Cate dreamed of David that night, so vividly that when she woke she could have sworn she felt the imprint of his hands against her flesh. She bundled herself into her dressing gown and padded next door to his room, just in case, but he was fast asleep, his broad chest bare above the sheets trammelled down over his waist.

"David," she whispered. "David, dear."

His eyes flickered. "Cate?"

Then she fled, and hoped that later he would think it a dream.

Perhaps he did, or perhaps he did not remember at all. Later that day, when she was drinking her morning tea before getting dressed, he came to her room in his dressing gown.

"How long did Sophia stay last night?" he asked.

"Three hours. She nearly fell asleep in my bed."

"You must have missed her a lot."

"More than I thought. I never had a chance to say goodbye to any of them. After I told my father about..." Her cheeks heated. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't speak about that time to you, should I?"

"If you have something you feel you must say, then I will listen, otherwise, I would rather we not talk about it."

She shook her head. "It's enough to say I missed her."

"Your parents won't let you speak with your siblings? If I tried to persuade them...?"

"It is impossible, I'm afraid. I'm a corrupting influence. He won't let me near them."

Luke was pulling himself up on the bars of his cot to watch them. "Baba. Guyah."

"Is that so?" David said politely. "I can't say I disagree."

Cate smiled. "I wish I knew what he was saying."

David went to the cot and picked Luke up. "He's saying you couldn't possibly corrupt anyone. Aren't you?"

Luke giggled, and Cate's heart ached with a heady mixture of sorrow and joy.

"Your father wants to take me to London today," David said, tossing Luke lightly up and down. "There's a lot of business to deal with to do with his investment. We won't be able to finish it in one day. I think it might be best if I stay on here, and you and Luke start the journey back to Wales today."

Cate's heart sank. "But are you coming back to Wales when your business is finished?"

Luke's giddy laughter threatened to become tears and David jostled him to a stop on his shoulder. "Of course. With the investment settled, I'll have to see to the beginnings of the works."

It might take months to dig a mine, Cate thought.

"At this moment though, I doubt your presence here could help me further, and after last night, I certainly wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave."

"I hate it here," Cate said. "I always did."

David gave her a wry smile. "I had hoped that in coming here, and bringing the baby too, there might be some reconciliation between you and your parents, but I see now that they are not the only ones who have been wronged. I'm sorry I did not understand before."

"They'll never forgive me anyway. And in their eyes, Luke is only evidence of my wrongdoing."

"But he is still their grandson. If they cannot publicly declare pride in that fact, they might at least, to you, confess furtive joy." David hugged him gently and then passed him to Cate. "Well, what's it to be? Should I order my man to prepare the horses and coach?"

She hesitated a moment, but if David was in London with her father, if her mother would not let her see Sophia and Paul, what reason did she have to stay?

"Yes, thank you. I think it's best."

The rest of the morning was spent packing. Sophia did not make a reappearance at the window, perhaps because in daylight she might be seen, but Cate left a beaded bracelet and her ivory pen knife on the windowsill, knowing she would be back. If the servants found them first, they would think she had merely misplaced them, but if Soph found them, she would know it was a present for her and Paul.

At midday, she carried Luke down to the coach in front of the house, while her mother and father stood at the top of the steps. Neither of them said a word to her. They just watched, as though they wanted to make sure she was actually leaving. David hopped down the steps to open the coach door for her.

"I should be back in less than two weeks," he said, once she was settled inside. "Here. Let me say goodbye to the boy."

He leaned into the coach to kiss Luke, who she held in her arms. Then he looked at her, close and hesitating, as if he was wondering if he was meant to kiss her too. It would really only be polite, Cate thought. She turned her cheek towards him to give him the invitation, but he moved as she did and it was the other cheek he had been aiming for, so his kiss scudded slantwise across her lips instead.

"Um. Safe journey," he said.

"Wait." She pushed Luke into one arm and took hold of David's shoulder with her free hand. "Come here."

She kissed him softly and uncertainly on the lips. His hand grazed her cheek then settled at the back of her head, locking her in. For all of a dozen racing, glorious heartbeats, it was perfect. Then he pulled gently away.

"Oh no, Cate. No. Don't. I can't."

"Sorry," she whispered.

"It's my fault too." He backed away and straightened, one hand on the coach door. "Goodbye, Cate."

* * *

Over the following week, David found himself in the peculiar position of being grateful for Sir William's company. There was so much talk of business and so little talk of Cate — none, in fact — that he could almost pretend she did not exist. Except she was a constant undercurrent in his thoughts. While signing documents, while discussing geological surveys, while calculating dividends, the echo of her voice would interrupt him: wait, come here.

Why had she kissed him? It was a transgression of their agreement. A damned presumption. Theirs was a marriage of convenience— no, not even that, a marriage of inconvenient duty. Kissing was to have no part in it.

Sometimes, cynically, he would imagine that she had some ulterior motive, that she was trying to seduce him, as she had tried before, to gain some advantage over him. At other times, he told himself that he pitied her for developing a tendresse for him that could only serve to hurt her when it was denied. That was balm to his pride, but he did not seriously believe it. For one thing, he was not convinced she was really fond of him. Such strong early antipathy could not be so easily overcome. For another thing, he was not at all certain of his ability to deny her affection if she ever truly offered it to him. His mind was firmly opposed to it of course, but he did not trust his heart to be unpersuadable, and his body was fickle, feckless clay, all too ready to be moulded by a woman's touch.

On the last night of his stay with Cate's parents, David was invited to a dinner party along with Sir William and Lady Balley. It was at a small estate some four miles away belonging to the widower of an old friend of Lady Balley's. David knew no one there except for his mother- and father-in-law. Small talk had never come easily to him. At the dinner table, he managed to engage the women on either side of him in a discussion on the selection of dishes. He considered five minutes of that enough success to remain silent for the rest of the meal. After the meal, the women went to the drawing room, and David was left behind in the dining room with the men, who were mostly much older than him, and a bottle of port. Neither the company nor the wine appealed to him, so he protested a need for air and slipped out into the garden where he sat down on a low stone wall, stared at the clear sky, and tried not to hear the words in his head: wait, come here.

After a few minutes, the door opened and one of the other guests slipped out onto the terrace.

"I hope you don't mind me," he said. "I think we both want to escape the geriatrics, no?"

David looked at the stranger. He was small, sleek, and dark. There was something oddly rodent-like about the way he held his hands in front of his body.

"I don't mind at all," David said, though he did.

The stranger sat down at a polite distance. For a few minutes, he did not speak at all. David was rather beginning to like him.

Then he said, "I understand you are the man who married Sir William's eldest daughter."

"She is my wife, yes."

"I have sometimes thought of her since her fall from grace. Tell me, is she well?"

"She is quite well." David did not really want to talk about Cate to this stranger. "Forgive me, sir, but I do not know your name. We have not been introduced."

"Oliver," the man said. "Herbert Oliver. No title gilds my name. I'm just a poor relation." He jerked his head back at the house. "Lady Winston was my mother's second cousin. Not that Sir Harry seems to pay it much mind."

There was an unattractive whine in his voice. David's partiality to the man started to fade.

"A wife's second cousin is not exactly a strong blood tie," David said.

"I don't have any strong blood ties," Oliver said. "A sister who's good for nothing but nagging and then these sorts of second cousins and once-removes, most of whom would rather be more removed than that. Lady Winston was one of the good ones. She liked me."

"Is that so unusual?"

"Not with women." Oliver raked his hands through his slick dark hair. "I've always found women a great deal more sympathetic than men. You're looking at me very sour. You only prove my point."

"You must know that you are not talking in such a manner as would engender any sympathy."

Oliver shrugged. "I'm just making conversation. Filling the silence. I don't like silence."

"I do."

There was a prolonged pause after that. Oliver paced slowly up and down the terrace behind David. David wondered how long he would be silent. Or perhaps he would leave, and take his unwanted conversation elsewhere.

Eventually, thankfully, he went to the door of the house, but there he paused. "I wonder if you can indulge my curiosity," he said. "There's something I've been wondering."

"What?"

"Did the baby live? There was a rumour in London that it died."

David scowled at the impertinence of the question and the vulgarity of the rumour. "He lives."

Relief flashed over Oliver's face then melted into a smug smile. "I'll leave you to your favoured silence then, Captain."

He disappeared into the house so quickly the door slammed. David stared after him. He leaned over his knees and thought about it. That was a distinctly odd expression on Oliver's face just now. It made David feel sick inside, thinking about the smugness of that smile. And Oliver was dark-haired, like Luke. And poor, in need of money. And that expression — that smugness — and the flash of relief that preceded it...

The sick feeling boiled over inside David, and he dropped to his knees to retch onto the lawn. He wiped his mouth with shaking fingers. Could there be any doubt? He was jumping to conclusions.

But when he thought of the smug smile on Oliver's face, he knew.

It took an hour for his thoughts to settle and his hands to stop shaking. There was a peculiar grief about the situation. Where once he had only been angry that another man had seduced the woman he had loved, now he was afraid that that man would attempt to make some claim on the child he had come to love.

He had perhaps another hour to do something about it. The men would be returning to the women in the drawing room about now. Without any young women to amuse them with music or songs, they would be getting out the cards. An hour or so of that, and Sir William would call for his carriage to take them home.

David went back into the house, found a mirror to straighten his appearance, and went to the drawing room. Sure enough, the party was breaking into groups of four for whist. His host invited him to join his table, but he shook his head.

"I fancy something a little more exciting," he said. "Is anyone for backgammon? Oliver? What do you say to starting at ten pounds a point?"

Oliver's black eyes lit up with greed. "I am very good at backgammon, Captain."

"Excellent. I appreciate a challenge."

Sir Harry moved forward and spoke in a low voice. "The boy's got vowels out his ears, Captain, and no way of paying them."

"Then perhaps he will be lucky enough to win tonight," David said. "It's only money, after all."

It was only money, he thought. If Oliver cheated half as well as David suspected he did, then he might be out sixty pounds by the end of the first game.

All of the tables in the room were set up for cards, so David volunteered to go next door and fetch another one. He made sure to put it down as far from the card players as possible, in a drafty little nook near a window. As long as he spoke softly, no one would be able to overhear him.

The first match passed quickly, with Oliver gammoning David. In the second match, David made a better effort, and won after redoubling the wager. Halfway through the third, it became obvious that Oliver was doing something clever with the dice. David pretended not to notice.

"What luck you have tonight," he said quietly.

"Fortune is on my side." Oliver kissed the dice. "Another double six?"

It was not a double six, but it did give Oliver the chance to hit one of David's counters off the board. David rolled and manage to place it again. He was going to lose the game, but he might just avoid being gammoned.

"Double?" Oliver said, turning the doubling cube over.

Twenty pounds on the game. Forty if Oliver gammoned him again. David shrugged. "Accept."

Oliver got a double six and bore off two counters. It was something about the way he held the dicebox, David thought. He wasn't actually shaking them properly, then he was skidding them across the board rather than rolling them. Not every turn, only when he really needed it. By the smug smirk hovering at the corners of his lips, he thought he was being clever. No. He thought David was the fool, twice over. Once for Cate and once for the game.

A cold flame of fury lit inside David's chest, but he controlled it; no good would come of losing his temper.

"I don't actually care for backgammon," David said, very, very quietly, so that no one at the other tables could possibly hear. "I only asked you to play so we could talk."

"I didn't think you liked my conversation."

"I like nothing about you, Mister Oliver, and I know more than you think."

A wary look flashed into Oliver's eyes but he laughed. "And two hours ago, you did not even know my name."

"But I knew you all the same. I knew you as the liar, the cheat, the scoundrel who seduced my virgin wife on the implication of marriage then abandoned her and her unborn child to the mercies of a father who hates her and a world who scorns her."

The colour drained from Oliver's face, but still he smiled. It was a sickly, pale smile, but indelibly smug. "That was James Redwood, don't you know?"

"Cate told me the truth. She told me everything but your name, which I did not care to hear. And now that I know it, I find myself hoping I never hear it again." David saw Sir William looking over from his whist table. He rolled the dice and moved his counters haphazardly. "I want you to know something, Oliver. Two years ago, you abandoned my wife and her unborn child. That can never be undone. They are not yours. They have nothing to do with you. If you ever come near them, if you ever speak their names, make any claim upon them, or attempt to reveal the truth, I will find you and shoot you like the cur you are. And no one will ever find your body, though I doubt anyone loves you enough to look."

Oliver was white as sheet. His hands shook on the dice box. "You would not do such a thing."

"I could do it tonight. I know you're cheating. You're locking and sliding the dice when you need a double. It's a clever trick. It must have taken years to learn. I could expose you here, now. I could demand a duel to avenge my honour. Take you out. Shoot you in front of everyone."

"I never duel. Besides, I'm just lucky." He opened his hands palm out. "No tricks here."

"Enough with the lies. I don't care if you cheat, though I'm not paying you what you've cheated from me tonight. I care if you understand me. I won't ask for a promise. You're not the sort of man who keeps them. But I will promise you this: if you cross me, I will do you unimaginable violence."

It was difficult to say such a thing and keep his voice low enough that no one but Oliver could hear, but somehow David managed it. Nor was it an empty threat. He would not kill Oliver, but he would hurt him, yes, and there would be savage pleasure in it.

Oliver dropped the dice on the backgammon board. There was no trace of smugness about his expression now. He glanced around the room, as though checking to make sure that there was an audience in case David started to hurt him now. Then he leaned over the backgammon board, twisting a counter around and around between his fingers. Something flickered in his eyes — more embarrassment than guilt.

"If what you say is true — and I am not saying that it is — then I would owe Miss Balley an apology. Certainly, some man out there does. I am not saying it is me. That man, I imagine, might consider the whole fiasco concluded, were he to know that his sincerest regret had been conveyed to Miss Balley for the misfortune fallen upon her."

"Her name is Mrs Demery now."

"So it is." Oliver licked his pale lips. "I hope that Mrs Demery does not hate this man. I am sure he does not want, nor deserve, to be hated. He can hardly have wished for a child to come of his succumbing to her enticement. Perhaps she has not stopped to think of how he may be feeling. Perhaps you should guide her to consider it."

"I will tell her what you said," David said roughly. "No more and no less. And you will remember what I said."

"I can hardly forget." Oliver dropped the counter and pushed the backgammon board away. "It's not every day I'm threatened with murder, after all."

__

2023-04-23: Quite a few people guessed who the father really was. Hah. I wanted it to be a surprise, but at the same time, I'm happy some people got it right.