Page 71 of The Duchess in His Bed
Everywhere he looked, he saw history. The fading of the tapestries indicated they had existed for centuries, but he was rather certain they weren’t a recent purchase. No, they had been handed down through generations. Throughout the residence, armor was displayed. Whether it was a full suit worn by a knight or merely the breastplate, shiny but dented, a brass plaque indicated to which duke it had belonged. Some plaques went even further and identified battles in which it had been tested. If he gave Lena a son, the lad would take pride in this heritage, would believe it his own. He’d never know the truth regarding from whence he truly came.
It seemed both deceitful and protective at the same time.
What did it matter what one believed of one’s past? It was what one did with the present that was of import.
Aiden had always embraced what was to his benefit. But he’d been insulted when Lena had offered him her property in exchange for hisservices. He didn’t want payment. He wanted her. And he could have her—as long as no one knew.
She had shown him what he would give his child, and damn her for making him see how grand it all would be. The additional benefit was knowing he’d be pulling the wool over the eyes of the Society that shunned him. And what was in it for him? Satisfaction, a bit of retribution, and more nights of being nestled between Lena’s thighs.
And to do the one thing he’d sworn to never do: be responsible for bringing a bastard into the world.
Even though the child wouldn’t be viewed as such, it went against his core principle.
Finishing off his scotch, he left the glass on a table in a hallway, certain a servant would find it. The place gleamed to such an extent, he imagined they had an army of servants, not that he’d seen many other than the butler and a couple of footmen. The rest were hidden away because it wouldn’t do for the lord and lady of the manor to see them going about their labors, to know exactly what was required to keep the place sparkling like sunlight.
He located the stairs that led to the bedchambers. They were wide enough to accommodate a coach traveling up them. At the top, the landing split into two hallways. He took the one to the left, strolled the length of it to his room at the end. He closed his hand around the knob, pressed his forehead to the polished wood.
He thought of her waiting in her bedchamber, waiting for him, waiting for his decision. He remembered the way she had watched the sunset, the estate stretched out before them. She’d gazed upon it with appreciation—not the greed that had been mirrored in his eyes. She wanted none of this for herself. She needed it in order to ensure those she loved had the best that life had to offer.
He was not one of the people she loved or she wouldn’t ask of him what she had. She should have taken his rejection and moved on to another. The fact that she hadn’t hinted that perhaps she did have a small care for him or perhaps he had succeeded in his original plan and caused her to at least desire him, to want him in her bed.
She was brave, courageous, kind, unselfish. She placed the needs of others before her own. She moved him in ways no one else ever had.
He’d never planned to marry, to have children, to fall in love. He wasn’t in love now. He was fairly certain of it. But damn her for stirring something within him that made it impossible not to at least try to give her what she wanted. Damn her for managing to worm her way into his very being so when it came time to walk away, it would be like tearing a hole in his very soul. And he knew eventually he would have to walk away in order to protect the child, to protect Lena.
His common sense and pride insisted that he end things now.
But his heart, that part of him that had never served any other purpose than to pump blood through his veins, his heart had him turning on his heel, heading back down the hallway, opening the door to her bedchamber, and striding over the threshold.
He came to her.
He looked like a man suffering the torments of hell, but he’d come to her.
She was standing at the window in her nightdress, counting the minutes until midnight because she had decided that if he didn’t come to her by the witching hour, she would go to him, not to pressure, not to ask of him what he had no desire to give, but simply because she wanted another night within his arms.
He stopped in the middle of the room, on the lush Aubusson carpet. His jacket, waistcoat, and neck cloth were gone, and she imagined he’d been wandering the halls in only his shirt, trousers, and boots.
Slowly she gave freedom to her buttons, noting the way his eyes tracked the path of her fingers. When the last one was free of its mooring, she eased the soft linen off her left shoulder, then her right, and gave a little wiggle, sending the cotton on its journey to the floor. Although he’d seen her bared before, still she heard the hitch of his breath, as though he’d been waiting the entire length of his life for this moment.
Her steps were silent, her toes sinking into the thick weave of the carpet, as she glided over to him. “I’m glad you came to me. If you hadn’t, I’d have come to you.” Reaching up, she cupped his shadowed jaw, not at all bothered that he was in need of a shave, having refused earlier to use Lushing’s razor. “I want you in my bed tonight.”
“I haven’t any sheaths.”
So he had decided against spilling his seed into her. She was surprised the disappointment was less than she’d expected. But then she respected the thought he’d given his decision, that he struggled with his obligation to do what was right, that he didn’t see her as simply a woman to be plowed. Because she’d come to see him as more than a possible sire for her child. She desired this man, craved the feel of him between her thighs. Admired all that he was. He who had been born with nothing had risen above it all and achieved success. He who had been unfairly treated did not blame others for his circumstances. He took responsibility for himself, his actions. And it was that devotion that would see him not giving her the child she sought.
But she found no fault with it. Instead it made her love him just a little bit more.
And she did love him. She wasn’t certain when the realization came upon her. But she wouldn’t burden him with that truth because there was no future for them. She did not have the freedom that Lady Aslyn or Lady Lavinia had to marry without considering Societal rank or privilege. They did not have siblings dependent upon them. She could not risk being shunned by Society. A direct cut to her would have ramifications for her sisters.
She glided her hand down to his shirt and flicked the first secured button through its opening. “You can leave me, spill your seed elsewhere. You once told me that I warranted a scandalous and thorough seduction. Consider me thoroughly seduced.”
His feral growl was in direct contrast to the gentleness with which he claimed her mouth. Even as she fell into the wonder of it, of how each kiss was unlike any other, she continued on with her task of freeing his buttons.
Breaking away from her, he glided his hand down her arm until he could lace his fingers with hers. Then he began pulling her from the room. “Not here. I don’t want to take you in a bed where another had you, where other memories reside.”
She dug in her heels. “Let me get my wrap.”
He gave her a teasing, provocative smile. “Who’s going to see?”
