Page 41 of My Dark Duke

“What..?” she began, slightly hesitant, “What was that?”

Thorncastle took a moment to answer, as he slipped back under the bedsheets. He gathered her in his arms and held her close, before finally replying.

“My seed,” he said, placing a kiss upon her head. “I cannot spill it inside you, or you might end up with a child.”

“Oh.” Lillian felt rather stupid; surely she should have known about such matters. Had her mother not died when she was so young, she might have been better schooled on such things. Her brow furrowed, as she recalled he had not had such qualms last night.

“I’m afraid I rather lost control of myself,” Thorncastle confessed, when she put it to him. “Which has never happened to me before. Luckily, as it was your first time, there’s little risk. We cannot be so unlucky.”

Her earlier feeling of contentment quickly vanished at his words, which were a timely reminder their union was not a proper one. She had always assumed she would one day have children of her own, though she had never thought much upon it. Indeed, she had never planned anything much for her future, foolishly assuming her life would follow the same path as other girls her age.

Marriage, a home, a child; all were lost to her now.

“You do not wish to father a bastard,” she surmised, surprised her tone sounded rather accusing.

There was a queer feeling in her stomach, an irritating jolt, she soon realised was jealousy. Thorncastle would not sire a child with her but, no doubt, he would one day marry and fetch himself an heir.

Where would that leave her?

For one moment, she envisioned such a terrible future; one where she lived on the margins of the duke’s life, while he spent happy days with his family. She pushed it aside, for it was most unrealistic - the duke would no doubt cast her off, rather than leave her to linger.

“I do not wish to father any children,” he replied, his voice calm. “As I have already told you.”

“But, that’s absurd,” Lillian blurted, sitting up to look at him properly. “A duke must have an heir.”

“I do.” Thorncastle raised a dark brow, deeply amused by her reaction. “My cousin, Barty; a far more good and moderate man than I. He - and his issue - deserve the ducal seat far more than I.”

“A title does not pass to the most deserving,” she argued, startled by his statement. “It passes from father to eldest son.”

“That I well know,” he agreed, seating himself up so that his back rested against the headboard. “However, I do not believe primogeniture rights to a title means one will serve said title well. My uncle would have cared for his tenants and the ducal seat far better than my father - who only managed to avoid gambling away the family fortune by the sheer luck that his propensity for pleasures of the flesh outweighed his other vices.”

Lillian remained still as he spoke, sensing he was unleashing a burden which lay heavy upon his shoulders.

“It is only right that Barty inherits,” Sebastian continued, his lip petulant. “He has not one, buttwoparents of outstanding character. His chances of siring a bad apple are far lower than mine. Between a cruel, base father and a fit-for-Bedlam mother, any issue I fetch is certain to be as damned as I.”

He drew a breath, his expression vaguely surprised, as though he had not realised just how passionate his outburst had been.

In the silence which followed, Lillian fretted. He had told her he was not capable of love, but was that just because he had never received it?

“You are not damned,” she said, her voice soft.

His blue eyes turned to hers, searching deeply, as though he wished to read her soul. She reached out to take his hand, clasping it tightly, willing him to believe her.

“I must look ghastly, if you are defending my honour, when I failed so spectacularly at defending yours,” he answered, with a wry chuckle.

“Failed twice,” Lillian reminded him, with a shy smile. “And, hopefully many more times again. Come, do not wallow in past unhappiness, when we have so much to look forward to. I should not have pressed you so, on why you wish the title to pass to Bertie. Though, your reasoning is flawed and I cannot accept you are too damned to sire children, I can accept you will not have them. Selfishly, I am rather glad of it.”

Her words brought another troubled look to his face. Rather than risk opening her mouth - for each time she did, she seemed to put her foot in it - she opted to snuggle up against him.

He responded by gathering her in his arms and pulling her against his chest. She could hear his heart within, beating slowly and steadily.

It did not sound broken, to her ear.

They stayed entwined for another hour, speaking little, but exploring each others’ bodies with gentle strokes and touches. His body was a marvel to her; all sinewy muscle and long limbs. Her fingers traced the outline of his abdomen, searching in vain for an inch of fat which she might pinch.

“Your assessment of my stomach is as thorough as Gentleman Jackson’s,” he noted, referencing the famed pugilist who instructed wealthy men on the art of fisticuffs. “Though, I’ll admit, it’s far more pleasurable.”

“Do you spar often?” Lillian queried, realising suddenly she knew very little of what he did when he was not with her.

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