Page 50 of The Duchess in His Bed
“I cannot guarantee you a male.”
“As I mentioned, my giving birth to a daughter is not completely without advantages.”
He would be giving Selena the means to marry another man of influence—because his wasn’t enough. “So you’re proposing I plant the seed and walk away.”
Her gaze held his, although he could see the struggle in the tightening of her features. “Not necessarily. We could continue to see each other, remain lovers, discreetly of course. You might be able to see your son—or daughter—on occasion, but it would be imperative that the child never learn that you’re the father. I wouldn’t want to burden him, or her, with our deception.”
Discreet. Burden. Deception.Those words slammed into him as though they were delivered with a cudgel. Even as he understood the truth of them, the necessity of keeping their relationship to the shadows.
“I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, but we have to protect the child at all cost,” she continued into his silence.
Yet in the incredibly short time they’d been together, she’d never actually been seen with him, at least not without the mask. No one, other than her driver, knew she’d been with him, and he wasn’t even certain her driver knew who he was.
“Perhaps I could offer you a bit more in return.” Her tone was hesitant, no doubt because he still held his silence.
He narrowed his eyes. She eased up to the edge of her chair.
“My dower property. I couldn’t give it to you outright, but I could bequeath it to you, so it becomes yours upon my death.”
He barked out a bitter laugh. “So now I am to become your whore?”
The horror etched over her face took the edge off his anger. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. But all you’re getting out of our arrangement is me in your bed—which I am not arrogant enough to believe is of much value—and a bit of time spent with your child. I’m trying to make it worth your while, worth what you might sacrifice.”
“If I die before you?”
“It would go to your heirs.”
“And if my only heir is your child? I never planned to marry, Duchess. I never planned to have children.”
Now she looked to be the one bludgeoned. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I know what I am, where I came from.”
She rose to her feet and joined him at the fireplace, her bare hand coming to rest against his shadowed jaw, and it took everything within him not to place his over it and hold it steady as he planted a kiss in the center of her palm. But if he touched her, he’d lose his ability to reason, to consider all the consequences as rationally as possible. He’d want to carry her to that bed and finish what they’d begun earlier.
“As impossible as it seems, I feel as though I’ve known you my entire life. Such goodness resides in you, Aiden Trewlove.” She smiled slightly. “Yes, you’re a bit of a scamp and quite the flirt, but you are nothing at all like your father. You’ve brought me more comfort in my sorrow than anyone else I know. I would love your child all the more for reminding me of you.”
“And if I decline your offer to be allowed to pour my seed into you?”
She angled up her chin, and he could see the determination in the set of her jaw, as well as the displeasure at his choice of words. “I’d be forced to look elsewhere for a willing partner.”
His damn sire, the scapegrace, had already indicated his keenness to have her in his bed. Would she go to him? Her desperation implied she might. He couldn’t bear the thought of the Earl of Elverton touching her. But neither did he fancy giving in to the whims of a duchess who was merely interested in his cock and what it could deliver—a child who would never know the truth of his parentage. He felt as though his soul was being scraped raw. How could he still want this woman after learning her true reason for coming to him?
Stepping away from her before he did something foolish like admitting he’d take her on any terms she dictated for whatever length of time she ordained, he took a deep breath and walked over to her secretary. After locating a piece of foolscap, he dipped the golden nib—of course a duchess would have a golden nib—of the pen into the inkwell and scrawled out an address. Turning, he faced her. “My sister has a bookshop. Tomorrow we’ll be helping her to ready it for opening, placing books on shelves and such. Bring your sisters there at two so I can judge if they’re worth the price of my soul.” Or as he feared more likely—the cost to his heart.
“We’re in mourning.”
“Wear black. Surely, even when mourning, one can be excused for doing good deeds.”
“My sisters don’t know of my plans, what I’m striving to achieve.”
“No reason for them to learn of it. You can tell them Lady Aslyn invited you to give you a bit of respite from the boredom of bereavement.”
The sadness reflected in her eyes almost had him going to her and offering to give her everything she desired. She nodded. “Shouldn’t I bring my brother as well, so you can measure his worth?”
A sharp bite to her words. She apparently didn’t like him setting out terms, but his pride was salvaged a trifle because she hadn’t immediately told him to go to hell, because she wasn’t seeking another to plant his seed within her. “I know the Earl of Camberley. He plays at my tables. Odd that. How he can find the coins to pursue his own pleasures while his sister is forced to set out on a path that will lead her into hell.”
“You’ve made it an enjoyable journey thus far, Mr. Trewlove.”
