The Duchess in His Bed

by Heath Lorraine

  Taking a deep breath, she met and held his gaze. “Because you take such precautions not to have children. And I need desperately to get with child.”

  Her words bludgeoned him. He’d been correct from the beginning. All she desired of him was his cock. No, that wasn’t quite true. She wanted his seed.

  She was a widow, a very recent widow. He’d never asked if she had children; she’d never spoken of them. He didn’t ask now, but merely stated fact, as her reasons crystallized. “You didn’t give your husband an heir.”

  Slowly, she shook her head, finally unplastered herself from the door, walked to the sitting area, and lowered herself into a chair near the fireplace. Against his better judgment, he dropped into the one opposite hers. He preferred standing when fury had ahold of him, but his anger was abating. Damn her for that, for making him care about her troubles. “Surely the next in line will ensure you are provided for.”

  “Lushing was the last. He had no surviving brothers or male cousins, distant or otherwise, to take his place. His titles will be declared extinct. His entailed properties will go to Her Majesty’s Treasury. I inherited a dower house, and he set up a trust. The interest will see me in good stead but it’s not enough.” She shook her head. “It’s not the money. It’s the prestige, the influence. My sisters have not yet had their Seasons. I want them to make good matches but without the dukedom”—she spread her arms—“I am naught. I have no power.”

  “I suspect you have more than you think.”

  With sadness etched over her features, she stared at her clasped hands.

  “What of your brother? The responsibility of seeing to their welfare falls to him, surely.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, her somberness tightening his heart, which irritated him. That he should allow her to affect him at all after what she’d done. He’d rubbed his wrists raw striving to get out of the bindings, had nearly wrenched his shoulder from its socket in his contortions to free himself. If not for his gaming manager knocking on his door and his yelling for the man to come in, Aiden might still be writhing about, feeling helpless and humiliated.

  “The Earl of Camberley. Unfortunately, my father left the estate in shambles. It is not a particularly respected title. All my siblings are dependent on my position. And it is greatly diminished unless I become the mother of the next duke.”

  “That was the reason you came to the club to be bedded.”

  Her cheeks turning a soft pink hue, she nodded. “I thought if I could get with child within the month, before my next menses, I could pass it off as Lushing’s. It might arrive a tad late, but sometimes children do. Or perhaps I could find a way to make it come early. If I give birth to a son, all would remain as it was.”

  “And if you bring a daughter into the world?”

  “While the title will still go into extinction, the terms outlined in the entailment would allow her to inherit all Lushing’s assets and properties. Property is power. Lushing taught me that. She would grow up to become an independent woman of means. In addition, by showing I was not barren, my marriage prospects would increase and perhaps I could land another duke.”

  He hated her plan, every aspect of it. Her willingness to do anything to get with child. “So if I hadn’t intercepted you that first night, you’d have gone with one of the gents with the red buttons.”

  “No. It was always you I wanted.”

  He was torn between feeling flattered and feeling the fool. “Why me?”

  “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 the ton is completely pure of blood. And he will have the duke’s name to protect him.”

  “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.”

  With her compliment she was striving to appease him, perhaps regain her own honor. With her formal addressing of him, she was striving to put distance between them, to remind him of his place.

  “My brother is a young man, with wild oats still in need of sowing,” she added.

  “How old were you when you took on the mantle of responsibility for your siblings and married?”

  “Much younger than him,” she admitted. “Is he in debt to you?”

  He merely gave an inconsequential shrug. “Not as much as you’ll be if we go through with this.”

  Heading for the door, he pointed toward the secretary and tossed back over his shoulder, “Tomorrow. At the stroke of two be there.”

  Chapter 15

  There were certain sights that a man should never see. His sire’s hairy, flabby bare arse quivering as he pounded into a woman who stared at the canopy while she released a small moan with the regularity of a ticking clock was one of them. He’d expected to find the Earl of Elverton asleep this time of night and had been looking forward to disturbing his slumber.

  The woman—too young to be the current countess—shifted her gaze to the side, caught sight of Aiden, and relea
sed a bloodcurdling scream as she fought frantically to rid herself of the toad weighing her down.

  “Bloody hell!” the earl roared before glancing in the same direction as his mistress. In an ungainly manner, he extricated himself from the lass who scrambled to the far side of the bed, snatching up the covers in an effort to protect her modesty.

  Aiden was aware of the patter of light footsteps coming down the hallway, and then a slender woman whose head reached his shoulder edged around him.

  “What’s happened?”

  Based on the intricate embroidery in her satin dressing gown, and her lack of surprise at the tableau before her, he assumed she was the current Countess of Elverton. In his youth, he’d seen her from afar on a couple of occasions when curiosity regarding his sire had him following the old goat around. Seeing her so clearly now, he mused that she’d been a beauty in her day, her porcelain complexion still radiant in spite of the late hour. Her brown hair gathered in a long braid was streaked with wisps of red and silver.

  Breathing heavily, sitting on the edge of the bed, not demonstrating the same modesty as his mistress, the earl waved his hand in the air as though shooing away a swarm of flies. “My bastard. What the devil are you doing here?”

  “I need a word.”

  “Come see me in the morning.”

  “Now.”

  His sire narrowed brown eyes that mirrored Aiden’s in shade, and his square jaw tightened with his irritation, but still he gave a nod. “I’ll meet you in the library shortly.”

  “I’ll escort you,” his countess said, quickly turning on her heel and heading into the hallway.

  With one parting glare that promised retribution if the old man reneged on his words, Aiden closed the door and joined the earl’s wife. “It doesn’t bother you that he cares so little for you that he brings his doxy here?”

  She lifted one finely arched dark brow in a knowing way. “She keeps him out of my bed. Why would I object to that, I ask you?”

  He couldn’t argue with her reasoning when he’d often hoped that his mother’s time with the whoremonger had been brief. “I know my way to the library.”