Read Regency Christmas Pact 02 - A Gentlemen's Pact for Free Online

little more time. But then he veered off to the right and marched up to the bellpulls. Darn him.
    “Someone will be here presently to take your order, I’m sure.” And then he sat back down beside her. “Now, where did we leave off? Oh, yes, I think you were about to tell me whether or not Marcus is actually my son.”
    Olivia’s heart raced and she felt all at sea, floundering for a way to deny the accusation without giving herself away. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I could take you to my uncle’s portrait gallery in his London townhome,” he said. “Show you a portrait of myself as a boy. Or of my father, perhaps. My uncle. Any number of my male relatives that bear similar features to Marcus.”
    “I can’t see what good that would do. So you have similar features. Brown hair and brown eyes are common enough. What would it prove?”
    Clearly Rowan was tiring of her lame arguments. “Admit it to me, Olivia.” It was the first time he’d used her given name, and it did something strange to her belly. The way it rolled off his tongue, the way his lips wrapped around the vowels. Good heavens, her resolve was weakening by the moment.
    “There is nothing to admit,” she said, with as much of a biting tone as she could muster. She’d always been soft-spoken, so it wasn’t easy.
    “You’re lying.”
    She wished she could get up and walk away. Blast this blasted ankle!
    “How would you know?” she retorted. “You know nothing of me, except…”
    A sly smile spread across Rowan’s lips. This was the first time either of them had mentioned that night, but clearly it held the same fond memories for him as it did for her. “So you remember?”
    How could she forget? She had a constant reminder of Rowan. She nodded, but said nothing.
    “Marcus is six.” It was a statement, not a question, but Olivia nodded anyway.
    “His birthday is coming up,” he continued. “January, is it?”
    Olivia knew what he was doing. All roads led to the truth—there was no escaping it now. She nodded.
    “I seem to remember a particularly balmy April evening at the Winslow ball. A beautiful young redhead begging me to…well, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to speak of such things, but rest assured—”
    “Fine!” she shouted, unable to tolerate any more memories or leading questions. But could she actually admit it? Could she actually say the words, after all these years, after all this time of telling Marcus that his father was Mr. John Edwards, could she admit it to Rowan—to herself—that he was truly Marcus’s father?
    She was about to open her mouth to say the words when Clara appeared in the doorway.
    “You rang, ma’am?” she said, dipping a little curtsy.
    “Mrs. Edwards would like a plate of food, please, Clara,” Rowan said, with not a small bit of irritation in his tone.
    “Right away, sir.”
    Clara disappeared, and Olivia opened her mouth once more to speak, but was once again cut off. This time by Lady Swaffham, who flounced into the room in a flurry of crimson silk.
    “Rowan, there you are!” she exclaimed. “Keeping Mrs. Edwards company, I see.”
    “Yes,” he replied with a tight smile. “We wouldn’t want her to suffer from boredom, now, would we?”
    “Certainly not!” Lady Swaffham took the chair opposite Rowan. “We’ll be in presently to start the parlor games, Mrs. Edwards. Rowan, you ought to eat while you still can. Half the food is gone already.” She turned back to Olivia. “Sleigh riding works up quite the appetite.”
    Olivia gave the woman a slight smile. “I’m certain it does. Oh, and thank you both for looking after Marcus this morning. He would have been devastated to miss the outing.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Edwards.” Lady Swaffham stood and grabbed Rowan by the hand. She used all her might to pull the reluctant man from his seat and then started to drag him from the room. “Come, Rowan. I won’t have