THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

“Where?” she whispered.

“You have trusted me with Donal, Eden. Trust me now. I have been watching, doing what I can to guide him.”

“Your visits to the woods,” she said. “Was that what you were doing—guiding him?”

“In every way I can.” He leaned forward again, and she was reminded of Francis only an hour before, who had taken just such a pose as he proposed marriage. “I swear to you, Eden. I will let no harm come to him. He will not suffer because of who or what he is.”

Her throat tightened. She nearly forgot that Hartley could make no such promises about Donal. If anyone was to protect her son, it would be a man like the marquess, who had wealth and power enough to shelter him from the world’s harshness.

But the marquess had seen Donal’s gift at work. If he never returned, the choice of marrying Francis for Donal’s sake would be taken from her.

She rose and walked to the door. “I will speak to Donal, and explain to him that he must not talk to animals around other people, or make them do things that will attract attention. He is old enough to understand.” She glanced defiantly at Hartley. “People will believe that he is a child, with a child’s imagination.”

“And when he is older? Will you deny him what is within himself—his rightful heritage?”

Her muscles locked in place. “What heritage?”

“You tell me, Eden. Who was his father?”

Chapter 13

To her credit, Eden did not falter. She met Hartley’s gaze with that surprising fortitude he had come to admire and respect, and her eyes were clear. It was for Donal that she feared, not herself.

He fought the urge to pull her into his arms. The time was not right.

But soon. Very soon.

“I have entrusted only one other with what I am about to tell you now,” she said. “But I can trust you, can I not?”

“Always, where Donal is concerned.”

“Very well.” She squared her shoulders. “Donal’s father was my cousin, who came to live with us when I was still a girl. We planned to be married. We were not.” Her eyes dared him to judge her. “I paid for my mistake, but it gave me Donal. I wish the world to accept him as my uncle’s grandson. I wish him to have all the advantages of a legitimate birth.”

He listened for regret in her voice, the wistful sorrow of love lost, but she spoke as if relating a household inventory. Even now, knowing what Donal was, she refused to admit that the boy’s father might not be human.

“And the marquess can provide that,” he said harshly. “The very same man who fled when he witnessed Donal’s gifts?”

She took a step back. “How did you know? I did not speak of what happened, only that—” Her eyes narrowed. “You wished the marquess gone, did you not? You poisoned Donal against him.”

“I did not need to. Donal is wise enough to recognize an enemy.”

“Enemy?” She gave a breathless, strained laugh. “No, not Donal’s—yours. Because he can provide for my son what you, a servant, cannot.”

“Can he, Eden?” Hartley closed the space between them and grasped her arms gently but implacably. “Can he be a father to a boy who is not of his get or his nature?” He felt her pulse beating high and fast beneath her skin, the rising scent of mingled fear and arousal. His own body leaped in response. “Can he awaken you with sweet summer kisses and bring you flowers in midwinter? Can he make you feel as I do?” He gathered her nearer, increment by increment, timed to the precise moment that her resistance ended. “I make you feel, Eden, as no one has ever done.”

“You… make me…” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “You make me want you. That is all.”

“You do not want the marquess,” he said, stroking the tension from her back with long, sensual sweeps. “How can you consider making him your mate when you do not know what you will be giving up?”

“You speak… as if we were animals.”