The Forest Lord (12 page)

Her heart clenched.
He likes children. Donal already adores him
. But as she approached, the smile left Shaw's face.

Even the most formidable dowagers and high-sticklers of the
ton
had not intimidated
Eden as this servant did. Not a single one of the most handsome, witty gallants in Town had been capable of making her breathless with a glance.

Hartley Shaw had that power.

Eden
faltered, astonished at her instinctive desire to flee. She drew in a steadying breath, reminded herself who she was, and continued on with the same air of confident nonchalance she wore in the finest drawing rooms of
London.

"Mr. Shaw," she said briskly, "My son will escort me into the dale. If you would be so good as to prepare the dog cart…"

Shaw lifted Donal down from Juno's back, keeping his hand lightly on the boy's shoulder. He glanced up at the overcast sky.

"I would not advise it, your ladyship," he said. "The weather is about to turn, and the roads are bad."

The sky looked no different to her than it had all morning, and
Eden was certain it wasn't cold enough to snow. "We will not be going far. When you have finished with the cart, see that Juno gets a little exercise. She expected an outing today."

Shaw's gaze was as sharp as a saber. "You are concerned for the feelings of your horse, Lady Eden?"

She met his appalling insolence with a smile. "I accord my mare at least as much consideration as I do the servant who looks after her."

To her surprise, he neither took the unsubtle hint nor offered up another insult. "Yes," he said. He held out his hand, and Juno rested her muzzle in the cup made of his fingers. "She tells me that you care for her."

Eden
laughed at his absurdity. "I am glad to hear that she gives such a favorable character. It seems that she approves of you as well, Mr. Shaw."

"Juno likes Hartley," Donal said. "She told me so."

The amusement drained out of
Eden in a rush. "Donal, come to me."

He did as she asked and gazed up at her with that heart-breakingly grave little face. She knelt before him.

"Did you say that the horse spoke to you, Donal?"

"Aye.
She tells me all kinds of things."

Eden
stanched the panic that flooded her throat. "Is this a game Mr. Shaw taught you?"

Donal glanced back at Shaw with an enigmatic smile. "He didn't teach me. But he can do it, too. He tells me what he hears."

Clutching Donal's thin shoulders in her hands,
Eden suppressed the longing to run to Mrs. Byrne and beg for her reassurance that such absurd fancies were normal in a child of Donal's age and background. He had, after all, come from a country where the basest superstition was commonplace. Was it any wonder that he should believe in fairy tales?

Shaw had no such excuse. He had at least some education. And he had no business encouraging such notions in her son.

Surely they
were
mere notions, and not something more sinister. Something having to do with his father…

Eden
shook her head. She was Donal's mother. What she did not know about motherhood and children she must learn. And, as little as she liked the prospect, she saw that it would be necessary to have a firm talk with Shaw.

Aunt Claudia would have no trouble dealing with him and putting him in his place. She had a natural, irrefutable authority about her that
Eden had never tried to match. Perhaps she should explain the situation to Claudia and leave it to her.

But that was the coward's way out.
Eden had decided not to do as she had always done and take the easiest, least troublesome path. If she could not be as strong as Claudia, she might at least attempt to hold her ground.

And Claudia would most likely dismiss Shaw at the first sign of contrariness. That would not do—not while Donal was so attached to him. She wouldn't deprive him of a single thing that gave him happiness. That was reason enough to endure Shaw's presence and her own troubling response to it, in addition to the indisputable fact that he was very skilled with horses, and there was hardly an overabundance of servants to choose from.

She met Shaw's gaze over Donal's head. His stare shot through her like a bolt of summer lightning. She could have sworn that she felt the damp, throbbing heat of an impending storm gather about her, making her clothing stick to her skin and perspiration break out on her brow.

The storm in Hartley Shaw's green eyes was the source of the lightning, of the heat, of the tingling and wetness between her thighs.

Memory crashed about her like thunder.
The inn on the border, a girl's hope and joy, the ecstatic pleasure of being known by a man.
Not just any man, but the one she adored.

That was how she felt in Shaw's presence, as if she were back in that bed, lost in physical sensation beyond any she had guessed could exist. Pure, animal gratification, made the more miraculous by love.

It was only much later she learned that not all acts between a man and
woman were
so pleasurable, that the joy was as rare and fleeting as marital fidelity among her own kind.

A mad notion flew into her head. She had experienced a powerful sense of recognition when she first saw Hartley's face. Could it be that he reminded her of Cornelius? They were not much alike, except for the remarkable, terrifying effect both had upon her. Such incredible, erotic allure…

No
. It was not possible.
Eden swallowed and closed her eyes. All at once the wet heat and lightning was gone, and she was chilled through by the sharp winter wind.

"Please fetch the dog cart, Shaw," she said.

For an instant she thought he looked as shaken as she felt. But that must be a trick of the light, or of her addled brain. He turned for the stable, Juno in tow, before she could be certain.

Donal did not try to follow. He took
Eden's hand. "What are you afraid of, Mother? I may call you Mother now, mayn't I?"

Was this wise little man a child at all? She squeezed his hand. "Of course you may, but only when we are alone. When you were high up on Juno's back, were you afraid of falling off?"

Boyish scorn flared in Donal's eyes. "Juno is easy," he said. "I want to ride Atlas."

"Oh, no, my lad."
She held back from sweeping him up in her arms and kissed his cheek instead. "Not just yet.
Perhaps when you're a little older."

"Like Hartley?"

He went from indignant to wistful in the blink of an eye, displaying all the warning signs of true hero worship.

Like Hartley, indeed.
She planned to see that Donal rose to heights a man such as Hartley Shaw could not begin to imagine.

As if he were determined not to be out of her thoughts for a second, Shaw promptly drove the dog cart out of the carriage house. The horse, a pretty chestnut gelding, seemed a bit too spirited to draw such a sedate vehicle. Though
Eden had driven many a dashing phaeton on Rotten
Row, that
was a far cry from the hideous roads in Westmorland.

Determined not to show any hesitation,
Eden stepped up to the cart. "Thank you, Shaw. Donal—"

Shaw moved so quickly she hardly had time to think. He jumped down from the driver's seat, hoisted Donal onto his shoulders, and carried the boy to the rear-facing seat of the cart.

"Can you hold on here, very tight?" he asked.

Donal nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the rails surrounding the seat. Shaw came to
Eden's side, offered his hand, and gave the barest of nods. His meaning was plain: He proposed to drive.

"Perhaps my intent was not clear,"
Eden said. "I shall be—"

The chestnut chose that moment to lunge in his traces, causing the cart to shudder from side to side.
Eden blanched and hurried to make sure that Donal was safe.

He grinned—a full, dazzling grin—as if it were all a marvelous jest for his benefit.

"Copper has not been out in a week," Shaw said in a mild voice. "I would not wish your ladyship or Master Donal to come to any harm."

"Have you no more docile animal?"

"The stables are nearly empty. Juno is not a carriage
horse,
and Atlas…" His eyes actually sparked with amusement, at her expense.

Given the choice between driving out with Shaw and foregoing the excursion,
Eden knew what she must do. Disappointing Donal was out of the question, and the tenants must be visited.

"Very well."
She avoided his gaze and made a pretense of tucking Donal's scarf more securely about his neck. Only then did she allow Shaw to take her hand and help her to her seat.

The contact, brief as it was, set her senses reeling. Even through the protection of her riding glove, she felt the warmth of his hand, and something more.
Something uncanny.

She tried to wrest free, but he didn't let her go until she was well settled on the seat. She caught the look he gave her—speculative, almost puzzled—before he leaped into the driver's position.

The chestnut stood absolutely still for Shaw, craning his head about with an expression of equine innocence.
It is quite too late for apologies now
,
Eden told it crossly.

But of course the horse would not understand
her
. Though one might suppose that a man who could speak to animals could arrange to have his four-legged friend kick up a little trouble for his ulterior purposes…

She nearly laughed again but stopped herself. It was no matter for levity when Donal was involved. And she was all too aware that the seat she and Shaw occupied, while built for two, left not an inch of space between them. The heat of his body engulfed her. Worse, his hip rubbed hers, and several layers of cloth made a very poor barrier. The position was more suitable for lovers than lady and servant.

Far from taking advantage of the situation as she feared he might, Shaw chose to pretend as if he didn't notice her proximity.

"If you're ready, your ladyship," he said. "Hold on tight, Donal."

Without any visible sign of urging, the gelding began to move down the lane at a pleasant trot.
Eden turned to watch Donal until she was sure that his seat was secure.

"Do not worry about the boy," Shaw said. "He won't be hurt."

That was a strange way of phrasing it. "He is only five," she said. "I will not have him put at risk."

Shaw's hands tightened on the ribbons. "He'll never come to harm in my company."

His expression revealed nothing, but his voice held the quiet passion of sincerity. He spoke as if Donal's well-being were as personal for him as it was for her. How could that be, unless…

Insight burst upon her like sunshine. "You have children of your own."

He looked at her sharply.
Once more she felt as if she were being examined, turned inside out by those summer-green eyes.
"How did you know?"

Eden
was beginning to realize that reminding him of her rank and his place was a useless exercise. "I guessed," she said. "It is clear that you have a way with children."

He stared straight ahead again, guiding the cart through the park toward the gate. "My only child—my son—was taken from me."

Though he spoke in a flat tone,
Eden sensed deeper emotions layered underneath. Was he angry that she had brought up the subject, or filled with pain at some tragic memory?

She'd been so sure, during their previous encounters, that his thoughts were easy to guess. She was forced to revise that assumption. How could she possibly know what a man like him had experienced, so far beyond anything she could understand? She had been a child of privilege all her life.

And in that life she had seldom been called upon to give comfort.
Entertainment, yes, and amusement, and the occasional minor scandal to titillate her fellow members of the
ton
.
Only with Spencer's illness had she found herself trying to care for someone who desperately needed her support, even if he had ultimately rejected it.

With Spencer, she had failed. This might be the first among many chances to prove herself worthy of Donal.

Acting on impulse, she touched Shaw's sleeve. "I am sorry. I can guess what it is like… to lose a child."

His gaze speared her hand as if she had branded him with a hot poker. Then he lifted his eyes, and all she saw was scorn.

"Can you?"

We have something in common
, she reminded herself.
He must have deeply loved his child, as I love mine.
If I were to lose Donal again
…