Page 14 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
She shook her head finally, pulling herself from his grasp. “I am well, thank you.”
Had it sounded as false to her ears as it did his?
“Ye’re no’ well,” he muttered, even as he gently lowered her to the sofa.
She seemed to go gratefully, refusing to look at him as she brushed the back of her hand under her eye. “Thank you,” she murmured again, and he shook his head, cursing himself for a fool.
More than thirty years on this planet, and not a single bastard.
Och, he was no monk, to live celibate. He’d had his share of lovers, starting back at university when he and Kip had tried their damnedest to drag Alistair—the silent Duke of Effinghell—into fun.
But Fawkes had always been certain he’d leave no bastards like himself. There’d be no lad raised alone, wondering about his father, wondering if his sire would approve of him. Fawkes knew the emptiness, the constantwhat-ifs…and he refused to subject another human to that.
Tonight, however…
If Ellie got her way, he’d be a father. A father, without knowing the bairn. Without knowingher.
The thought made his stomach churn and he turned away with a low curse. “Are ye hungry?” he barked, more as a way to make conversation than anything else. “I am.”
“No, thank you.”
The third time she’d thanked him—in that quiet, stiff, shy voice—since he’d spilled his seed against her womb.
What, exactly, was she thanking him for?
“I have bread and cheese,” he announced, already crossing to the small larder tucked along the back wall. He’d never needed more than this, preferring to pick up his meals when he was out.
All things considered, dining with his clients was a bad idea.
When he returned, the offering stacked haphazardly on a plate he thrust toward her, Ellie lowered it to her lap without looking up at him. “Thank you.”
Yet again.
Fawkes snorted. “A woman shows up at my door in the middle of the night, demanding I fook her and no’ takingnayfor an answer. She gets on her knees and sucks me like she kens what she’s doing, then calls my name when I bend her over the furniture and fook her.” He was being deliberately crass, and the blush climbing her cheeks told him he was succeeding. “Ishould be thankingye.”
He towered over where she sat, but still, he saw her swallow. Saw the way her hands shook as she pushed aside the plate. Saw her inhale, moments before she lifted her chin to meet his eyes.
Her eyes were blue. He’d seen them before, thinking them only a few shades lighter than midnight. But now he saw something else in them. Shame? Or fear?
“Truthfully, Mr. MacMillan, I know this was hard for you despite your flippancy. But if it worked, you will have saved me. Sothank you.”
Saved her? By impregnating her?
But in that moment, he was struck with the sudden—and incredibly stupid—thought that he’d do anything to save Ellie.
Shaking his head, Fawkes dragged a hand through his hair, wondering if she’d skitter away if he threw himself on the sofa beside her. “Whyme, lass? Why’d ye come tome?”
A sad smile twitched her lips to one side without showing her teeth. “I wondered why you had not asked that originally.”
“I was distracted.”
She didn’t laugh at his candor. “I know I am not dressed in mourning colors, Mr. MacMillan. Fawkes. But…” She took a deep breath and held it. “My husband died recently after a long illness. If I can ensure a pregnancy, I can delay my husband’s younger brother taking the title, and save myself and—and someone I care for.”
A new surge of rage spiked through his temples at her confession. Fawkes found himself reaching for her, his hands closing around her upper arms. “Ye would use my seed tolieto yer husband’s true heir? Ye would raise my child as—as what? A spoiled lordling? Ye would knowingly dilute yer husband’s bloodline with abastard’sget?”
To his surprise, there was no fear in her gaze, although he knew his grip was too tight. Instead she met his eyes calmly, recent tears still drying on her cheeks.
“My husband was your cousin, Mr. MacMillan. Rufus Aycock, Viscount Cumnock. There is no need to chastise me; I have done my best to keep the bloodline pure, by asking you to sire the child who will hopefully be raised as Rufus’s heir.”
