Page 68 of The Duchess in His Bed
She scooted nearer to the window, giving him ample room to settle in beside her. The strawberries that had been a faint whiff on the air now wrapped in earnest around him, and he was tempted to lean in and nibble on her neck, outline the shell of her ear with his tongue, nip at her lobe. Resisting her was testing the limits of his endurance when it came to the Duchess of Lushing. Never before had he found it so difficult not to succumb to his desires. Insisting on making this journey had been foolish because it kept them in such close proximity, made him begin reordering his priorities. Perhaps he was being overly stubborn to take such care to never plant his seed. His father certainly hadn’t cared. Perhaps that was the reason Aiden did.
As the carriage turned onto a narrower road, he rolled into her, buffeting his chest against her shoulder. He could have sworn she very nearly turned into him because he felt the subtle shift in her body, as though it recognized where it belonged, nestled up against him.
She stiffened, straightened, moved nearer to the wall of the coach. He was tempted to taunt her, tease her, skim his knuckles along her cheek, convince her with strategized touches to give herself over to him without his capitulation to her terms. To be content to have him, even if it meant no offspring.
“You can see it as easily if you lean the other way and look out the window nearer to you.” Her voice was flat, and he suspected she’d meant for the words to come out as tart as a lemon. Instead they held a bit of regret.
“I prefer this view because even if it does not impress me, what I see out of the corner of my eye is most pleasing.”
She gave a curt laugh. “Aiden, you are such a flirt. Please don’t try to charm me. I wish I could make you understand how serious this matter is.”
“I understand its seriousness, Lena. I wouldn’t be here, otherwise. I wouldn’t be going to the bother of determining all the costs involved in the decision.”
Her gaze shifted over to him, and he saw both humor and self-deprecation mingling there. “Who would have thought a gambling hell owner, a man who lured others into sin, would possess such a moral center?”
Before her, he wasn’t certain he had. She made him question all that he knew about himself. He might have carried the conversation further, but his attention was snagged by the edge of a large pond coming into view. Perfect in its oblong shape, he wondered if it had been created by man rather than God. Beautiful swans graced it. Yew hedges, occasionally broken up by a stone bench, bordered the pond. He imagined Selena sitting there, watching as the wind rippled the water.
The pond came to an end, as elaborate landscaping took over, more hedges creating various shapes—circles and half crescents—that led to the back of an enormous stone angel, wings spread wide, as though it had been sent from the heavens for the precise purpose of protecting what lay before it: the manor house, Sheffield Hall.
It was huge, majestic, grander than anything he’d seen in London, other than Buckingham Palace perhaps. He thought the golden bricks might actually contain gold, the way they glittered in the sunlight. The roofline was crenelated, the structure a mixture of residence and castle, displaying its fortification, hinting at its need to ward off invaders. “How many dukes have there been?”
“Your son would be the twelfth.”
Generations of families had lived, worked, and fought for this bit of England. A long history, possibly from the time of the Conqueror. Perhaps before. Years steeped in tradition and service to the Crown.
The drive circled around in front. Without slowing, the horses followed the curve. Reaching up, he banged on the ceiling, grateful to feel the vehicle slowing.
“What are you doing?”
Ridiculous question, but still he answered. “Stopping. I want to have a look around.”
“But you can see the stateliness of it from here.”
He didn’t much like the horror reflected in her face, the realization she was embarrassed to be seen with him, that she truly wanted nothing more from him than his seed. If he were a wise man, a not-so-proud man, he would again bang his fist to catch the driver’s attention, to signal that they should carry on. And when he exited the conveyance in front of his club, he would give her his answer: no. And never set eyes upon her again.
But stretched out before him, over acres and acres of green, was an opportunity to give the fruit of his loins something magnificent, profound. Something that no matter how diligently he worked, he’d never acquire. “I want to see all of it, the details of it.”
“How will I explain your presence?”
“A friend, a distant cousin, the Queen’s man come to check on the estate. I’m sure you can think of something.”
The carriage rolled to a stop. He opened the door and leaped out before a footman could see to the task. One had been riding atop with the driver. Another, liveried in purple, exited the residence at a fast but stately clip, followed by a fit, older bloke in black. The butler no doubt.
Reaching back, Aiden extended his hand to Selena, grateful when her fingers landed on his. She stepped down and straightened her shoulders.
“Your Grace, we weren’t expecting your return so soon,” the older chap said.
“It came about unexpectedly and is to be a short visit. Mr. Trewlove, here, is to assess the estate for the Crown. Have Cook prepare us a light luncheon, something simple. We’ll enjoy it on the terrace in an hour. Mr. Trewlove, if you’ll be so good as to follow me?”
She wasn’t happy with him, he heard it in the tone of her voice, but he didn’t care. His son would make memories here, and Aiden was likely to have no part in them. He needed to have an idea of everything those moments might encompass. Would his son swim in the pond, be chased by swans, look out over the parapets?
She marched toward the manor, and he followed, greedily taking in everything he could: the arched windows and doorway, the red roof, the tower in the corner that buttressed up against two wings of the building, seemingly joining them. The place was nearly medieval in design, but also showed signs of modernization. It had been well cared for, no doubt because, as he’d already learned, the duke had been a man of immense wealth, but he suspected a good bit of his assets had been tied up in the estate. It had to cost a fortune to keep it maintained. He was beginning to understand why she would risk so much to hold on to this. He imagined the hunting parties and the gatherings of nobility. Hell, royalty probably visited on occasion.
She crossed over the threshold, and immediately her footsteps echoed through the great chamber as her booted feet landed on marble. Tapestries hung from on high. At more reasonable heights were portraits of men, women, and children—sometimes alone, sometimes with others, sometimes with a horse or dog. All arrogant, all self-possessed, all understanding it was their right by birth to look down on others. A portrait of his son might possibly join these. Would people gaze at it and see an imposter? Would the lad instinctually feel out of place, sense he didn’t belong? Or would he embrace a heritage that was not rightfully his, carry on the sort of legacy that had been denied his true sire?
Aiden couldn’t ignore the irony of the situation. Because he himself had not been recognized by an earl, his son could very well become a duke. Bittersweet retribution toward the blasted nobility who judged so harshly was threaded through the plan. He’d been denied a birthright but had the power to give his son another’s. The temptation to take was stronger than he’d have liked.
“And I thought Mick’s hotel was fancy. I’ve never seen the like such as this.”
