THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

Now she gave him an easy escape back to London. Her heart beat fast, but she still could not decide what she wanted him to do, what would be best for Donal.

After a while, Francis went to the mantelpiece again and leaned on it heavily. “Forgive the question, but did Spencer—did your marriage suffer because—”

“It cannot have helped.” She gave a small, crooked smile. “I cannot blame him. And though it is the way of the ton, I know I failed him as a wife in many ways.” She closed her eyes. “If only…”

“This Cornelius Fleming. Did you ever see him again?”

The harshness of his voice revealed his true feelings. She faced them squarely. “No. And I doubt I ever shall. He is gone.”

“The blackguard.” Francis fisted his hand on the mantelpiece. “I will not ask you what you learned of him that made you break the elopement, but I cannot… I will not hold you to blame, Eden.”

How could she have anticipated such acceptance? “You are generous, my lord,” she said warmly.

He turned to face her. “Who told you that your son had died?”

Even now she could not bring herself to speak it aloud, but Francis would guess. “It is so long ago. The details no longer seem important—only the fact of Donal’s presence in my life.”

Francis resumed his seat, leaning forward. “You cannot have found this easy, Lady Eden. Your honesty is… laudable.”

My very selective honesty, Eden thought. “There can be nothing but truth between us,” she said. “That is why I confided in you. You have been a good friend, and I am grateful.”

“Have been?” He gazed at her, unsmiling. “Is that your wish, Eden?”

How could she answer, when she didn’t know her own mind or heart? “It is my wish, above all, to provide for my son and give him a loving home and the future he would have had if… if he had been Spencer’s. Can you understand?”

“Yes.” He rose. “It seems that there are depths within you I did not suspect. Perhaps even within myself.”

And is that an answer, Francis? Have you, indeed, accepted so easily?

Eden got to her feet. “You are welcome to stay to dinner, but naturally I do not expect it.”

He glanced toward the window. “You have granted me your confidence, Eden, and I will not treat it lightly. If you will forgive me, I shall spend a quiet evening at Caldwick.”

“Of course.”

With an air of distraction, he bowed and started for the door. At the threshold he paused.

“Whatever may happen, Eden,” he said, “you will always have my friendship.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Francis.”

“Good night.”

Armstrong gave him his hat, gloves, and cane, and Lord Rushborough left quickly. Eden went into the sitting room and stared out the window as he walked, head down, toward his waiting carriage.

The emotions she ought to feel were completely absent.

But that had been the case for some time now, and she was almost used to the condition. Numbness seemed the safest course.

But that luxury was to be denied her. Out of nowhere, Donal burst into view. He ran up to stand before Lord Rushborough and spoke words Eden could not hear.

The marquess laughed. She could see his shoulders move. And then Donal turned around to face the carriage horses. One of them began to shake its head from side to side. The other half reared in its harness. Francis’s groom rushed to quiet them, but they danced away.

Donal pointed at the horses and spoke again. Francis turned his head just enough so that Eden could see his expression. It was far more appalled than it had been when Eden had made her confession.

The groom made several more attempts to catch the horses, and then Donal calmly walked up to them and caught the near horse’s bridle. At once the animals were quiet. Donal smiled at the marquess.

Francis glanced back at the house. Eden ducked behind the curtains, but not too soon to observe that the marquess was upset. The groom took his place at the rear of the curricle, and Francis jumped into the driver’s seat, urging the horses into an almost violent start. The curricle flew down the lane as if the devil himself pursued it.

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