Page 96 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
She would probably give him the same answer Hedley had. No.
“I can vouch for your compromising of her,” Aiden said. “Threaten to ruin her reputation, and Hedley is bound to come around.”
Mick glared at him. “Say that again, out loud or to another soul, and I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp.”
Aiden’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “I thought bedding her and not wedding her was part of your plan to bring Hedley to heel, to threaten him with scandals involving his heir and his ward if he didn’t acknowledge you.”
“But then he went and fell in love,” Beast said, and Mick had a strong urge to warn him off as he had Aiden, only he’d never been able to best Beast when it came to fisticuffs.
“What makes you say that?” Finn asked.
Beast shrugged. “You had only to look at him the night he introduced her to us to see he was well on his way to falling.”
Aiden gave a quick bark of laughter. “To be quite honest, I was too busy ogling her—”
Mick’s fist struck Aiden’s jaw hard and quick, nearly toppling his brother out of his chair.
Aiden righted himself, rubbed his jaw and grinned. “Bloody hell, Beast has the right of it. You’re in love. You’re not going to use her to force Hedley into acknowledging you.”
He would never use her. No matter how much she enraged him with the accusations she tossed at him—rightfully deserved. No matter that she’d walked out. No matter that she’d continued walking without speaking a word to him until she’d located a damned hansom. No matter that when just before she’d climbed into the cab she had looked at him with such sadness and disappointment that he’d felt for the first time in his life that he did indeed belong in the gutter. “I don’t want the bloody acknowledgment. I want her.”
“She’s nobility,” Finn said quietly. “You’re a bastard.”
Only that difference hadn’t mattered to Aslyn. It hadn’t existed when they kissed. In his bed, they’d been equals in standing. No, never equals. In his eyes, she would always be elevated, a goddess. When he was with her, talking with her, when she smiled at him, he was more than the circumstances of his birth. With her he was more whole, more complete than he’d ever been in the entirety of his life.
And he’d been willing to throw it away for something that in the end meant nothing at all.
The following afternoon, Hedley stared at the calling card his butler had handed him. “What the devil is he doing here?”
“Who, Father?” Kipwick asked. They’d been discussing how best to handle this mess with Trewlove.
“I can’t say, Your Grace. Mr. Trewlove said only that he required an audience with Lady Aslyn, but I thought you should know,” Worsted said with a sniff and an upturning of his nose. “I’m not certain he’s the proper sort for her.”
Hedley jerked his gaze up to the man who had served him loyally for more than a quarter of a century. “Where is he?”
“I left him to wait in the foyer.”
Panic gushed through him, his heart slammed against his ribs as the clock on the mantel struck the hour of two, the hour when every afternoon he and Bella took a stroll through the gardens. “No.”
He surged to his feet.
“Father?” Kipwick asked.
“He can’t be here now. Not now.” Then he was dashing from the room, his heir close on his heels.
Mick stood in the foyer, hat in hand, staring at the various black veins that ran through the mostly white marble floor. He refused to look at the portraits covering the walls, portraits of those to whom—despite Hedley’s words—he was certain he was related.
He’d always envisioned walking into this residence, taking in its grandeur, and being filled with the wonder of knowing he had come from a lineage that had managed, through the centuries, to build something to be envied, something of such magnificence that it was admired throughout Great Britain. From the moment he’d discovered the bones in the garden and the truth about himself, it all seemed to matter so much. Knowing that a part of him was associated with all this had meant everything.
Now the only thing that mattered was Aslyn. He’d had thirty-seven hours, thirty-three—he checked his watch—thirty-five minutes without her in his life, and he’d never known such desperation. She was like the fresh air he’d breathed when, as a small lad, he exited a chimney, the blue cloudless sky when he emerged from the darkness.
He knew there was a good chance she would send him packing, would refuse to see him—but he was not going to give up easily. He’d wooed her before, and while she may have thought there was no truth, no honesty in any of it, from the moment he’d gazed into her eyes at Cremorne, he’d never lied to her. He may have used some questionable tactics to ensure they crossed paths, but he’d never once not been candid with her regarding his feelings for her. If it took him the remainder of his life, he would convince her that every moment with her had been a true, sincere and authentic one.
And if she would not see him today, he would return tomorrow. If Hedley had him forcefully removed, he would return tomorrow. If Kipwick beat him to within an inch of his life, he would return tomorrow. As long as he had breath in him—
“Hello.”
Only then was he aware of the light footsteps. He lifted his gaze. The woman who approached was so slight he wondered how she managed to carry herself with such elegance. She reminded him of a fledging bird he’d once found that had fallen from the nest. Carefully he’d climbed the tree and placed it back inside with its siblings, only to descend to the ground and watch as the mother bird—or perhaps the father, he really didn’t know—had worked to shove it back out of the nest. He’d taken it home, nursed it with drops of milk, wrapped it in a handkerchief, sought to keep it warm, but it had eventually succumbed to death, no doubt its heart broken with the abandonment of its parents.
