Page 11 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
He had tried to forget her, for the moment, at least. For starters, with the duchy in such a woeful state, he was in no position to seriously court any lady for marriage. Nor did he have the time, while he investigated various investments, and other schemes, that would build back his wealth, without having to resort to selling off pieces of the estate. That was what he told himself, at least. When he had done so, he would find Miss Henrietta Arnold and pursue her relentlessly.
He did not doubt that she was the woman who would become his duchess. It was ridiculous, ludicrous, to have this certainty, on so short an acquaintance. He had barely spoken to her, after all. And yet, his certainty and feelings for her grew, rather than dissipated, as time passed by. He had heard of love at first sight but never believed it before. Now, he knew that it was true.
He put his head down and worked hard to get the duchy in a good position. He had a clear goal, now. Once he had built his wealth, he could woo her and put in an offer for her hand. But one investment that was promised to be a sure-fire winner, in wool manufacturing, turned sour. He was still a long way from being able to offer for her.
And then, on the grapevine, he heard that she had become engaged.
It was an awful day. His despair was absolute. How could he have not seen that this might happen? He had been waiting to woo her until he was financially solvent again, but he had waited too long. Now, she was promised to another. He had missed his chance.
That night, he had attended a grand function, while in London. The champagne had flowed freely, and in his melancholy, he had overindulged, just a bit. Suddenly, he spotted a lady through the crowd. For a moment, he had thought it was her. It was only when he got closer that he realised it wasn’t. The lady resembled her, in colouring and build, but she did not have the same luminous beauty.
But he was in his cups, and melancholy, thinking he had lost her forever. He was lonely. And the ladydidlook like her, quite a bit. Her name was Miss Rachel Carter. He shouldn’t have done it, but he did.
It took only one night for his life to change forever.
In the gardens of the estate, he took her, hard and fast, against a wall. Rachel was as eager as he was, and a passionate woman, biting and scratching. She most certainly wasn’t a maiden. In fact, he was sure she had done this quite a few times before.
The next day, with a painful headache, he had regretted his lack of self-control. But he had been in extremis, after all. Everyone made mistakes. Best to just chalk it up to experience, and try to forget about it, entirely.
Except he couldn’t forget about it. Because three weeks later, when he was back at Warwick Manor, in Hampshire, she had suddenly shown up on his doorstep, tearfully claiming that she was with child.
She could have been lying, of course. But what was a gentleman to do? She claimed that she was carrying his child. He set her up in a small house, close to the estate. He was in no position to marry her yet, but he could modestly support her in secrecy, for the duration of her confinement. He knew that he was as trapped as a mouse in a cage.
The dream was well and truly dead. Henrietta Arnold, the woman he had so inexplicably fallen in love with at first sight, was taken, promised to another. And now, the woman he had made love to because of her resemblance to Henrietta, was carrying his child. He was honour bound to marry her when he was able to do so.
Rachel, however, was not happy with the arrangement. She felt as if she was being shunted off, hidden away. She did not believe himwhen he told her he would marry her one day, but that she must be patient.
She bitterly told him that he was a cad, who had taken his pleasure, and now she was being forced to give birth to his bastard. She tearfully claimed that she had been an innocent maiden when he had taken her and that she had been powerless to resist his onslaught, even though she had wanted to.
Lies. All lies. For as the months progressed, and Rachel’s belly swelled with the child, he heard the rumours about her. Miss Rachel Carter made a habit of sleeping with noblemen, hoping to snag one. He was only one in a long line of titled gentlemen.
But still, heintendedto marry her, when he could. He didn’t love her, but he would do the right thing by her. That was his pledge.
His son Benjamin arrived early, howling into the world. The moment that he had held the tiny boy in his arms, he had been smitten. A fierce love had engulfed him, and he worked harder, determined that he would legitimise him. He told Rachel that he was very close to being able to marry her.
But as the months passed, and Benjamin grew into a smiling, chubby delight, she became less convinced of his desire to do the right thing by her. She harped at him, all the time when he came to visit them. When was he going to make an honest woman of her? Hadn’t she borne him a fine son? She barely acknowledged the boy, promptly handing him over to the wet nurse.
He should have known what was coming. But it had hit him like a sledgehammer, on the day, when he was informed that Miss Rachel Carter had packed her belongings and disappeared into the night, leaving her four-month-old son behind.
He searched for her, desperately. How could a mother abandon her child, as she had? But the truth of it slowly made itself clear: Rachel Carter only wanted the title. She did not care a jot for her son, or him, for that matter. He had never once deluded himself that he was in love with her, or she with him, but still, he had hoped that one day they might become a family, for the sake of their son.
And so, he had cared for Benjamin, ever since. The boy was illegitimate, but he was still his son, and he loved him dearly. He would never inherit the title now, of course. But Louis fiercely protected him, bringing him up in fine style. Six months after Rachel fled, a few of his investments finally came through, and the duchy’s coffers swelled once more. Now, he was one of the wealthiest men in Hampshire.
He had never forgotten Henrietta, of course. But he knew that he had lost her. He had missed his chance, and it was just something he must live with.
It was only a week ago, that word had filtered through to him, that she had been abandoned by her new husband, the day after her wedding. The rake had sold their home without her knowledge, forcing her to return to her parents’ home. Benjamin had just turned two years old.
It was as if a light had suddenly come into the room. He had a chance again to claim her. A slim chance, but a chance, nonetheless. She was still legally a married woman, but they could procure a divorce for her in some way, surely?
He had acted immediately. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. And now, he was wealthy and could afford to marry her.
He just didn’t know how he was going to tell her that he had an illegitimate son, and what she would think of him when she found out.
***
She kept staring at him incredulously. And suddenly, he remembered that he had lied when he had introduced himself to her, all those years ago. The lark, to pretend to be a commoner. He had simply forgotten all about it.
Mr Arnold cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Your Grace. I am sorry that we have kept you waiting. We were just about to come to you …”
