Dunham

Chapter 43

"I have missed you," he croaked.

Celia tensed. It was the last thing she had expected him to say to her, and she felt something gather in the back of her throat.

"I ... was despicable," he continued, low. "You were there in the same room with Dunham, next to him. The resemblance was unmistakable, but— Clearly you were terrified of him and had no idea who he was. When he took you away ... That I had caused him to take you away ... "

Celia blinked, unable to credit him with anything approaching regret. After all, he had never attempted to find her, never used his position to bid Dunham return her to him.

"Lucien is my pride and joy," he said, "but you were ... the light of my life. Oh, how I loved you, and have missed you every day of the last twenty years. Even though you are another man's child, I have never ceased thinking of you as mine."

He didn't mean it, you ken. Good God, had Dunham been right all these years? Honorable men don't generally go about killing wee lassies.

She sensed the admiral shifting, and watched him from under her eyelashes. "Celia," he said gently. "Look at me."

No. She did not want to. Did he intend to confess his sins, it would negate twenty years of tortured thoughts and feelings. Then again, because he thought her simple and possibly incapable of comprehending him, perhaps he merely needed to bare his soul.

Could he not have confessed to a priest?

She steeled herself, cleared her expression, then slowly raised her head.

"What happened to you?" he whispered. "After Dunham took you?"

"I have no memory of that time," she said dully.

His mouth tightened. He would believe that. Anyone who had lived through battle would, and he was an accomplished commander. He would know that people suffered many things they could not bear to remember.

"Where have you been all these years?"

"I don't know."

"When did you reunite with your mother?"

"Some weeks ... months ... years ... ago. I don't know. I cannot keep time."

"You cannot have survived with your virtue intact."

She looked at him blankly. Blinked.

He sighed. "You know I have settled upon you a dowry? So that you might wed?"

"Aunt told me."

"Do you know why?"

"No."

"To provide for you. Your mother is not well and Dunham seems to have abandoned you—God knows when. I've had many offers, but almost none from men I would entrust your care to. Lucien's wife is—" His mouth tightened. "Lucien's home is not an option, unfortunately. I could welcome you into my home and take care of you until my days are over, but I'd rather see you settled first in case I have made yet another grievous error I need to rectify before I die."

Oh? "You are ill?" she intoned, as if she were not really interested.

He barked a humorless laugh. "No. Not ill. I am— Suffice it to say time is of the essence and I will not gamble your future any more than I already have. I can never make amends for what I said, what I did. But I cannot go to my grave having not made the attempt."

He looked down at his blotter and pressed a thumb to the corner of his eye. It was then Celia blinked rapidly when her own eyes began to sting and hoped he would not notice their sudden moisture.