have children. Yet, each time weâve spoken of it, you back off, tell me itâs impossible, you wonât inflict your malady on a child. Yet today, you sit here at lunch and tell me a woman gardener I found on the internet happens to be what you believe is your granddaughter!â She swiped at a tear. âHow could you?â She pushed the chair back and stood. The thick weave of her curls swung when she shook her head. She turned on her heel to the door. âI need to think about this.â
âSian! Itâs not like that.â
The heavy carved door slammed behind her. He buried his head in his hands. Sometimes the truth hurt more than anyone could imagine.
Chapter 5
Sian grabbed her jacket from the walk-in cupboard in the entrance hall. She shoved her arms in the sleeves as she headed out the front door and through the black and white tiled portico. Outside, her confusion didnât lessen as sheâd hoped. She strode down the cinder path, her vision bleary with tears. She palmed them away, but more fell. What an arrogant, soulless, thoughtless bastard he could be.
No one in their right mind would welcome the news heâd just shared. The possibilities this discovery opened up were so disturbing she couldnât get her head around it. Sheâd not considered he might have had a child. This woman, who could be his granddaughter, might represent something she could scarce believe. Was this the only relative he had? Over the years, he might have fathered hundreds of children. He could have scattered infants throughout eighteenth century Europe in his youth. More since as he traveled. Though heâd explained his relationship with Julia, he couldnât have always lived like a monk since 1763.
She stood still where the cinder path forked, one side leading to the gateway to the rose garden, the other to the lake.
âHow could you?â she yelled.
A wave of anger sent an adrenalin rush barreling through her body. She broke into a run, pounding down the path toward the lawn and lake.
No, not that way. She changed direction for sheâd no wish to look at the pagoda or recall the golden autumnal day she and Magnus had first made love skin to skin. What a bloody fool she was . The steps to the terrace came into view. The early autumn day that had changed her life, all happened here. After the best sex sheâd ever known, and with her shredded underwear in the bin, she came here to sit with Magnus for tea. Trust and truth, theyâd spoken of both, but the conversation had delved into much more. Magnus hadnât pressed her, but sheâd acknowledged there was no other man she wanted. Sheâd trusted him, but look at the truth he had offered her.
She wasnât good enough for him to make her his forever. Oh, no, she was just a one-lifetime screw. Not much more than a roll in the hay for a guy who was near immortal.
Heâd refused to make her like him, point-blank. No way. Yet a girl he met in the pub had his child. âSelfish then. Just as bad now!â
Turning away, she ran off the path, over the slope of slippery grass, along the thicker, rough turf on the flat ground. She didnât slow the pace as she pushed herself hard on the track into the woods. She dodged to avoid fallen branches and rotting logs half-buried in the undergrowth. Despite the difficult ground, she raced on until her chest burned fiery with her efforts. No matter how fast she ran, she couldnât leave the pain behind.
Twiggy branches lashed her face as she dashed through the trees. One vicious hit caught her cheek a stinging blow that forced her to slow. A few paces on, she had to pause. She bent with her hands on her thighs. A muscle burn flamed. She must make the time to run more. Finally, her breathing slowed, her legs eased, and she sank down onto a mossy damp tree stump to think.
Sheâd never imagined he might have had a child, or dreamed the idea would hurt so much.