Surely they were mere notions, and not something more sinister. Something having to do with his father…
Eden shook her head. She was Donal’s mother. What she did not know about motherhood and children she must learn. And, as little as she liked the prospect, she saw that it would be necessary to have a firm talk with Shaw.
Aunt Claudia would have no trouble dealing with him and putting him in his place. She had a natural, irrefutable authority about her that Eden had never tried to match. Perhaps she should explain the situation to Claudia and leave it to her.
But that was the coward’s way out. Eden had decided not to do as she had always done and take the easiest, least troublesome path. If she could not be as strong as Claudia, she might at least attempt to hold her ground.
And Claudia would most likely dismiss Shaw at the first sign of contrariness. That would not do—not while Donal was so attached to him. She wouldn’t deprive him of a single thing that gave him happiness. That was reason enough to endure Shaw’s presence and her own troubling response to it, in addition to the indisputable fact that he was very skilled with horses, and there was hardly an overabundance of servants to choose from.
She met Shaw’s gaze over Donal’s head. His stare shot through her like a bolt of summer lightning. She could have sworn that she felt the damp, throbbing heat of an impending storm gather about her, making her clothing stick to her skin and perspiration break out on her brow.
The storm in Hartley Shaw’s green eyes was the source of the lightning, of the heat, of the tingling and wetness between her thighs.
Memory crashed about her like thunder. The inn on the border, a girl’s hope and joy, the ecstatic pleasure of being known by a man. Not just any man, but the one she adored.
That was how she felt in Shaw’s presence, as if she were back in that bed, lost in physical sensation beyond any she had guessed could exist. Pure, animal gratification, made the more miraculous by love.
It was only much later she learned that not all acts between a man and woman were so pleasurable, that the joy was as rare and fleeting as marital fidelity among her own kind.
A mad notion flew into her head. She had experienced a powerful sense of recognition when she first saw Hartley’s face. Could it be that he reminded her of Cornelius? They were not much alike, except for the remarkable, terrifying effect both had upon her. Such incredible, erotic allure…
No. It was not possible. Eden swallowed and closed her eyes. All at once the wet heat and lightning was gone, and she was chilled through by the sharp winter wind.
“Please fetch the dog cart, Shaw,” she said.
For an instant she thought he looked as shaken as she felt. But that must be a trick of the light, or of her addled brain. He turned for the stable, Juno in tow, before she could be certain.
Donal did not try to follow. He took Eden’s hand. “What are you afraid of, Mother? I may call you Mother now, mayn’t I?”
Was this wise little man a child at all? She squeezed his hand. “Of course you may, but only when we are alone. When you were high up on Juno’s back, were you afraid of falling off?”
Boyish scorn flared in Donal’s eyes. “Juno is easy,” he said. “I want to ride Atlas.”
“Oh, no, my lad.” She held back from sweeping him up in her arms and kissed his cheek instead. “Not just yet. Perhaps when you’re a little older.”
“Like Hartley?”
He went from indignant to wistful in the blink of an eye, displaying all the warning signs of true hero worship.
Like Hartley, indeed. She planned to see that Donal rose to heights a man such as Hartley Shaw could not begin to imagine.
As if he were determined not to be out of her thoughts for a second, Shaw promptly drove the dog cart out of the carriage house. The horse, a pretty chestnut gelding, seemed a bit too spirited to draw such a sedate vehicle. Though Eden had driven many a dashing phaeton on Rotten Row, that was a far cry from the hideous roads in Westmorland.