A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

Richard stared at his mother as though she’d sprouted a tail and wings. Augusta must have lofty connections. The British Museum offer had only come yesterday.

“We’re in early stages of negotiations, my lady,” Genevieve said calmly, although her hand closed nervously around the Harmsworth Jewel which hung around her neck.

Richard had set the relic into a pendant and presented it to her as a wedding gift. She always wore it as a badge of his love and all they’d endured to achieve happiness. To her amazement, a craze for jewelry in the medieval style had arisen as a result. Who would have thought a bookish country mouse like her could set a fashion?

“I believe they will have a happy outcome.” Lady Augusta’s smile remained. Cool, contained, but not, thank goodness, hostile. She surveyed Richard. “I congratulate you on choosing such a clever wife. I must admit it was unexpected—I imagined you’d marry some brainless chit who would bore you silly within a week.”

Richard looked astonished, as well he might. It became clear that while the Dowager Lady Harmsworth hadn’t maintained communication with her son, she’d kept a close eye on his activities. He shifted to stand behind

Genevieve and placed one hand on her shoulder, curling his fingers over the skin between her neck and gown. Silently she willed her strength into him. “Once I met Genevieve, I couldn’t marry anyone else.”

He made no attempt to mask his sincerity. For a long moment, his mother studied him. Her smile became more natural. “I’m glad you found each other. There’s nothing more fatal than an unhappy marriage.”

Before Richard could respond to that provocative statement, the door behind Augusta opened and a team of footmen set out tea. Genevieve’s hand crept up to hold Richard’s. Once she’d have taken his self-assurance at face value, but not now. Beneath his serene exterior, this meeting stirred emotions that had tormented him since childhood. Behind her, he vibrated with tension.

Once they were alone, Augusta didn’t pour the tea. The delicate sandwiches and cakes remained untouched.

Augusta’s finely carved jaw set into a determined line that reminded Genevieve of her husband. The woman glared at Richard in exasperation. “Why don’t you ask me? You know that’s why you’re here.”

Richard’s hand tightened around Genevieve’s, but his voice remained steady. “You’ve never answered before.”

Through a bristling pause, Augusta studied her son as if she saw past the gorgeous shell to the unhappiness within. Genevieve knew that the joy he’d found in marriage had healed many of his wounds, but while his father’s identity remained a mystery, one last wound remained.

“You weren’t ready to hear before.” Another pause. “Now when I see you with a woman you love, I wonder if you’ve changed.”

“The fact that I’m here indicates that I’ve changed,” he bit out.

“Richard, ask me.” It sounded like a plea, if such an imperious creature could lower herself to begging.

Genevieve gripped his hand. Without looking at him, she sensed his turmoil. He inhaled unsteadily before he spoke. “Very well. Will you tell me about my father?”

For a moment, Genevieve wondered whether Augusta meant to refuse. She had a horrible premonition that this was a spiteful game. Then Augusta lifted a golden locket over her head and extended the necklace toward her son. “This man is your father, Richard.”

Genevieve squeezed Richard’s hand in reassurance, then released him so that he could move around the sofa toward his mother. “What is his name?”

“Major Thomas Fraser.”

Richard’s mother no longer looked quite so composed. Her lips were compressed and lines that Genevieve hadn’t noticed before appeared around her eyes. Her barely concealed agitation made Genevieve warm toward her. She wasn’t quite the chill, distant harpy Richard had painted.

Richard accepted the locket and spent a few moments opening it, his hands shook so badly. Genevieve bit back the urge to go to him. This wasn’t about her, much as she loved him. This was something he needed to resolve with his mother. Although, by heaven, if Augusta hurt him, Genevieve would stab her with a cake fork.

When he finally looked at the locket, Richard went as pale as paper. The dread that this encounter would result in damage rather than renewal jammed in Genevieve’s throat.

Augusta watched him steadily. Genevieve glanced away from the naked regret and anguish in the woman’s eyes. She suddenly understood that whatever had driven a wedge between Richard and his mother, it wasn’t lack of love.

“Thomas Fraser.” Richard’s voice held no trace of its usual lightness. To Genevieve, it seemed that he struggled to look away from the picture inside. “Tell me about him.”

“He was a brave man.”

The muscle in Richard’s cheek twitched erratically. “Was? He’s dead, then?”

Augusta sat upright, as though facing an inquisition. Genevieve supposed that she did. “He died on a mission to France in 1794.”

Richard grew even paler. Worried, Genevieve rose and shifted to his side. Blindly he reached for her hand, but his attention remained on his mother. “That was the year I was born.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”