The Duke's Baby. Rebecca Winters

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      The tip of Lance’s boot caught the foot of the chair Andrea Fallon had just vacated in her haste to avoid him. Guilt at being found out had been written in every move and expression of her body.

      A beautiful body and face to match he acknowledged to himself with grudging honesty.

      There was nothing wrong with his father’s eyesight, only with his lack of good judgment where she or any woman was concerned. They couldn’t be trusted.

      He nudged the chair closer to the bed before sitting down next to his parent.

      “Tell me about your guest’s suffering, Papa,” he asked without preamble.

      His father looked at him with loving eyes. “When you came home on that quick trip at Easter, did you happen to meet the American professor who was working in my library?”

      Lance’s thoughts flew back to those few hours when he’d stolen home to check on his father without anyone else knowing about it. “Henri mentioned you had a visitor. I recall getting a glimpse of him, but I admit I didn’t pay much attention.”

      After another bout of coughing, his father continued. “Dr. Fallon taught medieval literature at Yale University in Connecticut, and came to La Bretagne over the Easter break to do research. He and his wife Andrea were staying at the Hotel Excalibur.”

      The woman whose luscious mouth he could still taste on his lips was someone’s wife? Lance hadn’t seen her wearing any rings.

      “Maurice rang me and asked if I wouldn’t allow his hotel guests to examine some of the manuscripts in our family’s collection. Dr. Fallon was already published and a reputed expert on Arthurian legend.”

      “So of course you said yes,” Lance interjected with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The news that his father was involved with a married woman caused his stomach to clench for a variety of unpalatable reasons.

      “How could I refuse when I learned he was writing a book entitled The Definitive Lancelot Du Lac?”

      Lance had heard it all before. Every would-be writer was attempting to pen a definitive book on the subject of the famous knight.

      “About a month after they returned to the States, Andrea sent me a note telling me that following their flight home from Paris, her husband had died suddenly of a blood clot to the brain.”

      What?

      “She thanked me for letting them come to the château to see the library. Her husband had said it was the highlight of his trip. Naturally I was grieved for her sake and sent flowers. I told her that if she ever wanted to come for a visit, she was welcome.

      “To my delight she wrote back two weeks ago and asked if she could come and take pictures of the forest. She wants to include some extra photographs in the book her husband had written.

      “I have to tell you, Lance, if I could have had a daughter, I would have wanted one exactly like Andrea.”

      A daughter—

      Lance’s mind had to do a complete thought reversal. Suddenly certain things seemed clear, like his father allowing her to stay in the green room. He’d never offered it to anyone else, not even Corinne.

      “She has your mother’s kindness,” his father continued, unaware of Lance’s shock. “It’s a very rare trait.”

      So rare in fact that Lance hadn’t seen any evidence of it during their fiery exchange in the kitchen before his baser instincts had taken over to punish her for something she hadn’t done.

      In any case he’d had no right in behaving like a brute.

      “As soon as she flies back, she’s going to have it published as a special tribute to him. Now that you’re home, maybe you would show her some significant spots only you and I know about? Since her arrival, I’ve been too sick to accompany her.”

      Lance lowered his head, massaging the knotted muscles at the back of his neck. Considering the reprehensible way he’d treated his father’s guest up to this point, he doubted she’d speak to him again, let alone be amenable to spending any time with him.

      What in the hell had caused him to react so violently to Andrea Fallon? He’d met plenty of women in his life more beautiful and exotic. Bile rose in his throat when he remembered one in particular…

      Mrs. Fallon had said she’d been given permission to be on the property. When she’d first looked at him with that haunted expression as if she were miles away, why hadn’t he recognized it as grief and believed her?

      How in the devil could he explain his behavior in the kitchen when he didn’t understand it himself?

      He didn’t really think his father would get involved with a woman that young, so what was the underlying emotion driving Lance’s cruelty toward an innocent guest? It seemed he’d completely misread Henri’s comment.

      Obviously he’d become so hardened with life, he was more out of touch with civilized society than he realized. Apparently he was no longer fit to rejoin the world his father inhabited.

      He got up from the chair. “Papa? I’ve got some things to do, but I’ll be back.”

      Lance needed to speak to Andrea before she went to bed. It was time to pick up the pieces if it wasn’t already too late. Something told him if he didn’t, she might well be gone from the premises before morning. That was one thing he didn’t want on his conscience.

      “Go ahead, mon fils. I’ll wait for you.”

      “Try to sleep.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ