deeply she cared. Silver-blue irises awash in unshed tears—if only she’d look upon him kindly again Robert would happily dive in and drown in them. “Some will be abandoned. Others will starve alongside their mothers. Still others will seek refuge in the workhouses or…worse.” A pained look crossed her face. “Last winter a newborn was discovered in a…rubbish bin behind the hospital kitchen. He’d been dead some hours of exposure, or so the resident physician judged.” She turned her face away.
He reached around her and braced a hand upon the sill, bringing their bodies ever so slightly brushing. “Surely something more may be done? What of the fathers? Haven’t they any say in whether or not their children are surrendered?”
She turned back to glare at him, her quicksilver gaze once more sharp as Damascus steel. “Do you honestly believe that even one of those women standing out there would give up her child if she might choose another course, if she herself hadn’t been abandoned?”
Abandoned—so there it was, the crux of Phoebe’s philanthropic passion. Clearly she felt an affinity with these women who’d been left by their men to fend for their offspring and themselves.
“I only meant that it seems a father should have some rights, some say at the very least. Conceiving a child requires both parties, after all.” Gaze on hers, he owned how very much he wanted to make love with her and babies with her, the yearning so fiercely primal he felt a sudden aching in his loins.
“One of the prerequisites for petitioning is that the father must have deserted both mother and child. Deserted , Robert. I’d think you of all people would understand that.”
He swallowed against the pain pushing a path up his throat. “I didn’t desert you.”
She answered with a sharp laugh. “You chose to stay away and leave me to think you dead. If that’s not desertion, what is?”
“I chose to return when I knew I might be a fit husband for you in every way.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And now you are too late, for I have a husband, or at least I shall before the season’s end.”
Before the season’s end! Robert felt as though an invisible fist plowed his solar plexus. In the past, controlling his reaction to the pain, pretending to no longer feel or care, had served as his best defense, his strongest weapon.
Calling upon that hard-learned stoicism now, he summoned a smile. “What a coincidence, for I too will be embarking upon my next voyage then as well, but not before I have the pleasure of seeing you as a bride, I hope.”
Phoebe’s smile dipped.
“For now, I am afraid I must away. I have another appointment to attend.”
“Pray do not let me keep you from your pressing business,” she retorted, sounding much like her mother.
Judging from her planted stance, he gathered she didn’t mean to see him out. Just as well, he supposed for he needed some time to regroup from the crushing blow she’d dealt.
Heading for the door, he turned back. “What ungodly hour shall I arrive tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Anytime or not at all, as you wish.”
“If you treat all your benefactors in such a shrewish fashion, ’tis a mercy you have a roof and four walls,” he answered, a deliberate reminder that he was, in point, paying for her company if not her goodwill.
Releasing a sigh, she capitulated, “Oh, very well, nine o’clock sharp, and mind if you’re late I shall bar the classroom door and you may wait out in the hallway until the session finishes.”
“My dearest Phoebe, I wouldn’t dream of being late.”
Stepping out into the hallway, Robert considered that six years was quite late enough. Considering the ticking clock he faced, he didn’t mean to waste so much as a single second more.
“You’re late.” Reclining in a banyan and slippers despite the midday hour, Aristide looked up as his henchman-cum-manservant entered.
Dragging sand and reeking of
He reached around her and braced a hand upon the sill, bringing their bodies ever so slightly brushing. “Surely something more may be done? What of the fathers? Haven’t they any say in whether or not their children are surrendered?”
She turned back to glare at him, her quicksilver gaze once more sharp as Damascus steel. “Do you honestly believe that even one of those women standing out there would give up her child if she might choose another course, if she herself hadn’t been abandoned?”
Abandoned—so there it was, the crux of Phoebe’s philanthropic passion. Clearly she felt an affinity with these women who’d been left by their men to fend for their offspring and themselves.
“I only meant that it seems a father should have some rights, some say at the very least. Conceiving a child requires both parties, after all.” Gaze on hers, he owned how very much he wanted to make love with her and babies with her, the yearning so fiercely primal he felt a sudden aching in his loins.
“One of the prerequisites for petitioning is that the father must have deserted both mother and child. Deserted , Robert. I’d think you of all people would understand that.”
He swallowed against the pain pushing a path up his throat. “I didn’t desert you.”
She answered with a sharp laugh. “You chose to stay away and leave me to think you dead. If that’s not desertion, what is?”
“I chose to return when I knew I might be a fit husband for you in every way.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And now you are too late, for I have a husband, or at least I shall before the season’s end.”
Before the season’s end! Robert felt as though an invisible fist plowed his solar plexus. In the past, controlling his reaction to the pain, pretending to no longer feel or care, had served as his best defense, his strongest weapon.
Calling upon that hard-learned stoicism now, he summoned a smile. “What a coincidence, for I too will be embarking upon my next voyage then as well, but not before I have the pleasure of seeing you as a bride, I hope.”
Phoebe’s smile dipped.
“For now, I am afraid I must away. I have another appointment to attend.”
“Pray do not let me keep you from your pressing business,” she retorted, sounding much like her mother.
Judging from her planted stance, he gathered she didn’t mean to see him out. Just as well, he supposed for he needed some time to regroup from the crushing blow she’d dealt.
Heading for the door, he turned back. “What ungodly hour shall I arrive tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Anytime or not at all, as you wish.”
“If you treat all your benefactors in such a shrewish fashion, ’tis a mercy you have a roof and four walls,” he answered, a deliberate reminder that he was, in point, paying for her company if not her goodwill.
Releasing a sigh, she capitulated, “Oh, very well, nine o’clock sharp, and mind if you’re late I shall bar the classroom door and you may wait out in the hallway until the session finishes.”
“My dearest Phoebe, I wouldn’t dream of being late.”
Stepping out into the hallway, Robert considered that six years was quite late enough. Considering the ticking clock he faced, he didn’t mean to waste so much as a single second more.
“You’re late.” Reclining in a banyan and slippers despite the midday hour, Aristide looked up as his henchman-cum-manservant entered.
Dragging sand and reeking of
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