Thief of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles Book 3) (29 page)

Hector just ignored her and continued to mark up the page, and Hester answered for him, as usual.

“The duke gave it to him before he left,” she said nonchalantly, most of her attention focused on her own book.
Persuasion
. The only Austen title Hex would have expected Hettie to enjoy, considering its hero was a Navy Captain—not quite a pirate, but as close as Hettie was likely to get in pre-Crimean British literature.

Hex took a deep breath and tried not to show her sudden irritation at Hettie’s explanation. Though the duke had agreed not to treat Hector as some sort of science experiment, it seemed he was more than happy to provide her son with what he thought was appropriate reading material.

The infuriating thing about it was that the duke was not wrong. Hector loved the book. And Hex would certainly not begrudge her son’s pursuit of knowledge just because she was irritated at Brightlingsea for knowing her son’s inclinations so well. The man just better not have any more hidden agendas.

A Bedouin sheikh indeed.
Ha.
When she’d finally made that connection just a few days ago, she’d felt a fool for not doing so sooner.

“He left, did he?” she asked, holding her breath on the hope that the duke’s leave-taking was permanent. She would not miss those unsettling eyes.

Hettie nodded as she turned a page. “He said the earl was awake and that he was going back to his own home now.”

Hex’s heart threatened to burst out of her chest at the unexpected news, and she promptly forgot anything having to do with the duke.

She’d
not been told that Rowan was awake, though she supposed that wasn’t surprising. Lady Christiana had left the house early that morning on errands she could not put off any longer, and Helen had taken up Hex’s vacated spot by Fyodor’s bedside without comment. There was no one about but the servants, and they’d been rather thin on the ground at Llewellyn House since the whole unfortunate encounter with O’Connor’s horde of vampires.

She supposed that it was rather hard for immortals to find decent help.

She barely restrained herself from bursting into hysterical laughter at that thought. Her perfectly sincere, un-ironic thought.
This
was her life now.

And though the duke had been so very apologetic when he’d told her that her children would live an inordinately long time, she found she could not work up a whole lot of resentment over this fact. She didn’t think that longevity was so very bad a thing. They would grow up, and if and when they chose, they would one day grow old and die, just as every living thing did. It would just take a while longer to do so.

What she could definitely live without, though, were the vampire hordes. And the genocidal war criminals. And the time machines. She dearly hoped she’d seen the last of those.

Though she’d rather see a
lot
more of the earl. She would have taken off straightaway for his rooms, had she trusted her children not to get up to mischief on their own.
That
was a trait they’d definitely inherited from her.

She’d just have to wait, though she wasn’t sure her nerves could endure until then. They were on their last legs after the past few weeks, and though she’d thought her worries would finally be over after they got Rowan back, they weren’t. Nothing was certain until she saw him again and made sure his mind was whole.

Rowan had seemed to know her when he’d stumbled through the device two days ago, but she was not reassured. He’d also seemed to know her when he’d first stepped out of that tomb ten years ago, but then he’d promptly lost all of his memories. Though the duke had assured her otherwise, Rowan could very well have forgotten everything all over again, and she didn’t think she could bear it if this were the case, after everything they’d been through.

Hector soon grew bored and began eyeing Hettie’s book shiftily. Hex knew what he was up to but said nothing.
Persuasion
was so dreary anyway, in Hex’s humble opinion. Hettie sometimes needed a bit of encouragement to remember she was nine years old, not forty. So when Hector plucked the book out of Hettie’s hands and dashed out of the cozy sitting room with a rare laugh, Hex made no move to intervene.

Hettie squealed her protest and took off after her brother, too delighted with the chase to be truly upset.

She followed the both of them through glass doors and into the main drawing room of the lavish townhouse, laughing. She stopped up short when she saw Hector standing near the grand piano, the book dropped at his feet, eyes wide and mouth slack with wonder. He was staring up at Rowan as intensely as Rowan was staring down at him.

She couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to react. He had caught her off guard, as he always seemed to do. And she was terrified. If he didn’t remember…

Hettie gave her a strange, rather impatient look and went immediately to Hector’s side. She clasped his hand and smiled up at Rowan with a curious expression. “Hello,” she said brightly.

Rowan lifted one of his hands from his side, as if he wanted to touch the children, but he let it fall back down. He looked just as she recalled, but he was gaunt from two days spent ill and unconscious, looking as fragile as any human. His face grew even paler as he stared at the children, and though he was trying to smile at them, his eyes were over-bright and so very, very sad.

“Hello,” he said back quietly and gripped the edge of the piano, as if to steady himself.

“I’m Hester,” she continued. “Do you remember me?”

He looked up and met Hex’s eyes, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He looked devastated and so damn guilt-ridden a great lump of emotion rose in her throat. “Yes, I remember you,” he said softly.

He knew, then. She could see it all in his eyes. He remembered Egypt, and he remembered his life before. It seemed that was all he’d ever wanted: for his memories to return.

But she wondered whether having them back would prove to be more of a curse than a blessing. From what little she’d gleaned from the duke and Lady Christiana, Rowan’s life had been filled with four hundred years of bad memories. Now this horrible decade-long gap between them just added to his burden.

She’d been so angry with him for so long—irrationally so, considering she was the one who had sent him off to that tomb—but she’d also had a decade to grieve. She’d had time to come to terms with his loss and learn to live without him.

But he’d had none of that. For him, he’d just walked out of the desert. He’d missed nine years of his children’s lives, and he’d never have them back. His pain and grief were palpable, even though she could see him struggle to hang on to his composure in front of the children. She wished she could take away his heartache. He didn’t deserve this.

Neither of them deserved this.

Yet it was simultaneously the best thing to ever happen to her. She’d thought he was
dead
. She’d thought this reunion was
impossible
. She’d
take
those ten years, and gladly, for this moment. This miracle.

He looked back down at Hettie and managed a smile that trembled at the edges. “I’m Rowan,” he said. He cleared his throat roughly.

“I’m your…I’m Lord Llewellyn. This is my house,” he said rather stupidly, though anyone would have forgiven his inarticulateness under the circumstances.

Hettie nodded at Rowan’s explanation, humoring him. The little devil knew precisely who he was. “You’ve been away.”

“Yes,” he said simply, and another tear rolled down his face.

The knot in her throat grew tighter. He’d almost told Hettie who he was to her. He’d wanted to.

Hex had been focused so much on getting him back that she’d not let herself think of what the future with him would entail for her and the children. She was not ready to give up on the idea that the Rowan she’d known in the desert—kind, gentle-hearted, and brave—was the same man as Rowan Harker, Lord Llewellyn, but she couldn’t help the worry and doubt that had plagued her for the past two sleepless nights.

She’d been so afraid that he’d not be the same man she’d fallen in love with in Egypt. But it seemed her fears were unfounded. He
was
the same man. She could already see it in the way he stared down at his children with such tender affection.

And she would be damned if she wasted another second of their lives needlessly doubting him, guarding her heart. She’d done too much of that ten years ago, and she’d regretted it ever since.

She came up behind her children and gathered them against her sides. She gave him a wavering smile and choked down that knot of emotion.

“Do you remember Lord Llewellyn, Hector?” she asked.

The boy nodded bashfully and pressed himself against her leg. “He went into the past.”

How the hell he knew that was a problem for another day. Another,
far away,
day.

“Yes, he did,” she said simply, ruffling his auburn curls. “But now he’s back.” She met Rowan’s eyes for a moment, and what she read in them confirmed that she was doing the right thing. “Do you remember the story I used to tell you when you were younger? The one about the little boy and girl lost in the desert?”

“My favorite story,” Hettie said gravely. She might have been reading
Persuasion
, but she was never too old for fairy tales.

“Do you remember who finds them in the end?”

“Their papa,” Hettie answered, staring straight at Rowan with an expectant expression, as if she already knew. Which she probably did, knowing her.

“You always asked me where your papa was, and I told you he was lost,” she said. “Well, he isn’t lost any more. We’ve found him. Rowan is your papa. What do you think about that?”

Rowan smiled at her with a teary gratefulness and then knelt down in front of the children, who were now staring at him raptly.

“Why were you lost?” Hettie demanded, her small brow wrinkled with confusion.

Rowan’s expression filled with longing. “I…was far, far away from here, and it took me a long time to find you. But I promise I shall never be parted from either of you again.” He paused. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

Hettie seemed to take this under consideration, while Hector still half hid behind Hex. At last, Hettie nodded solemnly and approached Rowan. She gave him a quick hug and a sloppy kiss on his cheek that startled him so much he froze. She tugged at Hector’s sleeve, whispering something in his ear.

Hector reluctantly stepped away from Hex and placed the book he’d stolen from his sister in Rowan’s hand. Rowan stared down at the book, tears shining in his eyes, and laughed when he saw the title.

“This is a very fine gift,” he said solemnly. “May I hug you, Hector?”

Hector nodded grudgingly, and Rowan, unable to contain himself any longer, crushed Hector in his arms, along with Hettie. Hector endured the embrace for longer than Hex expected he would, but after a while, he squirmed away, rolled his eyes, and ran from the room. Hettie stayed in Rowan’s arms. After a long while, she too pulled away and patted Rowan’s wet cheek.

“Don’t be sad he ran off. Hector’s a bit peculiar, but you’ll get used to him. He’s very clever. I am too, but not like Hector. Are you really my papa?” she demanded a bit skeptically.

He nodded.

She surveyed him critically for a long moment before giving her own nod of approval. “You’re handsome and rich, so I suppose you’ll do, even if you are English. I
was
hoping for a pirate.”

Rowan huffed out a laugh. “I’m Welsh, for your information, and you are
just
like your mother.”

She looked at him as if he were not very bright. “Who else would I be like?” she asked. She gave his cheek a final pat. “I’ll go find Hector. He’ll come around after he adjusts to the idea.”

“And will you? Adjust to the idea?”

She gave him another droll look. “I’m nine years old, not a baby. I know you were the one who saved Helen. I know you helped save us from the monsters too. And just look at mother. I’ve never seen her smile like that,” Hettie said, pointing at Hex’s face.

Hex laughed. Hettie was right. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She’d not even realized in that moment that she had been.

“I’ll adjust very quickly, thank you very much,” Hettie said primly, smoothing down her skirts. She shook her head in exasperation as tears continued to roll down Rowan’s face. “You sure do cry a lot,” she muttered. “A pirate wouldn’t cry, just so you know.”

She pecked Rowan’s cheek a final time and skipped out of the room.

Rowan followed Hettie with greedy eyes until she was out of sight, then climbed to his feet, clutching the book in his hand. He turned back to Hex with desperate longing still written in every line of his face. Tears fell unchecked from red-rimmed, luminous amber eyes.

He waved the book. “How very fitting,” he said.

“How very depressing,” she countered. Two lovers separated for years by duty and manners?
Please
. Try being separated by a damned time machine.

She wanted to run into his arms, but she held herself in check, her heart thudding so hard she could feel it all the way in her temples. “So you remember, then?” Now
she
was the one stating the obvious.