Page 20 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
She was simply everything that he had ever desired in a woman.
He refilled his glass, sitting down in an armchair. He had taken the documents, lodging her application for a divorce, to the Ecclesiastical court himself. But he had heard nothing since. Even as a peer of the realm, taking an interest, it was not a sure-fire thing that it would even proceed to court. There might be a letter, any day, saying that they would not even consider it.
He sipped the drink, feeling low about the chances. The law was always in favour of the man. That was how it was set up. Just because Frank Blackmore had blatantly deserted her, did not mean that the court would think it enough reason to consider divorce.
Even if the man was openly living with another woman, it still might not be enough. The court had a very broad-minded attitude towards the infidelity of men. They were rather less forgiving if it was proved that a woman had been unfaithful.
He grimaced. Hetty didn’t know why her husband had deserted her. He had only told her he had been having cold feet in the months leading up to the wedding and could not commit to the marriage. The man had planned it, though. He had sold their house a week before the wedding. He had intended to desert her.
Rage built up in his chest, thinking about the cad, and what he had done to her. How he had devastated her. Hetty was like a wounded bird, desperately trying to hide her pain, closing up whenever anybody tried to get close.
At first, he had assumed that she must have been in love with him, which had been hard enough to deal with. But she had told him, just the other day, that it had never been a love match. Frank Blackmore had not been in love with her, and she had not been in love with him.
She had also told him that she didn’t believe in love.
It had killed him to hear her utter those words so calmly. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her so much. But he knew that it was too soon. If he told her now, she would take fright. She wouldn’t believe it, nor would she accept it. Her father had already taken him aside saying that she had wanted to join a convent, such was her desire to escape the world and her pain.
He couldn’t imagine her as a nun. What a waste of a woman.
His loins stirred. A woman like that was made to be touched by a man. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like to slowly undress her, to see the lines of her body. This fantasy had been tantalising him since the very first moment he had walked into the drawing room at Hillsworth House, and saw her again, after all these years.
He knew that she was attracted to him, although she tried very hard to hide it. It was there, in the sudden dilation of her pupils when they accidentally brushed against each other. It was there, in the way she trembled when he was close to her. He longed to kiss her, to claim those soft, full lips for his own, but he had not dared yet. The last thing he wanted to do was panic her, making her retreat into her shell, any further.
He downed the rest of the whisky. He was so eager for her, to make her his own, that he was almost on a trigger point of frustration. But he knew that the only thing that was going to win the day for him was patience. He had to wait for her to open her heart and for word from the court, as well.
He stared into his empty glass, morose, for a moment. Even if he could get her to open her heart to him, they might never have the chance to marry. He knew by now that Hetty was a fiercely moral woman. There would be no chance, at all, that she would consider any arrangement with him that was not a legal marriage. She would not consent to become his mistress. Nor would he ever put her in that position.
If the application for a divorce were not successful, then all would be lost.
There was a soft knock on the study door. He roused himself, placing the glass on the side table. “Come in.”
The door opened. Benjamin was standing there, holding the hand ofhis nanny, Mrs Friel. His boy. His golden curls shone like a halo around his head, and his green eyes, exactly the same colour as his own, were bright.
“Papa,” he said, suddenly letting go of the woman’s hand and running towards him.
“How is my boy?” he cried, scooping him up and hugging him fiercely. “Have you been good for Mrs Friel, while I have been gone?”
The boy nodded solemnly, suddenly absorbed in the buttons of his jacket, twisting them around with his chubby fingers.
“I apologise for the disturbance, Your Grace,” said Mrs Friel. “But the little one saw you arrive from the nursery window, and he was ever so keen to come and see you.”
“It is no disturbance.” Louis smiled, kissing the top of his son’s head. “I was just about to come up to the nursery, anyway.” He paused, staring at the older woman. “How has he been?”
“Very well, Your Grace,” said the nanny, smiling calmly. “He had a slight sniffle the day before yesterday, but he is as right as rain now. We have been going on long walks around the estate. He is very eager to go to the stables and pet the horses.”
“That’s my boy,” said Louis, gazing at his son. “You will be a fine horseman, just like Papa, one day. But you must be very careful around the horses now, Benjamin. You are not old enough to begin riding lessons, quite yet.”
The boy nodded again, staring at him intently. “Papa stay home?”
Louis’s heart contracted. “I always come home, do I not, Ben? But Papa is a busy man and often must be away. It is just the way of it.”
He shifted, a little guiltily, in his chair. If he had his way, he would be in constant residence at Warwick Manor, spending time with his son. But he had to keep going back to Hillsworth House, at the moment. If he didn’t keep trying with Hetty, he would never win her heart.
She was a bit suspicious about why he abruptly left her home the way that he did. He hadn’t even realised that his eagerness to see his son was so apparent when he left her. When she had questioned him about his business the other day, it had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her about Benjamin. But something had stopped him, yet again.
He sincerely had no idea how she would take the news that he had an illegitimate child, who he was committed to raising. A small voice in his head insisted that the longer he delayed in telling her, the worse it might become. But he would always brush it aside, telling himself that he was just waiting for the right moment. The moment when he had won her trust enough that she would accept the news.
He stirred uneasily again. Hetty was a deeply moral woman. She had been seriously considering joining a nunnery. She might not be understanding, at all, about the fact he had fathered a bastard. Nor that he was raising the child. Would she be so conventional that she would not be able to tolerate it, at all?
