Tremaine also stood. “Rebecca means her no harm.”
Cameron frowned skeptically. “That is of little assurance to me.”
“’Tis the best I can offer.” Tremaine inclined his head. “That and my promise that Rebecca will not reveal her identity to your daughter.”
Cameron’s chest tightened with an unpleasant sensation. His initial instinct was to have Tremaine forcefully removed from the club, but the earl knew he must temper his emotions. While not of the nobility, Tremaine was clearly a formidable opponent. One who had money and resources, not to mention influential friends like the Duke of Aylesford.
“I need time to consider your request,” Cameron snapped, annoyed that he had to compromise, yet knowing in the end he might have no other choice. “I shall let you know of my decision in a fortnight.”
“No. I need an answer by the end of the week,” Tremaine countered. “I have made inquiries, my lord, and have heard you are a decent, honorable man. I pray that you will find compassion and sympathy in your heart for my sister’s pain and suffering and grant her this simple wish.”
Cameron sighed, deciding it probably would be better to have the matter settled sooner, rather than later. “I will contact you by Friday with my decision.”
“Thank you.” Tremaine bowed respectfully and headed toward the door, but before he left he faced the earl one final time, his eyes glittering with purpose. “I appreciate that you have been rather suddenly thrust into a difficult position. One that no other man would envy. But as you ponder your decision, I would ask you also to remember one crucial fact, Lord Hampton. Mildred Blackwell’s letter naming you as the man who was given this child is in my possession.”
Chapter 2
Cameron left White’s in a foul humor. He practically stormed from the club, barely acknowledging the greetings of friends and acquaintances as he stood on the front steps and waited for his horse to be brought around. Once mounted, the earl began the ride home at as fast a pace as he dared, wishing all the while he was at one of his country estates, so he could race home and exercise away some of his edgy frustration.
His marriage had been an arranged affair, a blending of families and wealth, but he had been very lucky. Within a few months of taking his vows, the earl had fallen deeply in love with his charming bride. And she with him. From that point on, their marriage had been passionate and loving and full of happiness. The only blight on their otherwise perfect life was Christina’s inability to bear a child.
Sadly, she had no difficulty becoming pregnant; the problem was that she could not bring the babe to term. On the occasion of her fourth pregnancy, they had journeyed to one of his smaller estates in Devon. The countess’s physician had advised that the country air, quiet daily routine and wholesome environment could prove to be the difference.
Alas, he was wrong. Christina had miscarried the child late in her pregnancy and subsequently sank into a deep depression. Isolated and grieving, the couple had kept the news from their families. Receiving the letter from Mildred Blackwell, a distant relation, requesting that they consider aiding her in finding a home for an illegitimate baby had seemed providential.
The change in Christina had been instantaneous. The sadness lifted and she eagerly embraced the notion of taking the infant girl into their care. Cameron was elated with anything that made his wife happy, and thus they became parents.
Ironically, they had not set out to deliberately deceive anyone that the baby girl was not their natural child. There were few servants at the Devon estate, fewer still who knew the countess had miscarried her child. The initial sad news had not been shared with the family and by the time they brought Lily to London in the spring they no longer thought of how she had become their daughter.
Everyone commented on the baby’s striking resemblance to Christina and it quickly became a notion that neither the earl nor countess saw fit to correct. Even with their closest family members.
Perhaps that might have changed over time, but Christina became ill and the focus shifted away from the joy and excitement of the new baby. The illness lingered, worsened. As Christina’s health steadily declined, it was the presence of Lily that kept them all sane, that brought the only joy and laughter in the household. And when Christina died—Cameron closed his eyes, as if shutting them could miraculously release him from the persistent pain of those three-year-old memories.
If not for Lily, he very well might have gone mad with grief. His little girl was the sole reason he had forced himself to move forward each day. To rise from his bed, to dress, to shave, to make the effort to resume a normal routine.
His love for the child was all encompassing and unconditional. She was his daughter, in all things that mattered, and as he told Tremaine, he would protect her at all costs.
A chilling gust of early December wind hit as Cameron slowed his mount and expertly negotiated the heavily clogged streets. He turned into Grosvenor Square and trotted through the gates of his London residence. Sliding out of the saddle, the earl flipped the reins to a waiting groom.
The front door opened before he reached it.
“Where is Lady Lily?” Cameron asked as he handed over his riding crop, hat, gloves and capped greatcoat to the waiting butler.
The servant opened his mouth to answer, but his reply was drowned out by a squeal of delight echoing from the top step of the winding staircase.
“Papa! You are home at long last!”
The earl smiled at the greeting, silently acknowledging it was a bit dramatic, since he had seen Lily earlier in the morning when they had eaten breakfast together. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the child’s obvious enthusiasm as she bounded down the stairs.
“Lily!” The voice of his sister, Charlotte, standing on the upper landing, invaded the space. “Be careful. The staircase can be slippery.”
Ignoring her aunt’s reprimand, Lily jumped from the final step to the patterned marble floor of the foyer. Recovering her balance, the little girl straightened, curtsied to him, then skipped over for a kiss.
“Oh, Papa, your beard is scratchy,” she complained, but she snuggled closer for a second kiss.
Cameron tightened his hug. “Hey, Puss. How was your day?”
She pulled back and gave him a puzzled frown. “You sound funny, Papa. Is your throat feeling sore?”
Cameron swallowed and shook his head. His voice had become hoarse with emotion as he held her tight. The overwhelming impulse to bar the front doors and have his pistols brought at once nearly destroyed his common sense, so great was the need he felt to protect her.
“It must be the cold that makes me sound so odd,” he replied lightly. “The wind is blowing fiercely.”
She accepted his explanation trustingly, her blond curls bobbing. “You must wear a scarf around your neck when it is so cold. That’s what Aunt Charlotte tells me.”
“Aunt Charlotte is wise in such important matters.”
His eyes traveled to the staircase where his sister Charlotte was slowly descending, limping awkwardly down each step. She had been born with a malformed hip socket making one leg slightly shorter than the other and her gait always seemed more pronounced on cold or damp days.
“Mrs. James is suffering from a migraine,” Charlotte informed him when she finally arrived at the bottom of the staircase. “I volunteered to look after Lily this afternoon.”
“We had a tea party in the nursery, with lemonade and my favorite cream cakes,” Lily announced. “But it was dull without any male companions.”
“Male