In Bed with a Rogue
Page 89“How?” Her voice was almost a whisper.
His easy smile appeared. “You’re the daughter of a wealthy Irish gentleman, my dear.”
“You know that is a lie. My mother was Irish, but we were far from wealthy and we had no land in Ireland.”
“I know,” he said. “Well, I didn’t know about your mother, but I know Prestwick created a different past for you. Tell me the story and don’t leave out any details.”
This was an odd conversation to have now, but Helena complied. “When we married, my husband told everyone I was the daughter of a gentleman, a reclusive landowner in Northern Ireland. Only the servants knew I wasn’t, but they valued their positions and told no one the truth.”
“Prestwick was quite the gambler, it seems.”
Helena had never thought of her husband as a gambler, but it rang with truth when Sebastian said it. Was Wickie the same as her weak-minded father? She swallowed against a bitter taste rising in the back of her throat. “He said no one would question the story, and he was correct. None of the wedding guests seemed interested in my Irish roots.”
Sebastian’s hand rested on her leg, possessive and yet comfortable. “How did your husband explain the fact you don’t sound Irish? Not even a little.”
“Why take a girl from near poverty and groom her to become a wife? It doesn’t make sense when a man in his position would have no trouble finding a suitable mate.”
“Goodwill?”
Sebastian frowned, apparently not convinced of Wickie’s altruistic nature. “How old were you?”
“Nineteen. For three and a half years, I was his ward, although I rarely saw him. He was active on his land and traveled often. Then one day he summoned me to his study and said it was time for me to take his name.”
“Did you want to marry him?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “He offered security and respectability. I would have been foolish to decline his offer. It was very generous, considering he could have turned me out. I would have been grateful for a position with his staff.”
And relieved he hadn’t made her his mistress instead.
“I don’t think Wickie ever thought about creating a family history for me beyond my father. I would have told anyone who asked that I have four sisters, but no one ever did.”
“Prestwick’s inattention to detail could work to our advantage then.”
Tightness formed between her brows, and he gently smoothed it away with his knuckle. His eyes twinkled. “How does this sound? Before you left Scotland, you received a letter from your Great-Aunt Mae in Ireland. She has been caring for Gracie and Pearl ever since your parents passed away, may they rest in peace. And soon she will be saying a tearful good-bye as your sisters depart for Dublin to catch a ship bound for England.”
It sounded rather nice, honestly. And promising. “I have an Aunt Mae now?”
“Yes, and an Uncle Patrick. You and your siblings spent every Christmas at your uncle’s estate. Cook made the most delicious plum puddings, and you used to sneak into the kitchen to watch her prepare them. She allowed you to lick the spoon afterwards. Don’t you remember?”
She laughed and sank against the seatback. “Perhaps not as well as you, but please, refresh my memory. What else did we do at Uncle Patrick’s?”
“You went riding—”
“You don’t ride?”
She shook her head.
Sebastian’s lips turned down. “That will never do. I’ll teach you to ride.” He slanted his head. “I suppose Gracie and Pearl will require lessons too.”
“I suppose they will. Our father—the gentleman—was dreadfully afraid of horses. He didn’t keep a stable.”