Phaedra’s heart poundedas she stared into Deerhurst’s eyes. His gaze refused to let her go, dared her to look deeper, past the surface of their color and into the very being of his soul.
She had never entered a children’s home before today—a place that took in children who weren’t wanted.
Phaedra had always been wanted. No matter how many proposals she declined. No matter how she vexed her mother with her reading material. Phaedra had never had a shortage of love.
She had been born into immense wealth. Had grown up with the promise of glittering ballrooms and gowns so pretty she had spent hours praying to reach an age where she could wear them. And then after she had come out, she had been the belle of the ball on more than one occasion.
But that was in her first season, before she had sharpened up to the dreary truth about the marriage mart—that women were put on an invisible scale and weighed for their talents and dowries.
Still, luxury and opulence were part of her life. She danced on the same floors as dukes, rode in extravagant carriages, and never had to worry about where her next meal would come from.
It was also the life of the man standing before her. Yet, she hadn’t missed the significance of the orphanage’s name.
LawsonOrphanage.
As in MarcusLawson.
This was Deerhurst’s orphanage.
And Phaedra, who loathed surprises, found herself once again surprised. And, though she couldn’t claim she loved this particular surprise, she couldn’t claim she hated it either. Every moment spent with Deerhurst wreaked havoc on her impressions of him. Just when she thought she had him pinned down, he did something completely out of her scope of imagination and forced her to change her opinion of him once again.
Was the earl a mischievous scoundrel, a noble knight, or a gentlemanly saint? Or was he perhaps all of the above?
Phaedra couldn’t quite keep up.
She studied Deerhurst, who stood still as a garden statue, his gaze not once wavering from her.
Only you.
Those two words suddenly took on a whole different meaning. Deerhurst had only ever brought her here. She’d been the first person with whom he’d ever shared this side of him.
Her pulse leaped.
“This is your orphanage?” Phaedra asked.
“If you’re asking whether I am its founder, then no. I’m merely their benefactor. They changed the name after my first donation.”
She glanced around the small room. The furnishings were old, and the color of the walls had faded, but it was still neat. She had watched in fascination at the interaction between Deerhurst and this Mrs. Plum. She found it almost inconceivable that he could turn sheepish when speaking to the older woman and be so at ease interacting with small children.
“How long have you been their benefactor?”
“Seven years, give or take a few months.” He stepped up to her, his lips turning into that roguish grin she’d come to expect from him. Mischievous to the bone. “What say you, my lady? Has my reputation completely crumbled in your eyes?”
She harrumphed. “I think it’s...” Wonderful seemed like such an inadequate word, so she said, “Inspiring.” A small pause. “Why doesn’t anyone know of your philanthropic venture? I would certainly have read about it somewhere if you had allowed it to be generally known.”
He arched a brow. “I am a private man.”
“Ah yes, I had almost forgotten,” Phaedra said. “Though I have always thought actions represent character better than words.”
“Are you saying I’m not a private man?”
“I am saying I have yet to meet this man you speak of.”
He chuckled, and something passed through his gaze, a flash of emotion Phaedra couldn’t quite catch. But it made her belly clench with butterflies.
“It is worth remembering that sentiment in the future, my lady.”
Phaedra was about to ask why when Mrs. Plum breezed into the room with a tray of tea and biscuits, the three little girls trailing after her with giggles.
