

The sound of determined footfalls outside the door he stood next to had her scrambling to her feet, the better to protect the limp form of her mother. Seconds later, a startlingly familiar man strode into the room, closely followed by an elegant middle-aged woman.

“Mr. Ashcroft?” blurted Samantha. “What are you doinghere?”

“Lady Samantha,” he replied, bowing as though they were acquaintances greeting each other at a soiree. “Actually, I prefer Phillipe. And this is my companion, Mabel.”

Chills danced up her spine. At the dinner, Phillipe had sounded like an upper-class British gentleman; now his accent was unmistakably French. And he was so calm, and so cold, as though the sight of her mother lying broken on the chaise was no more interesting than a discarded napkin on the floor. Meanwhile, Mabel was smiling and holding out her hands as though they were the oldest and dearest of friends.

“Hello, lovie,” said Mabel in a broad London accent. “It is lovely to make your acquaintance—I’ve heard so much about you. And your marquess, of course. What a tricky opponent Lord Standish is! Almost a pity he mustdie.”