Page 17 of Their Master

Nora had waved away that concern with a flick of her wrist. “Nonsense. It is the dawn of a whole new decade, Smith, and you are one of the wealthiest men in Britain. Any child of yours will have the world at their feet from the moment they take their first step.” She had taken his hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “I love you Smith.” Her lips had quirked into an impish yet wicked smile. “If not for Edward, I would have set my cap for you.”

Although Smith had laughed, he’d been privately pleased by her words, even if it was yet another instance of a woman he esteemed choosing another man over him.

“I want you to be happy,” she’d gone on to say. “If you don’t want the complications of finding a woman to have your baby, you can always do as Edward and I have done and take in an orphan.”

At the time, he’d dismissed her words: he didn’t want a child!

But now, after living with the thought for a while, he was beginning to see the appeal. Whyshouldn’the have a family? Nora was right; he had a great deal to give a child, and not just money. He might have done questionable things in pursuit of business, but he was no ogre to the people he cared about.

A sudden gust of wind picked up and cut between the buttons of his heavy overcoat. Smith glanced at the sky and saw it had turned a flat gray color that heralded snow. He pulled up his collar and marched on rather than flag a hansom even though he was at least a mile from his house. The walk was stimulating his brain, even though it wasn’t necessarily making his thoughts any clearer.

He could not do as Edward and Nora were doing and take in an orphan because who would nurture it? A man alone was not enough; a child needed a mother.

Which meant he needed to find a woman who had a child.

Or a woman willing to bearhischild—and stay in his life to help raise it.

That second thought appealed to him the most.

Yes, it was vain to want to pass part of himself on, but it was certainly no uncommon vanity. People wanted children of their own blood.

Smith sighed and shook the notion away. Finding a suitable woman would be, if not impossible, certainly an arduous task. How did one even go about commencing such a search? She would have to be somebody who could tolerate his…unusualappetites and lifestyle. And she’d also need to be somebody whomhecould tolerate. That was a herculean task even when a person was considering marriage. What sort of woman would contemplate a union with a man like Smith?

Besides, why open his life to uncertainty and disorder now that he’d fallen into such an easy and pleasurable rhythm with Luke?

He smiled just thinking of the other man, whom he’d take to his bed four nights out of seven since resuming relations with him two weeks earlier. They’d enjoyed plenty of lusty sex in addition to entertaining evenings filled with games of piquet and chess, both of which Luke played well.

They had even attended a play one evening, getting more use out of Smith’s private box than it had seen in years—and almost none of that use involving the production itself.

They had not indulged in any further rough bondage, even though he knew Luke stood ready, willing, and eager.

Indeed, sometimes Smith thought Luke might be too eager. He hoped the younger man was not forming an attachment beyond the one they’d agreed to in Luke’s contract. As much as Smith enjoyed spending time with Luke, he did not wish for another Charles situation. Not only had the end of their affair been ugly, but a goodly chunk of their time together had been unpleasant, too.

But Luke was different. Or at least he hoped he was.

If he’d demonstrated even a hint of jealousy or possessiveness about the nights Smith had ventured out to the Birch Palace—which he’d been using while avoiding Bernina’s—then Smith would have ended their enjoyable union.

But thus far all was perfect. So, perhaps Smith was worried for nothing. Perhaps Luke’s words that night two weeks ago, “I love being inside you,” had meant just that.

Smith hoped so.

Despite his happy arrangement with Luke, Smith still hadn’t banished Moira Dunsmuir from his thoughts and he was beginning to believe that avoiding her was foolish. It certainly hadn’t worked thus far, and only made her more appealing in his imagination.

Perhaps a better method would be to go to her every night until he tired of her? Wasn’t familiarity supposed to breed contempt?

Smith chewed on that notion for several streets, tipping the brim of his hat down when the snow began to fall.

The pleasurable tingling in his groin at the merethoughtof seeing her again made him extremely uneasy.

But it also filled him with excitement.

Would he really deprive himself of this woman’s company just because he was afraid he might become infatuated?

You alreadyareinfatuated,a cool voice at the back of his mind pointed out.

Smith chuckled to himself. Yes, that he was.

So, what did he have to lose? Why avoid her? Why notgorgehimself until he tired of her? He would become bored with her—just as he always did.

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