He ran his hand through his mass of black hair and released an impatient exhalation. "If you did, I’d tell you to go to Hades."
Another silence fell. When he began to speak, his voice was low and uncharacteristically hesitant. She did her best to hide her curiosity. In her experience, he wasn’t a man who was ever hesitant. "My father died when I was a boy, not much older than Gerald. My mother died five years ago."
"I’m sorry, Brock." Selina wanted to rise and take him in her arms, but something in his bristling tension kept her sitting just where she was.
"So am I." He paused, his features hardening. He went back to looking like the cynical, heartless rake she’d first thought him. "Not that she was ever much of a mother."
Selina didn’t speak, just watched him steadily.
Again, her silence lured him into explaining further. "She was very beautiful. And wild. And selfish. And destructive to anyone who fell under her spell. God knows, if I was to count the victims of her flightiness, the poor beggars would line the road from here to the Highlands. I take after her."
Selina had already realized that Brock was a complex man with a complex past that she couldn’t pretend to understand. Even so, she was surprised and distressed to hear such self-hatred tainting his voice.
She frowned, considering what he’d said. "Only the beauty." She paused. "And the wildness." She didn’t fool herself that this was a domesticated animal she’d caught for herself, however fleetingly.
He shot her a half-smiling glance that cut to the quick. "I’m no hero."
She shrugged. "Perhaps not, but you’re a better man than I think you recognize."
A dismissive grunt greeted that statement. "I doubt it."
She shook her head with a stubborn certainty that emerged from the depths of her being. "I don’t. You might have done a thousand wicked things in your life. In fact, I’ll warrant you have. But at heart, you’re not a wicked man. You’re kind – at least you’ve been kind to me. Nor are you only wrapped up in yourself. You also have some honor. It would be easy to ignore my request not to give me a child. I’m sure it would be more enjoyable for you if you did, and I’ve been in no position to stop you. Yet you stuck to your promise." She made a helpless gesture. "We’ve only been together a day, yet I could give you a hundred examples of your consideration."
He looked taken aback, which made her want to laugh. It seemed praise for his character rather than his physical appearance left him nonplussed. "I’m counted a profligate and a seducer and woefully unreliable. I’ve left a trail of broken hearts all over England."
"I’m sure that’s true." She had a horrid premonition that she’d add her heart to that list, once she left him. "But it’s not the whole truth."
Self-deprecating humor twisted his lips. "If I was as principled as you say, I’d now try to talk you out of that unjustified assessment of my character."
"Don’t bother. You won’t succeed."
He shook his head with more of that fond disbelief that made her ache with yearning. She fast became besotted with Brock Drummond, heaven save her. "You’re an obstinate wee thing. I wonder if Cecil knows."
"I doubt it," she said shortly.
"He doesn’t know you at all, does he?"
The reminder of what awaited once she left this den of sin wasn’t welcome. Dejected, she went back to staring into the fire. "He doesn’t care to. That doesn’t mean I won’t be a good wife to him."
"For Gerald’s sake."
"Yes."
"Because you love your son."
Something in Brock’s tone drew her attention. "You know, for a heartless rake, you talk about love a lot."
She expected him to react to the accusation with horror, but again he surprised her. "I do, don’t I?"
Another silence wrapped around them. Something in this room encouraged intimate revelations. Perhaps because it was warm and enclosed, and outside the world was cold and dangerous and unforgiving.
Brock turned away and kneeled to poke at the fire until it was roaring. When he rose, he leaned an arm on the mantel and watched the flames with a moody expression. God help her, even masculine sulks looked spectacular on him.
When at last he spoke, he didn’t look up. "My mother didn’t love me."
Appalled, Selina stared at him. Everything in her rejected his flat statement. "I don’t believe that."
The gaze Brock settled on her was bleak. "Nevertheless it’s true."