Page 31 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
“I … made love to a lady,” he whispered. “I was lonely, mourning that my chance with you had gone, and she looked like you … just a little.” He hesitated. “I regretted it the next day. But that one encounter had far-reaching consequences. Three weeks later, she arrived on my doorstep, claiming that she was with child …”
Hetty gasped, her head reeling. “What?”
He took a deep, ragged breath. “It was true. I was not in a position to marry her any more than I was in a position to marry you, but I set her up in that cottage that you just asked me about.” He paused. “I told her I would marry her when I was able to. She spent her confinement there, but she was not happy.”
Hetty was silent. She simply did not know what to say.
“She gave birth to my son, Benjamin, there,” he continued quietly. “But she did not believe me when I told her I intended to marry her when I could. She grew bitter, claiming that I was toying with her.” He paused. “One day, when our son was only months old, she disappeared, abandoning him.”
He gazed out towards the cottage with eyes full of sorrow. “Ben is the light of my life,” he said quietly. “I would never abandon him like his mother has. I can never legitimise him, now, but he is still my son, and always shall be. He lives with me here, at the manor.”
“You have an illegitimate child, who lives with you?” Her voice was thready.
He nodded. “Yes, I do. And I do not resent it, for it would mean that I regret his existence, which is impossible.” He hesitated. “When I heard that you had been deserted, Hetty, I seized my chance to court you. You must believe that it has always been you. You are the only woman that I have ever loved, or shall ever love …”
His voice was fading in and out, now. She staggered a little. He reached out to support her, but she snatched her arm away, quite violently.
“So that is what this has all been about,” she said, her voice bitter. “You need a mother for your illegitimate child. A disgraced, abandoned wife would not be fussy, would she? She would accept anything, and be grateful for it …”
“No,” he moaned, in agony. “No. I love you. I loveyou, body and soul. It was never about that.” His eyes pleaded with her. “I do not care if you are disgraced, Hetty. I would love you still, if the whole world rose up condemning me for it. I would still choose you, and it is not because I need a mother for my son …”
But she wasn’t listening to him, anymore. A fury had risen in her chest, so deep that she could barely contain it.
She knew he had been hiding something from her. And all of these mincing words about love, and the fact that he had always wanted her, were just lies. She should have known. She should never have opened up to him at all. She should never have let him hold her and kiss her, and do all those other things.
She should never have fallen in love with him.
Because she knew, at that moment, that she had. She had fallen hook,line, and sinker. She had been fighting it for so long that she had not been able to even admit it to herself. Desperately trying not to look out the window for him when he was about to return to Hillsworth House. Desperately trying to thwart her body’s traitorous reaction to him. Trying so hard to keep her dignity and self-respect, after another man had trampled all over them.
She took off, running, down the path, back towards the house, desperate to get away from him. She heard him call her name but ignored it. It was imperative that she escape.
She flew past her mother, who gazed at her, shocked. But she didn’t stop to reassure her. Tears were already blinding her vision, and she could not have talked without sobbing, anyway.
And now she knew that she had not imagined that child’s laugh in the hallway. It had belonged to his son. His illegitimate son that he had been hiding from her this whole time.
All men were liars. She didn’t know why she had ever forgotten it.
Chapter 14
Hetty tore into the chamber that she was staying in, slamming the door behind her. The door thumped so loudly that a painting hanging on a wall adjacent to it suddenly crashed to the floor, lying awkwardly on the ground.
She stared at the painting, appalled that she might have inadvertently damaged it. Hastily, she picked it up. It was still in one piece, without a scratch on it. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she hung it back where it had been, her hands shaking as she adjusted it.
She was too upset and needed to calm down.
The tears that she had been holding at bay started to fall. Her hands in her face, she sobbed for a full minute, letting out all of her shock and sorrow. Eventually, she calmed down, just a little, enough to breathe easier.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring out the window at the grounds beyond. Why had he even brought her here? Had it been with the intention of telling her about his illegitimate son?
It was too much. The fact was, he had a bastard son, who he was raising in this house. If she were ever in a position to marry him, she must take that child on, as well. His morality, the essence of who he was, was murky, now.
He had told her that it had only been one time, that he had made love to the child’s mother, and that he instantly regretted it. But how did she know if that was true? How did she know that the lady was not actually his mistress that he had been keeping the whole time? How did she know that he didn’t have a string of them scattered around the countryside?
She took a deep breath. He was probably a lothario, a womaniser, who charmed the ladies and had his way with them, just like Frank. A man with no morals in that regard. How could she trust that he had told her the whole truth and had not coloured it, tweaked it, to make himself look better? Had the child’s mother actually abandoned the Duke and her child, or had he cast her off? He had told her that he intended to do the honourable thing and marry the lady, but he never had.
She took a deep breath. And the fact was he had a child. A child that she would be morally responsible for if she married him. A bastard child. How could she take on such a thing, especially with what she had just discovered, about Frank? How could he even ask it of her?
A mistress. A bastard child. It was all sounding too similar.
