A Woman Scorned by Liz Carlyle Page B

porcelain. Cole wanted desperately to cradle it in his rough hands and kiss away the sadness. And almost as though the extremity were not his own, but someone else’s, Cole watched as his right hand came up to do just that.
    Gently, ever so lightly, he let his willful fingers slide around the curve of her face, delicately cupping it, and brushing his thumb tenderly across the satiny flesh beneath her eye, as if to wipe away the tears which had not yet fallen. To his shock, Lady Mercer’s eyes dropped slowly shut, the damp, silky lashes fanning across her cheeks, and almost imperceptibly, she turned her face into the warmth of his hand, opening her mouth ever so slightly against the broad palm, and drawing in a deep, unsteady breath against his callused skin.
    In that instant, it seemed to Cole as if the earth stopped spinning. Time froze, and in this one infinitesimal moment, no one else existed, save himself and this beautiful, darkly enigmatic woman. It was as if there were no higher purpose in his life, save comforting her, keeping her safe from the demons which so obviously threatened. But then slowly, without opening her eyes, Lady Mercer slid her left hand over his own, hesitated ever so briefly, and dragged his hand from her face. Almost ruthlessly, she pushed it away, and turned her back on him.
    No longer able to see if her eyes were open or closed, Cole felt a heated sense of mortification sweep over him. Anger followed fast on its heels, directed both at himself, and inexplicably, at her. When she spoke, her words were flat, wholly without emotion of any sort. “I suggest, sir, that you save your sympathy for my children, whom I can assure you have every need of it. Do we understand one another?”
    Strangely, the rebuff stung, as if it had come from an old friend rather than a distant acquaintance. Reluctant to examine that emotion too closely, Cole steeled his gaze and stared at her. “Perfectly, ma’am,” he answered.
    “Very well.” She came away from the window, her shoulders set stiffly back, and returned to her chair, sitting down so rigidly that her spine never touched the upholstery. Cole watched her go, not knowing what further to do, and then followed. It was as if those few emotional moments had never existed. Clearly, that was what Lady Mercer wished. With grim determination, Cole decided to oblige her. What the devil had come over him, anyway? Did she truly have an almost magical hold over men? It was often said of her. It seemed his hand had moved to touch her entirely of its own accord.
    Suddenly, Cole’s attention jerked back to the present. Lady Mercer was speaking, her voice cool, as if nothing untoward had occurred. “You may remove from your lodgings in Red Lion Street as soon as is convenient, sir, if that is still your wish. But understand me. The welfare of my children comes first in this house. You are to teach them well, and above all, to keep them safe. You will exercise no undue influence upon them”—her tone seemed to soften—“and you will discipline them as best you can without breaking their spirits.”
    “Their spirits, ma’am?”
    “I would have you make race horses of them, sir, not dray horses,” she answered a little more crisply. Then, Lady Mercer leaned forward and sighed. “But they are mischievous, and occasionally willful, it is true. Perhaps I have even spoilt them a bit these past few months, but I have been so very af—so very concerned. About their losing their father,” she belatedly added.
    Cole listened, not just to her words, but to the tone behind them, and heard nothing but the voice of a devoted mother who was sincerely concerned for her children. Just as she professed to be. But not at all as he had expected. Still, words were one thing, and actions quite another. It would not take long to ascertain just what sort of mother Lady Mercer really was. “They are lively boys, ma’am,” he agreed with a stiff smile, “but they are quite