Page 58 of The Duke of Lies
She nodded slightly. “I know.”
He could feel her tension across the space between them but didn’t dare move closer. She might throw him out in a few minutes.
“I should start at the beginning,” he said. “With my parents—John and Helena Powell. John was a vicar in Poulton. I grew up spending much of my time watching the men who worked at the docks on the River Wyre. And of course the ships that came in bearing goods. That is where I became enamored of ships and the sea.”
“Were you actually conscripted?” she asked.
“No. I went of my own accord when I was fifteen.”
She gasped softly. “So young.”
“Not as young as others.”
“Were you in the navy, then?”
His lips curved into a slight smile. “In a manner of speaking. I carried letters of marque.”
Her expression reflected surprise again, but along with something else. Perhaps just a glimmer of admiration. “That sounds dangerous. Did you enjoy it?”
“Probably more than a man should. It was so different from the vicarage where I was raised. But I wanted that. Especially after my mother died.”
“How old were you?” she asked softly.
“Eight. It wrecked my father. She died in childbirth—it was her fifth attempt to bring a child into the world. All of them failed.”
“Except for you.”
He shook his head. “I was not their blood. I was given to them to raise.”
Another flash of surprise in her gaze. “Why?”
This next revelation would only deepen her shock. Of that he was certain. “Because I was a bastard. Augustus Beaumont’s bastard, to be specific.”
Verity gasped and lifted her hand to her mouth. “That’s why you look so much like Rufus.”
“It’s a bit more than that, actually. Rufus was my cousin, yes, but he was also my half brother. I am the product of his mother and his uncle—a child conceived in adultery and sent away in shame.”
Her jaw dropped. “I’m so sorry.”
Kit longed to stand and pace, to release some of the pent-up energy coursing through him. But she was utterly fixed on him, and he didn’t want to move. “When I was thirteen, the duke—Augustus—requested my presence. His wife had died several months prior, and he only had three daughters, all of whom had married. He wanted to meet the son he’d sired.”
“You camehere?”
“For a summer.” He rubbed his palms along his thighs as he spoke. “The vicar was reluctant to let me come, but one didn’t say no to a duke, particularly when that duke was your child’s blood father and had provided for his care.”
“I’m not surprised to hear Augustus cared for you,” she said, allowing a smile to trip across her lips. “He was a kind man.”
Kit’s muscles tightened and his lip curled. “He was a selfish prick.”
Verity started at the vehemence in his tone. “Why do you say that? He was always kind to me.”
“I’m glad for you, but he wasn’t that way to me. He invited me here and showed me the life I could’ve had if I’d been born on the right side of the blanket. He promised to send me to school and to secure my future. I asked if I could stay—anywhere—on the estate. I didn’t care where or in what capacity, I just wanted to be a part of this place, of this history, of my birthright.” He looked toward the window. “He said his new wife would arrive in the fall, and she didn’t want his bastard around. I learned from Whist actually that she had two sons of her own and was still of childbearing age. Augustus hoped to sire his own heir, and as you know, he did.”
Her jaw dropped. “You met Whist?”
He nodded, returning his gaze to hers. “I worried he would recognize me, but thankfully, my resemblance to Rufus is apparently strong enough.”
“It’s rather uncanny, really. But now that I know the truth, I see the subtle differences.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why Augustus invited you here. Did he mean to taunt you? That doesn’t sound like the Augustus I knew.”
