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She heard a slight tremor in his voice. Good heavens—was he nervous?
His expression held a gentle plea—one she could not resist—and she took his proffered arm.
“I would give you this rose,” he said, “but I’m afraid it’s laden with thorns. Once I have rendered it safe, it is yours, if you wish it.”
“You’re very considerate,” she said, “but I think I can weather a few thorns.”
“You’ve weathered much more than that, haven’t you?” he said. “I know you have no wish to discuss your late husband, but even I, with my limited perception of these things, can see that he was not kind toward you.”
“I have no wish to speak ill of him,” she said, “not when he’s no longer here to defend his actions. He must have led a troubled life.”
“Did he make you very unhappy?”
“We weren’t together very long.”
“And Henry?”
“He died before Henry was born,” she said. “My son never knew his father.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “I would rather Henry were protected from the truth. He thinks his father died in the war, and that is good enough for me. I would rather my son looks forward, to his future, and to happier times, than focus on the past.”
“Why?”
“Because we cannot change the past,” she said, “no matter how much we may regret the decisions we’ve make. All we can do is change the future and work to ensure we don’t repeat our mistakes.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her.
“And you fear that, with me, you have made the same mistake?”
Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. “Perhaps. Forgive me, I was too harsh when I likened you to him—when I said you were worse.”
“Sophia, I…”
“Not, let me say it,” she said. “I was angry last night at your deception, but I have lived long enough in the world to understand that men have a natural instinct for seduction, and for placing bets with each other in their clubs. I’d be a naïve fool if I expected you to be any different. But you confessed to me last night of your own free will, when most other men would have maintained the deception. I value honesty above all things, Adrian, so I should have honored yours in return.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and his eyes shone with sincerity—and relief.
“I must prove myself worthy of your forgiveness,” he said. “Words cannot express how sorry I am for what I did, but you must understand that my desire to seduce you for a bet waned almost from the first moment I laid eyes on you. I saw that you were worth far more than that.”
He placed a kiss on her hand and sighed.
“Oh, Sophia, I know words cannot atone, but with my actions I will do everything I can to prove my devotion to you—and to Henry.”
“To Henry?”
“I am excessively fond of the boy,” he said. “He’s bright, lively, and has inherited his mother’s intelligence. As well as seeing you happy I want nothing more than to see him realize his potential in life and succeed. And he will, my love, I shall do everything in my power to help him.”
“You will?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s always hard on an only child. My brother and I were so close when we were children. I always had someone to play with—to rely on. Henry needs brothers and sisters. He needs a stable, loving family home. And you were made to be loved and cherished.”
His expression had taken on a note of formality, and his voice had deepened.
Her heart leaped in her chest. Was he going to propose? A spike of fear rippled through her at the prospect of being owned by a man. Lysetta’s words haunted her mind—the warning that the danger was not from being abandoned, but from being claimed.
But Lysetta’s perception was clouded by her own experiences—of a brutish husband who had abused her. Adrian had been nothing but kind, and though Sophia wished to tread with caution, she couldn’t let one woman’s unhappy experience prevent her from taking any risks with her heart.
