Page 15 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
She couldn’t help it; her laugh slipped from her, and she readjusted herself to match his slouch, balancing the whisky.Men. They sat so…so untidily. “My mother and I grew up quite wealthy, thanks to the allowance my father sent. The finest governesses and tutors for me, deportment and etiquette lessons.” Mainly so Kit would know whatnotto do. “She is still very much in demand—she’s in St. Petersburg right now, I believe—and our household, including myself, traveled with her.”
“Pastorino…Pastorino…” Slowly, Thorne sat up, cigar in one hand, glass in the other, both ignored as he stared at her. “Good lord, your mother isn’tGloria Pastorino, the soprano?”
Kit’s grin grew as she nodded.
“Holy hell, Kit, I’ve seen her perform—” Thorne shook his head. “I dinnae ken how many times. I think I fell in love with her when I was younger than ye are now.”
She shrugged and fiddled with her glass. “You’re not the only one.”
“Clearly,” he snorted, still staring at her as if she was a miracle. “No wonder ye’re so talented! With a mother like the great Gloria Pastorino…” He downed the rest of his whisky and reached for the bottle again. “Remarkable. And yer father—nay, wait.He’swho ye’re in London looking for. Am I right? Ye said he was a nobleman?”
Kit had frozen, her glass half-raised, and now she stared slightly panicked over the rim. He’d guessed?
Noticing her reaction, Thorne smirked. “Dinnae tell me I’m wrong. There’s nae shame in being a nobleman’s by-blow, lad.I’m no’ going to ask his name, because ye dinnae have to put up with that sort of question from me. But I imagine yer mother was in as much demand years ago as she is now.”
He was likely thinkingeveryone knows what they say about opera singers and their easy virtues.
“At least he took responsibility, Kit,” Thorne offered in a softer tone. “Ye said he sent ye an allowance?”
“I never knew him. But…” She shrugged. “I want to know more about the man. Without having to knock on his door and wait for a hug.”
Thorne’s smile flashed. “Nay, no’ likely to work. But if he sent ye money all these years, he at least kens of ye, acknowledged ye. Which is better than some nobleman can say, especially from the other side of the Atlantic.”
Yes, twenty-four years ago Mother was a rising star, when a suave British second son had seduced her. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not quite ready to sing his praises yet, my lord. Thorne.”
Chuckling, Thorne finished off his third glass of whisky and leaned back to puff on his cigar. “Well, I’m no’ kenned for the parties I throw—more likely to go out and find one, aye? But if Idoever throw one and the man is on the guestlist, I’ll make sure ye’re…” Lazily he blew a smoke ring. “I dinnae ken, serving canapes or playing in the orchestra or something.”
She considered the offer. Would serving Father a stuffed mushroom or a glass of champagne really be what she wanted? It would allow her to observe him, to determine if shewantedto get to know him better. It was doubtful he’d recognize heroracknowledge her, but…
Mother had told her it was useless to try. In fact, Mother had done her best to discourage Kit’s scheme altogether.
But six months ago, all the papers had been full of Father’s name, and Kit had been struck with theneedto learn more about the man who’d sired her, then left her and her mother.He’d settled into his new estate and was making plans to find a young, fertile wife.
And before that happened, Kit wanted to look into the man’s eyes and find the answers which had haunted her for years.
Who was he? Who wasshe?
And why hadn’t he loved her enough to stay?
Thorne had slid lower in his seat, the cigar’s ash dropping into a tray on the table, his eyes half closed. With languid movements, his other hand stacked behind his head, he considered the frieze at the top of the wall.
“I dinnae have any by-blows, as far as I’m aware. Quite good at preventing that sort of thing.” He wasn’t mumbling, but he sounded as if those three glasses of whisky were catching up to him. “But I’d like to meet them, if I had any. Always wanted children.”
Kit’s brows rose. “Then why fight against marriage?”
He shot her a surprised look, still slumped in his seat. “It’s no’ that I dinnae want a marriage. I just want one on my terms. My parents were happily married, my friends are all deliriously in love—I take credit for at least three of those marriages, by the way.”
Realization dawned. “You’re aromantic?”
He scoffed and lifted the cigar. “Dinnae expect me to huff and posture and deny it, laddie. I want love, not an arrangement. Nae matter what the world might try to tell ye, it does no’ weaken a man to admit he believes in love, and wants the kind of happiness a healthy, equal marriage can bring.”
She hummed. “But not with a Society woman?”
“I dinnae want to marry a woman who only wants a duke. I want a wife who wantsme,who seesme.”His gaze flicked toward her lips, then away. “I could be happy with any number of people, Kit.”
Ah. He thought her a male, after all, and was hedging hisbets. She decided to set him at ease. “I’ve never known a marriage to be anything but heartache, my lord, so you’ll not catch me proponing it.”
“Then I’m sorry, lad,” he muttered, studying the tip of his cigar.
