When he and his mother and sister had moved into this smaller house on the edge of Mayfield after they’d lost everything, his mother had told him it had been her family’s. Another lie. Everything he’d been told, everything he’d ever believed—it was all lies.
“Do you ever see him?” Fielding asked, unsure if he actually wanted to hear the answer.
“No.” Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. “I went and saw him after your father died, when you started working for him. But that was the last time.” She grabbed Fielding’s hand. “And that was only because of you. It’s all been for you.”
Fielding slid his hand out from beneath hers. She slumped against the back of her chair, folded her hands in her lap. “I’ll be here if you have any more questions.”
He made no move to stand, to leave. But there was nothing else he wanted to ask.
“Jensen tells me you’ve met your match with Miss Worthington,” his mother said.
“You’re right, Jensen does talk to much.”
A part of him had thought he’d met his match with Esme. Hell, he’d been ready to marry her. But now, with all of this, he was more certain than ever that Esme deserved so much more than he was: a bastard masquerading as a viscount.
CHAPTER 20
Esme wasn’t accustomed to bathing in the morning, but she had gone to bed so late last night, lying awake waiting for Fielding to come home, that she’d fallen asleep on the window seat in all of her clothes. This morning she’d awoken to find herself quite chilled and sore. When Annette had suggested a warm soak, Esme hadn’t been able to say no.
With a sigh, Esme settled into the soothing warm water, relishing the scent of lilac that stirred around her.
Thea had warned her not to walk away from love.
Love.
But she did not love Fielding, did she? Admittedly, he was handsome. She would, no doubt, have thought that regardless of the bracelet. She respected him. Perhaps admired him. She certainly found him most agreeable. And though it had only been one evening, she’d missed him terribly last night.
One by one, memories flashed through her mind: Fielding rescuing her from the dungeon, traipsing all over London looking for a way to remove her curse, finding Thea’s lost love, even his visit to Elena and Raymond to let them know she was safe, touching her, making love to her He’d been more than her rescuer.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Oh, no!
She sank under the water. She had fallen in love with him.
She came out of the water sputtering. What was she supposed to do now?
A knock sounded from her bedchamber door. Annette was eager to please, which was very sweet, but annoying when one needed private time. Like now, when Esme was currently having a bit of a crisis.
A knock again, then the door opened.
“Annette, I don’t need—” Her words died in her throat as she saw Fielding standing there.
His eyes darkened as they took in her naked body half immersed in water. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your bath.” He turned as if he meant to leave, but he made no further movement. Standing there, Esme watched some sort of battle play across Fielding’s features.
“Fielding?” she asked.
He met her glance, and again she could see pain shrouding his eyes. Without a word, he shut the door, then locked it.
Her heart sped, beating so loudly she couldn’t think clearly.
“I should get out,” she said, leaning over the tub to reach for the waiting towel.
He stilled her arm. “Lean forward.” He knelt beside the tub, paying no mind to the water droplets that would dampen his pants. After pushing up both sleeves, he reached in behind her and grabbed the sponge. “Close your eyes.”
She did as he bade. Thick currents of warm water slid down her back. Again and again he squeezed the sponge over her skin. He lathered the sponge, then gently slid the suds across her back. Ever so slowly, he moved over her shoulders, down her arms. Esme felt the tension ooze from her body. In its place settled intimate awareness, and with every pass of his hand her flesh craved more.
“What has your maid said of your tattoos?” he asked. His finger trailed across the words imprinted on her lower back.