Under the influence of that comforting voice and hand, her breath slowed and her reason returned. Of course she had to tell him that Antonia was his daughter. He would know it, anyway, as soon as he caught sight of her eyes. Unless Marissa intended to hide Antonia away — which would be well nigh impossible — he was bound to meet her sooner or later.

She squeezed her eyes shut, snuggling into the warmth of his body as his arms tightened around her. She should tell him, right now, but she couldn’t force the words past the lump in her throat.

Tomorrow. She would tell him tomorrow. Or the next day, after she’d thought about the most sensible way to break the news. After all, Anthony might not want a ready-made family. Or he might be furious that she hadn’t already told him. Marissa couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this moment between them — not when they had just found each other after so long apart.

And she had to think about Antonia, too. What in God’s name would she say to her daughter about all this?

Anthony’s deep voice rumbled through his chest and into her body, startling her out of her uneasy reverie. “What troubles you, my sweet?”

She looked up. He gave her a loving smile, but his eyes were sombre and watchful. Her heart twisted at the idea that he might reject Antonia. He might reject her, too, for keeping such a dark secret.

Tomorrow, whispered the coward’s voice in her head.

She stretched up to kiss him. “Nothing, my love. Everything is just perfect.”

Anthony strode along Bond Street, feeling as light as a gull skimming over the whitecaps. For the first time in years, all was right with the world.

As he skirted a pair of dandies preening at their own reflections in a shop window, he patted his waistcoat to check that the small box from Phillip’s jewellers remained safely stowed in his pocket. Marissa’s engagement ring was a stunner — a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds. The stone matched her eyes. That made him a sentimental fool, of course, but he didn’t care. He would propose to her this evening, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

As he made his way to a hackney stand on Piccadilly, he spied a woman walking hand in hand with a young girl as they turned into Hatchard’s bookshop.

Marissa. He’d recognize her graceful figure anywhere. The girl must be her daughter.

He smiled. No time like the present to meet his future stepdaughter. Not that he would drop any hints, but surely Marissa couldn’t object to introducing him, especially under these circumstances. Meeting her might even be easier this way — running into them in a casual fashion. And he had to admit he was eager to meet the child. Marissa obviously adored her, and Anthony had every intention of loving her, too.

He crossed the street and followed them into Hatchard’s. After a short search, he found them looking through a pile of books, their backs to him as he approached.

“Lady Paget,” he said, affecting surprise. “How do—”

Marissa spun on her heel. She gasped, all the colour leaching from her complexion as she stared at him in horror. The girl turned with her, lifting a questioning gaze to his face. Her big amber eyes opened wide and her mouth gaped into a surprised little oval.

Anthony’s mind whirled as he stared into a living picture of himself as a child, especially her eyes. He had never seen eyes like that anywhere but reflected in the mirror.

After he managed to pound his brain into a semblance of order, he dragged his gaze to Marissa’s dead-white face. Her desperate eyes pleaded for mercy.

“How old is she?” he rasped. “She’s older than you told me, isn’t she?”

Marissa pressed a hand to her mouth, looking like the world had just come to an end. Maybe it had — for him, anyway.

“I’ll find out, whether you tell me or not,” he threatened.

“My daughter is twelve,” she finally whispered.

He could barely comprehend the words, or even hear them through the roaring in his ears. Not that he needed to. Proof was in that childish gaze, darting back and forth between the two adults.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he growled at Marissa.

She cast an anxious glance around the store. “Captain Barnett, please keep your voice down.”

The girl tugged on her mother’s arm. “Mamma, what’s happening?”

Marissa dredged up a weak smile. “Just a small misunderstanding, darling. Don’t worry.”

Anthony gave a harsh laugh. “Is that what people call it these days?”

“I’ll explain everything later,” she replied, looking frantic. “But I beg you, don’t make a scene.”

Anger and a sickening sense of betrayal lifted him on a cresting wave. “Beg all you want, Lady Paget. But tell your brother I expect payment in full by the end of the week, or I’ll see every last Joslin rotting in debtors’ prison.”

How could he have been such a bastard?

Anthony paced from one end of his office to the other, re-enacting the disastrous scene at Hatchard’s in his head. What a brute he’d been, making threats in front of a little girl — his own daughter. No matter what Marissa had done, it could never excuse such unforgivable behaviour.

He came to a halt by the window, thoroughly disgusted with himself. A small fleet of ships — his ships — floated on the Thames. They might as well have been toy boats bobbing around in a tub for all it mattered. The only thing he could focus on was the face of a little girl, staring up at him with amber eyes.

And Marissa’s eyes, too, pleading for understanding. The worst of it was that he did understand, now that his fury had cooled. What else could she have done when she discovered her predicament? Pregnant and alone — her lover supposedly on the other side of the ocean. She had protected her daughter — their daughter — in the only way she could.

But she hadn’t trusted him with the truth, and that knowledge twisted in his gut.

A knock sounded on the door, and a clerk stuck his head into the office. “There’s a young lady to see you, Captain. Says she’s Lady Paget’s daughter.”

He jerked around. “What? Who’s with her?”

“She’s alone, sir.”

Anthony muttered a curse and strode to the outer office.

The child sat on his clerk’s high stool, her feet swinging inches above the floor. She looked like she hadn’t a care in the world as she twirled her little beaded reticule around her fingers.

He glowered at her. What was she thinking? Coming all alone to Wapping — home to sailors, thieves and whores. “Good God, child! What are you doing here? Where’s your mother?”

She scrambled off the stool and gave him a polite bob. “Good afternoon, Captain Barnett. I was hoping to have a word with you. Is there someplace we can be private?”

He eyed her, reluctantly impressed by her audacity. Pluck to the backbone, his daughter was, and full of brass. “Step into my office,” he growled.

She sailed past him, a dignified miniature of her mother — except for the eyes. Those were all his.

“I don’t have much time,” she said. “Mamma thinks I’m taking a nap.”

He sighed. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I heard Mamma talking about you to Uncle Edmund. Then I snuck out of the house and found a hackney.”

He stifled a groan. Clearly, his daughter was both precocious and in need of supervision. He’d have to talk to Marissa about that.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t even know her given name. “Forgive me if I sound rude, but what’s your name?”

“I’m Lady Antonia Paget. But you can call me Antonia.”

His heart lurched. Marissa had named their child after him. With effort, he marshalled his wits. “Best get on with it, then. I’ve got to get you home before your mother discovers you missing.”

She studied him, as serious as a parson in a pulpit. “You’ve made Mamma very unhappy. She cried. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He blinked. Were all little girls so blunt?

“I’m sure I haven’t,” he managed.

“You have. It’s not very nice of you, especially since she loves you.”

That hit him low and fast.

“Ah, I don’t think that can be right,” he replied. Not after today, anyway.

She impatiently tapped her foot. “Oh, no. I’m right. She told Uncle Edmund she did.”

He wished his heart would stop jerking about in his chest. It made it difficult to think. “You heard her say that?”

The look she gave him clearly expressed her opinion of his intellect, and not a favourable one, at that. “Are you really my father?” she demanded.

His brain, as heavy as an overloaded frigate in a gale, struggled to keep up with her. “Why would you think that?” he hedged.

She looked thoughtful. “I’m not surprised. My other father, Sir Richard, that is, was never really fond of me.”

A flare of anger cleared the fog from his brain. “Did he mistreat you?”

“Not at all. He was a perfectly adequate father, under the circumstances.”

He’d lost her again. “What circumstances?”

She sighed dramatically. “The very large circumstance that I wasn’t his daughter. You’re not very bright, are you? I do hope I take after Mamma, in that respect.”

He choked back a laugh. It wouldn’t do to encourage her. “Did Sir Richard tell you he wasn’t your father?”

“Of course not. But I overheard him fighting with Mamma a few months before he died. It was about me, but I didn’t really understand what he meant. Of course, now it’s all perfectly clear. How silly of me not to have realized before.”

Anthony wondered if someone had knocked him on the head when he wasn’t looking. His daughter, however, seemed completely at ease with the bizarre conversation.

“You seem to do quite a lot of eavesdropping for a little girl,” he said, latching on to the one thing in this whole muddle that seemed clear.

She shrugged. “I know. Mamma says it’s my greatest fault. But how else am I to know what is happening? Adults never tell children anything. Not anything interesting, that is.”

He really couldn’t let that one pass. “Well, stop it. It’s not at all becoming in a young lady.”

She crossed her hands in front of her, looking as meek as a Spanish nun. Except for the mischievous smile playing around the edges of her mouth, of course. “Yes, Papa. Whatever you say.”

He shook his head, dazed by the odd creature already fastening herself like a little barnacle on to his heart. “You’re rather terrifying, Antonia,” he said thoughtfully. “But I suppose you already know that.”

Her smile widened into a grin. “Then I do take after you — at least a little.”

He laughed. “I refuse to believe you were the least bit frightened by that scene in Hatchard’s.”

“Not really. I was a little nervous in the hackney coming down here, though. I’ve never been to this part of London.”

He was about to deliver a stern parental lecture on that subject when he heard a commotion in the outer office. A moment later, Marissa, looking like a wild woman, came bursting into the room.

“Antonia,” she cried, clutching her daughter by the shoulders. “Thank God! You scared me half to death!”

Anthony crossed his arms over his chest and, with some effort, wiped the grin from his face. He was a wicked man, but he couldn’t help taking his revenge on the two females who would no doubt lead him a merry dance for the rest of his life.

And thank God for that.

“Ah, Lady Paget, come to collect your errant child. I’m amazed you allow her to wander about town like a street urchin. You really shouldn’t unleash her on the unsuspecting citizens of London without any warning. Mayhem would no doubt ensue.”

Marissa pokered up, just as he had known she would. “I beg your pardon, Captain,” she said in a cold voice. “She won’t trouble you again. Come, Antonia.”

Antonia resisted her mother’s efforts to drag her from the room. “Mamma, I don’t want to leave yet. Papa and I were just getting acquainted.”

Marissa stumbled to a halt. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She looked stunned, anxious and defiant, all at the same time. But mostly, she looked like the woman he loved.

He couldn’t tease her any more, not even for the fun of it. Crossing the room, he took one of her trembling hands in his. “My love, I’ve been a brute, and I beg your forgiveness. But why didn’t you tell me about Antonia last night?”

Her beautiful eyes filled with remorse. “I wanted to. But I was afraid you would hate me for the lies I told. And for not remaining true to you all those years, no matter what the consequences.”