Free Regency Christmas Pact 02 - A Gentlemen's Pact by Jerrica Knight-Catania

they were in London for the holiday, which was convenient for Rowan. He needed to procure a marriage license. And perhaps a trip to Hamlet’s for a ring was in order as well. A sapphire one, to match her eyes.
    Rowan couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips on this chilly Tuesday morning. Normally a trip to London would include lots of drinking and gambling with his friends—pastimes he thought he loved. Yet all he wanted to do was attend to this quick business and get back to Olivia and Marcus.
    Damn. He’d need a gift for Marcus too, wouldn’t he? That was, if he made it through this fever.
    Rowan’s heart twisted and the thoughts stole the smile from his face. He prayed taking him to Hamlin Abbey had been the right thing to do. But how could he go through with his plans if he wasn’t assured the boy would be well taken care of?
    He couldn’t have. So surely he’d made the right decision.
    His conveyance rolled to a stop in front of a row of townhouses not far from Berkeley Square. Rowan hopped down to the street, found the number he was looking for, and didn’t hesitate a moment before stomping through the muddy street to get to it. He would have been lying if he had said he wasn’t a bit nervous. He’d never asked for a woman’s hand in marriage before, and these were even stranger circumstances than anyone might ever anticipate.
    He knocked upon the door, and moments later a plump butler appeared on the other side.
    “May I help you?”
    Rowan took a deep breath. “I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Morgan.” He handed over his card and stepped into the foyer as the butler closed the door behind him.
    “Wait here.”
    As Rowan waited he took the opportunity to look around. The townhome was modest, yet clean. At least what he could see of it, which wasn’t much.
    The butler returned a moment later. “Follow me, Mr. Findley.”
    He did as he was bid and followed the man to a door just past the staircase. He opened the door to reveal a small drawing room where Mr. and Mrs. Morgan sat near the fire. They both stood to receive him, and once the pleasantries were out of the way, they invited Rowan to sit down.
    “What is it we can do for you, Mr. Findley?” Mrs. Morgan asked. She had red hair, but it wasn’t nearly as rich or vibrant as her daughter’s. Of course, it was streaked with gray, so perhaps it hadn’t always been the case. She didn’t have as kind a face as Olivia, though. Her features were sharper, and her thin lips pulled into a straight line when she wasn’t speaking.
    Mr. Morgan was a short, rotund man with a ruddy complexion.
    “I’ve come to talk to you about your daughter.” There was no sense beating about the bush.
    Both their faces hardened, and Mr. Morgan’s nostrils began to flare. “We don’t care to talk about Olivia. You can see yourself out, Mr. Findley.”
    “I understand the disgrace she brought to your name,” he said, his words coming out in a rush, worried they would kick him out before he got to say what he wanted to say. “But I’m going to make it right.”
    “That Jack boy already tried to,” Mrs. Morgan bit out. “But a bastard is still a bastard. And a whore is still a whore.”
    Rowan tried to remain calm, but with every ounce of his being he wanted to put a fist through that woman’s face.
    “Jack is dead. And your daughter isn’t a whore,” Rowan said through clenched teeth. “It was my fault—I’m the one who got her with child all those years ago. But I want to make it right.”
    “Whatever business you have with Olivia is your business.” Mr. Morgan stood and moved to open the door.
    Rowan dug his heels in. He wasn’t going anywhere. “She needs her family. Marcus is ill with fever—it is uncertain if he’ll—” Damn! He couldn’t think about it, let alone talk about it. “Come with me, to Hamlin Abbey,” he pleaded, changing the subject. “They’re staying with my cousin until he gets better. I know it’s been a long time,