Page 49 of The Duchess in His Bed
“I saw you at Lady Aslyn’s wedding. I thought you pleasing to the eye. And I liked your smile.”
“You haven’t very high standards.”
A corner of her mouth twitched, and he cursed himself for wanting to see her smile fully. “Rumors are that your father is nobility, so I thought at least my child would have noble blood in his veins, even if he wasn’t Lushing’s. But then I came to like you—immensely—and it seemed wrong to take what you had no desire to give.”
“Why not just ask me?”
“The fewer people who know, the better a secret is kept.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
“To be quite honest, Mr. Trewlove, I was ashamed of the circumstances that brought me to your establishment.”
“We’ve fucked, sweetheart.” She flinched as though he’d struck her. He might have taken pity on her if his shoulder wasn’t still aching and his wrists weren’t bothering him. “I know the taste of that pink valley between your thighs. I don’t think we need to be so formal.”
“Must you be so crude? It makes you most unattractive.”
He should apologize. He knew it. His mother would take a switch to his backside if she ever learned of the manner in which he’d spoken to the lady. But his pride was a beastly thing, and her reasons for wanting him had bruised it considerably so the words of apology clogged his throat, refusing to be uttered.
He shoved himself out of the chair, strode to the fireplace, and stared into the cold, empty hearth. In spite of his upbringing, the kindness of his mum, it was in his veins to be crude, unkind, selfish. “Elverton.”
The word came out hard, bitter, leaving a vile taste on his tongue.
“I suppose I could accept his offer to rescue me,” she said quietly. “How did you even know of it?”
He jerked his head around to glare at her. Over his dead body would she take anything from the man who had sired him. “He made you an offer?”
Her laughter was harsh, filled with loathing. “Yesterday morning, in the garden, following the funeral. Initially, I thought he was proposing I wed his son, but then it became clear he was referring to himself as a potential suitor.”
“He has a wife.”
“So I pointed out to him, but he didn’t seem to think that was a cause for concern. He hinted she might not be around much longer. Made me wonder if perhaps she was ill.”
He wouldn’t put it past his sire to find a way to dispose of his countess. “Do you fancy him?”
Her look of abject horror brought him a measure of peace. “Absolutely not. He is more than twice my age.”
“He has the influence you seek.”
She sighed, the sound echoing her despair. “And he does not require an heir, which he reassured me was to the benefit of my barren womb.”
Had his father truly been so grotesque as to make his proposition in such an unflattering manner? “He sired me.”
Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parted. She blinked, stared at him, blinked again. Angled her head. Squinted. Finally her face relaxed. “I can see it now. In the cut of your square jaw, the patrician sharpness of your nose, the depth of your brow. It’s your eyes that threw me off. They’re not as harsh as his—which they no doubt should be as you’ve had a much harder life.”
Because of his heritage, because of the legacy his vile father had handed down to him, which was no legacy at all, just being allocated to the rubbish heap, he had a strong urge to strike something. He’d never felt so tainted, so cursed by his origins. “If I were to get you with child, it would be his blood coursing through the babe.”
She smiled wistfully. “No, it would be yours.”
Not much liking the way her words called to his pride, he gave his attention back to the hearth. Was he seriously considering striving to give her what she desired? Then what was he to do? Watch her walk out of his life? He’d always known his time with her would be brief. Would two or three more weeks of passion and a jolly good time be enough to last him a lifetime?
“Your son would be a duke,” she said with a measure of guilt coupled with an urging he understand all she was offering him. “He would hold within his hands what most men can only dream of and never attain: land, wealth, power. None of Lushing’s properties are in a state of disrepair. His ducal estate is the envy of other lords. Your son would walk those hallowed halls. He would attend the finest of schools, receive the best education. He would want for nothing. He would be ranked above your father, seated ahead of him at tables. You relish the fact that you have more power in your world than your father has in his. In your father’s world, your son would hold more power. What an incredible dodge that would be to pull off, wouldn’t it? The idea must appeal to the swindler in you, surely.”
My son would be a duke.He could never offer any son he claimed that prestige, that influence. But hidden in shadows, with a series of clandestine trysts, with secrets held close, he could give the fruit of his loins a dukedom. Power, authority. His boy, when grown, would sit in the House of Lords. While he could never publicly boast about his child, while he’d be relegated to being an observer in his son’s life, deep down he’d know he was responsible for all his son would acquire and accomplish. His son would outrank the Earl of Elverton. But even that, Aiden wouldn’t be able to toss in the old goat’s face.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned and faced her. “You don’t think people will question the lad not looking like your deceased husband?”
“Lushing’s eyes were brown, as was his hair. While the similarities between you may end there, years from now people are not going to recall precisely what Lushing looked like. I doubt anyone will gaze closely at his portraits in order to make a comparison. Besides, I suspect not every family of thetonis completely pure of blood. And he will have the duke’s name to protect him.”
