Julianne MacLean by My Own Private Hero

Author:My Own Private Hero
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

At the same time, he disliked the idea of her being adored by Harold. Though he loved Harold.

“I’m sure he would be,” Damien replied.

But in all honesty, Damien was not sure. Harold probably wasn’t even giving it a second thought. He was more likely leaning over a beaker right now, concerned only with what was going on inside it, which frustrated Damien greatly.

He told himself it didn’t mean Harold didn’t care for Adele. Harold was just being Harold. “He’ll eventually relax around you,” Damien said. “I know the man he is beneath the surface, and believe me when I say that he’s a good man. Give him time. You’ll have your whole life to get to know him as well as I do.”

She shifted in her saddle. “I know he’s a good man. You’re right. I shouldn’t try to rush things. I shouldn’t expect to be intimate with someone I’ve only just met.”

Yet he and she had only just met, and there was an incredible level of intimacy between them. Though at the moment, they were both working hard to keep it at bay.

They rode around the lake and arrived at the path that led to the teahouse. “Will it be locked?” Adele asked.

“Yes, but I know where the key is. Harold and I used to come here when we were younger, before he discovered chemistry. We spent many hours fishing right over there.” He pointed to the log they once sat on. “Harold’s father used to enjoy the outdoors. He was always hosting shooting parties.”

“What about your father and mother? Do you remember much about them?”

Damien pulled his horse to a stop at the teahouse and swung down from the saddle. He went to help Adele. “My father was very much like Harold. Red hair and all. Eustacia was my father’s sister.”

“And your mother?”

“My mother…well, she had interests that didn’t include me. I had no love for her, and to be honest, I don’t remember that much about her. I never try to because when I do, all I feel toward her is resentment.”

“You have no pleasant or happy memories of her at all?”

Adele’s gloved hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he took hold of her tiny waist. She leaped down, landing with a thud before him, her skirts billowing upon the air.

They stood motionless, staring at each other for a few seconds while he thought about Adele’s question.

“I suppose I do. I remember her holding me and singing to me when I was very small.”

But he didn’t like to think about that. It hurt to remember his mother’s tenderness. It gave him a knot in his stomach.

“Were you close to your father?” Adele asked. “You see, I come from a close family and it’s hard to imagine being a child and not feeling close to at least someone.”

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