“So there,” Byrne whispered. “Fate put you in an impossible situation, but you did the very best anyone could. Your son is a healthy, happy boy, due to your courage.”
“But he’ll never know I’m his real mother.” That alone broke her heart.
“There may come a time when you can reveal the truth to him.”
She looked up at Byrne, seeing something new and unexpected in the man. Beneath the facade of a rogue was an intelligent and sincere man. A man of moral strength.
“Why did you put me through this ordeal?” she said, pressing her palms to his chest to move a little away but not quite out of his embrace.
“Because you needed to heal. I told you that.”
“No, I mean, why do you care? You, personally. About me.”
He tipped his head to one side and smiled. “Because I just do.” She watched as he lowered his head, knowing what he was about to do. He kissed her on the lips, long and thoroughly.
Already weak from her emotional outpouring, Louise dissolved at the soft pressure of his mouth over hers. She lingered, enjoying the moment, then sighed. “No one in my family cared enough to face the truth. No one,” she said. “It’s a forbidden topic. My fall from grace.”
The tenderness in his gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to something with more sizzle.
“Mr. Byrne?”
“My Christian name is Stephen,” he reminded her.
This would take some getting used to. “Stephen. I understand you’re a compassionate man. Comforting me and being my confidant is one thing, but . . . I need to know what you’re thinking. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, well—” He lowered his lips to her throat and kissed her once, twice, thrice in a descending pattern to the top edge of her bodice. “I’m just trying to convince myself not to throw you down on this stone floor and make love to you.”
She reached up and placed her palms on either side of his face to make him look up from her breasts and into her eyes. “That would be a very ungentlemanly thing to do.”
“I suppose so. But then—”
“—you’re not a gentleman.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and released her, as if the simple action of opening his arms required as much strength as lifting a smoldering timber off of Amanda. “But if you stay out here another five minutes with me, your reputation will be shot to hell.”
She smiled. “I suppose so.”
He took her by the hand. “Back to the ball, Princess.”
Thirty-four
In the days following Louise’s encounter with Stephen Byrne at Stafford House, Louise found it a challenge to think of anything but him. His strong arms holding her. The scents of leather and earth that seemed always to cling to him even when he was indoors. His eyes, as black as the onyx stone in the signet ring her father had left to her. In her dreams, he kissed her again, and again. Each time demanding more from her.
Louise’s only defense for shutting out these fantasies, and others far too vivid and intimate to even think about, was by keeping very, very busy. She decided the necessary distractions should come in the form of helping the American investigate the rat incident. While he was in pursuit of Darvey, she would lessen his load by doing a little sleuthing at Buckingham.
The first step, she decided, was to confer with her mother, a task she looked forward to with even less enthusiasm than usual, so soon after revisiting the most traumatic days of her young life.
Byrne had forced her to acknowledge her feelings of guilt, deserved or not, for giving up her son, and for hating (or at least deeply distrusting) her mother. That emotional catharsis was no doubt long overdue—though she failed to see why Stephen felt it his particular duty to bully her into confession. The problem now was—she feared this awakening of emotions might renew the tension of her daily encounters with her mother. Until this moment, their relationship, though strained, had survived. They had come to an uneasy truce. By unspoken agreement, neither spoke of the past. Her mother even seemed capable of pretending, while around Amanda and Eddie, that she wasn’t the boy’s grandmother. Incredible.
When she arrived at her mother’s office, she found the door shut. Her personal Cerberus looked up from his desk. “Your Royal Highness, I hope you’re well.”
“I am. Quite.” In fact, she felt positively renewed. As if she saw the world through fresh eyes, unclouded by self-doubt. “I need a few words with my mother.”
The secretary blinked at her apologetically. “I’m afraid she is in conference with Mr. Disraeli. I don’t know how long they’ll be.”
Louise sighed. “It’s quite urgent that I see her soon. I don’t suppose—”
The door swung open, and the magnetic gaze of Benjamin Disraeli peered around the doorframe’s dark wood. “I thought I heard your voice, Princess. Please, if you’d like to join us?”
She smiled. “I would indeed. Thank you, sir.”
An elaborate tea service for two had been arranged on a butler’s table.
“Ring for another cup if you like, dear,” Victoria said when Louise walked in.
Louise waved off the invitation. “It’s not necessary. I don’t want to interrupt, but I do need to discuss something of importance with you.”
“If it is of a personal nature,” Disraeli said, “I’ll be happy to take my leave.”
“Oh, Dizzy, no. Please don’t, you’ve only just got here,” her mother cooed.
“Only if you wish for me to stay, my Faerie dear.”
Louise rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the two of them exchanging pet names. This was a side of her mother she didn’t understand, or much enjoy. The woman could be a harsh taskmaster to her children, ruthless to politicians and clergy who stood in her way, as tough as a general when crossed by the court. But she always kept around two or three pet males whom she pampered and flirted with outrageously. The suave Disraeli was a current favorite. A choice she made obvious and which, Louise suspected, annoyed John Brown to no end. Not to mention Disraeli’s adversary, the present prime minister, Mr. Gladstone.
Brown was all physical masculinity, the gillie from Balmoral that Victoria had made into a personal bodyguard and attendant. The commoner from Scotland wasn’t much liked in court, whereas Disraeli’s charm and elegance won him the admiration of many women in and outside of the English court. Predictably, neither man seemed particularly fond of the other.
“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” Victoria asked, setting her cup down on its saucer in her ample lap.
Louise arranged her skirts around her feet as she settled into the chair Disraeli pulled up for her.
“I wish your honest opinion and observations, Mama.”
“I would never give any but honest ones, my dear.” Victoria tossed Disraeli a coy smile.
Louise wished she’d caught her mother in a more serious mood, but saying so would only set her mother against her. There was nothing to do but begin. “Neither Mr. Brown, nor your agent Mr. Byrne, have discovered who released the rats into the nursery. Is that so?”
“It is,” her mother said then glanced at Disraeli with sudden anxiety. “Oh, Dizzy, it was such a terrible scene. So disturbing. And with a threatening note to my dear children. Horrifying!”
“I was here that day. Remember, dear lady?”
“Oh, yes, of course you were. As was Mr. Gladstone.”
Now this is something, Louise mused. She had worried that someone among their staff might not be trusted. But she hadn’t considered visiting dignitaries. Including men of such stature as the current and past PM among the suspects, well, that seemed illogical.