Louisa stepped back until she dumped her hips onto the fine-embroidered quilt coverings.
Leaning in, she tilted her head to face him. "Tell me."
Rochester pressed his lips gently together, shooting his gaze up the wall which was adjacent to the bed. In that pose, his irises became a darker hue of brown… Like he was about to relive a certain memory that hurt him still. "Of course," he said. "I have no other option but to tell you."
Louisa, adjusting on the bed, shot up her hearing antennas.
"As I said before —" Rochester's voice carried on thickly in and among the walls of that place — "the mother of my child could never be a stranger to me. And here's why…
"A long time ago, I met a man, or rather I found a man — trust me he has nearly all of my attributes. Looks, caliber, name it. He has it all. But he wanted one person. One woman who was of a Royal bloodline. A princess."
He stopped.
