Page 32 of The Duchess in His Bed
“I thought as much when I caught sight of you leaving.”
Yet, still you followed, denying me the peace I sought.
He glanced around. “As I understand it, a good bit of your husband’s holdings will go to the Treasury.”
“Possibly.”
He jerked his head back around so quickly to stare at her that she thought she might have heard the clack of his bones. “Are you with child then?”
“That’s hardly an appropriate question at a time such as this, my lord.”
“Quite right. Regardless, you are a young and beautiful woman. I doubt you fancy the notion of a life alone and without comfort.”
Oh dear Lord. Was he honestly on the verge of making a pitch at this precise moment under these trying circumstances that she consider marrying his heir? Viscount Wyeth, at eight and twenty, was nearer to her age than Lushing had been and was quite the charmer—
“Perhaps you would not mind if I called upon you.”
Had she been standing, she’d have staggered back by the forthrightness of his statement and its implication. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are the most gorgeous woman in all of England. It would be a shame for such beauty to be spent cloistered away.”
She had a strong desire to smack him for focusing only on her prettiness, recalling how Aiden had thoroughly kissed her without knowing her precise appearance. Her words came out curt with disapproval. “I am in mourning.”
“Two years is an ungodly amount of time to go without the comfort of a man. I can be most discreet.”
“You’re married,” she pointed out succinctly, bristling with the knowledge that he would be so incredibly discourteous and disrespectful of his countess. Did he truly believe that Selena would think he would treat her any differently after a time?
“My wife and I have an understanding.” He took the liberty of sitting on the bench beside her. She shot to her feet, unwilling to offer him any encouragement in his pursuit of her. He grinned. Something about that grin was familiar and yet not. “You are a widow, free of societal restraints.”
“I’m not in the market to be your mistress.”
“The role would be temporary—until your mourning period is done with. Then I would take you to wife.”
“You have a wife,” she reminded him again, horrified that he was engaging her in this ridiculous conversation.
“One who is aging, not as vivacious as she once was. I doubt she is long for this world.”
Stunned, she floundered around for some retort. “She appears perfectly healthy to me, and I daresay I find her most vivacious.” Especially when defending the innocence of babes born in sin.
“Looks can be deceiving.” He rose to his full height, no doubt striving to intimidate. “I meant no offense. I simply wanted to assure you that if you allowed me to call on you, to offer you comfort during your hour of need, that my intentions would be honorable. If you do not deliver an heir after seven years of marriage, no lord in need of one will take you to wife. I am not in need of one.”
Her mind was stuttering with his implication that she was doomed to spend the remainder of her life alone, unless she accepted his offer. She was well aware that her current course could be futile, that she might be unable to conceive—that the fault for Lushing’s absence of an heir rested with her. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to accept defeat, not when so much was at stake. She could do little more than stare at this smug man who had, intentionally or not, struck a blow to her confidence.
“Duchess?”
Glancing over, she was grateful to see the Duke of Thornley standing within the curve of the path, having just emerged from behind the hedgerows. Or at least she hoped he’d only just arrived. She wondered how much he might have heard. “I was in need of some fresh air.”
Thornley looked from her to Elverton, back to her. “I can’t say as I blame you. Lushing was beloved by a good many. Still I think even he would have been surprised by the number of mourners who turned out today.” He ambled over to her, placing himself between her and the earl, effectively creating a barrier between them. “Elverton.”
“Thornley. I was just offering my condolences to the duchess on her loss.”
“I’ve no doubt she was comforted by your words. If you’ll excuse us, I wish to do the same—in private.”
“Of course.” Elverton bowed his head toward her. “Should you need anything at all, I am at your service.”
An offer she would ignore. Angling her chin haughtily, she met his gaze. “In case I don’t get a chance, please relay to your countess how very much I appreciated her presence today.”
He twisted his lips into an ironic smile, and once more she was hit with a sense of familiarity. Perhaps she’d seen a similar smile on Viscount Wyeth during one of the many times they’d danced. Finally, Elverton walked away, and the tension within her eased.
