Page 97 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
His mum assured him the tiny bird had already been ill, too weak. Probably the reason it had been tossed from the nest. He’d wondered if he’d been ill as well when he was born. If that was the reason he’d been unwanted. He’d always been searching for a reason until he finally acceptedhewas the reason, he and the circumstances of his birth.
And this woman smiling softly at him, this woman whose husband didn’t want her to know of his unfaithfulness. He had never met, never seen, the Duchess of Hedley, but he’d wager every penny in his possession he was looking at her now.
The woman had refused Aslyn’s request to invite him to dinner, the woman who no doubt was partially responsible for Hedley not granting him permission to call on Aslyn. He was determined she would not see garbage when she looked at him. He held himself a bit straighter, met her curious gaze with an unwavering one of his own.
“Are you here to see someone?” she asked, her voice lyrical and soft, and he could imagine her singing lullabies to her son.
“I’m here to call on Lady Aslyn, Your Grace.”
She stopped walking, studied him as though he were an enigma to be deciphered. “And you are?”
“Mick Trewlove.”
Her smile withered. She paled as though she’d seen a ghost. “The bastard.”
Her pronouncement grated, as though he were no more than the sum of that word. Perhaps once he had been, perhaps once it had defined him. But when he looked at himself through Aslyn’s eyes, he realized he was so much more. “I’m the man who loves Lady Aslyn Hastings with all his heart. I’m the man who will wed her if she will have him.”
He heard the gasp, looked to the side and saw Aslyn standing at the foot of the stairs, her hand covering her mouth. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a packet of papers and took a step toward her. “The deeds, the markers, they’re yours, no strings attached. Return them to Kipwick, burn them. I don’t care. I won’t ruin him. I don’t need an acknowledgment. All I need is you.”
Slowly, suspiciously, as though she had years to do so, she reached out and took the packet from him.
“I want you to know—”
“You’re the bastard,” the duchess interrupted as though he were not in the process of laying his heart bare.
With a deep sigh, he turned back to her. “Yes, madam. I’m a bastard.”
She shook her head. “Not a bastard.Thebastard.”
As though there were only one in the entirety of Britain. “If you wish.”
“My God. You’rehisson.”
With a single affirmation he could bring Hedley to his knees, could destroy his relationship with his duchess. A month ago he’d have done it without hesitation. A month ago he hadn’t been the man he was at that moment, one who understood a man put the welfare and well-being of the woman he loved above all else. He would not shove this little bird from the nest. The circumstances surrounding his birth no longer mattered. All that mattered was Aslyn. “No, madam, you’re mistaken.”
Tears welling in her eyes, she shook her head. “I have gazed into those blue eyes for thirty-three years.” Reaching up, she touched his chin with trembling fingers. “I have kissed that dimple a thousand times. More.”
“I assure you, madam, I am not his son.”
“Bella!” the duke shouted as he ran into the large foyer, panic clearly written on his face, horror reflected in blue eyes that so mirrored Mick’s in shade.
With a hand covering her mouth, she turned to him. “The bastard is your son.”
“No, my love.”
“For God’s sake, don’t lie to her,” Kipwick stated emphatically as he staggered to a stop behind the duke. “Not when the proof stands right there. She’s not daft, and she has a right to know you were unfaithful, that you sired a by-blow.”
Shaking his head, slowly the duke crept toward her, as though she were a skittish filly that would dash off, his outstretched hand imploring. “Bella—”
“Itishim, isn’t it? The one you took away.”
“Darling.” The answer was there in his eyes, in his shaking hand.
She released a heart-wrenching sob. “My God, Hedley, I was wrong. All those years ago I gave birth toyourson.”
Chapter 22
Mick was so stunned by the duchess’s revelation he very nearly missed the fact that she was sinking to the floor in a faint. Dropping his hat, he swept her up into his arms. She was as light as a willow branch.
