A Reckless Encounter

Just retribution had caught up with him despite her.

Drawing in a deep breath, she said finally, “I…think I made a mistake in coming here. I’ll leave—”

“Do you think you can just barge into my home and tell me that it’s time we talk, then leave without giving me an explanation?” The earl banged the end of his cane on the floor. “Come closer, so that I can see you, girl.”

His voice was surprisingly strong, emerging from that ruined face and summoning all the old memories, the old arrogance. It was suddenly as if she had first met him again, heard his peremptory demand to see her mother.

She took two deliberate steps closer so that gray light from a bank of windows fell upon her face. For a moment he did nothing, but she saw the instant recognition in his face as his mouth worked soundlessly.

He remembers me!

Oh God, she shouldn’t feel so exultant but she did. If she was to be denied vengeance, then the satisfaction of seeing his face when he realized who she was would have to suffice. He knew her. He knew the child whose life he had ruined with his cruel actions.

Moreland started up, but his wasted body wouldn’t cooperate and he only rocked a little, his clawlike fingers losing their grip on the gold head of the cane so that it pitched forward to clatter on the floor. This time his voice was hoarse, sounding wrenched from him.

“Léonie! It’s you.…”

Celia stood frozen as the blood drained from her face. “No…”

It was more a moan than a denial, a despairing cry from her that sounded like the wail of a child.

“He doesn’t really know you, it seems,” a woman’s voice behind her said. Celia dragged her gaze from the earl to see an elegant woman enter the room, her bearing and poise unmistakable. Then she saw Colter; he stood just outside the door, his gaze impassive.

Her heart leaped when she saw him, but he looked at her with a detached gaze, his blue eyes darkly questioning.

The same blue eyes stared out of the woman’s face, but they were calm and clear.

“My husband sees your mother in you, I believe. You do look remarkably like her, you know,” the countess continued in the same composed tone. “Léonie St. Remy was a most lovely woman, and my husband was obsessed with her. I once thought the obsession would fade with time, that he would forget her. Then she ran off with that American—your father, I presume.” Lady Moreland smiled slightly. “Poor woman. I felt so sorry for her. When my husband decides he wants something, he does not rest until he gets it. And, of course, your mother’s rejection only sharpened his determination. Isn’t that right, my lord?” She turned to her husband, but Moreland’s eyes were blinking rapidly, a sheen of tears filming them.

“Lady Moreland,” Celia began, but the countess put up a hand to stop her.

“No, there’s nothing really to say. I’m sorry about your mother. It must have been terrible for you. By the time I knew what had happened, there was no trace of you. After a while, I thought perhaps you had died as well.” She paused, glanced at Colter and said with a faint smile, “I’m glad to see that you survived, Miss St. Clair. I never wanted my son to find out about it, of course, but it’s obvious that I’ve failed in that endeavor. I did try, Colter, to spare you this, at least. Perhaps I would have if she hadn’t come back.”

Colter had come into the room, his gaze intent on his mother, his tone harsh.

“Are you behind Philip’s actions?”

“Yes. It seemed the best thing at the time. If she’d left and gone back to America with a tidy sum, then you needed never know that your father is a murderer. Oh, yes, Miss St. Clair, I can see by your face that you thought no one knew. I knew. I knew because he told me, the arrogant bastard. He confessed to ease his conscience, and left me to live with the consequences.”

“How could you hide it all these years?”

The countess turned to look at Colter, her brows lifted in mild inquiry. “It’s not the sort of thing one discusses at dinner. There were enough rumors about him, why should I give you and Anthony one more thing to live down?”

Her gaze shifted back to the earl and her tone hardened as she said, “I made him pay for it in ways you’ll never be able to understand. He killed that old man, destroyed Léonie St. Remy, and ultimately he’s responsible for Anthony’s death as well. Oh, Colter, it wasn’t your grandfather who insisted you have the controlling shares of stock in the shipping company. It was I who made your father agree after he sent Anthony there to force him to sign. He knew his father had a fever but the shares mattered most—so I made sure he lost them.” She smiled slightly, but there was no humor in it. “It was the best vengeance I could manage—atonement for Anthony’s death. In a weak moment, he signed them over to you as I demanded he do. Since then he’s been systematically cheating his own son and his investors as often as he could get away with it. Philip has been the only restraint I’ve been able to use to keep him from bankrupting us. A necessary evil.”

“For Christ’s sake, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to me with the truth?” Colter sounded hoarse, his expression intent.

“There was enough natural animosity between you already and I had spent years trying to keep it all quiet.” The fine lines of her face sharpened slightly as she regarded Colter. “Did you think I wanted you more humiliated than you were? I did not. I was all the protection you had. He’d killed one son, and I had no intention of allowing him to destroy you.”

“God…ma mère…”

Mother and son stared at one

another, the blue eyes so alike clashing, searching, unspoken regrets and accusations almost palpable.

Celia felt suddenly like an interloper. Tension hummed in the room, and the earl had not said another word, though he made strange, garbling sounds in his throat that the man behind him tried to soothe. He held a cup to the earl’s lips but Moreland knocked it away with a violent swipe of his hand. Agitated, he strained against the confines of his own body and the chair.

Lady Moreland turned at last to look at her husband. “I think,” she said, “that we should send for the physician, Brewster.”