So it was imperative the child never discover the truth of his origins, and yet Aiden was well aware that long-buried secrets had a way of being uncovered. His mum’s garden proved that. Within it, she had laid to rest the first two children brought to her. Mick’s discovery of an unmarked grave when he was eight had led to them all learning that she hadn’t given birth to them but that they had been handed over to her because others had not wanted them. Fear of others discovering what she had done kept her tethered to her shambles of a residence when they all wanted to move her into something more luxurious. Yes, secrets had a way of haunting their holders.
Noting that she’d stirred him awake, she straightened. “We’ll be arriving soon. You might want to move over here in order to catch the view at its most impressive.”
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 tow
ard 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.”
“There is a good deal more.” Her voice was low, soft, as though it was forbidden to disturb the quiet of the place. “Come along.”
The massive residence was a warren of hallways, parlors, sitting rooms, stairways. Every bit of space was bold, larger than life, as though giants had once resided within these walls. Her portrait hung above a fireplace in a blue room, her gown a darker hue that contrasted with the draperies and furnishings. It was as tall as she was, had been painted true to her form. She was young, a lass really, but she held herself as though she carried a great weight on those narrow shoulders. “When did you have the portrait done?”
“A few months after we were married. I had barely turned eighteen.”
In the portrait, her eyes held no laughter, little joy. They belonged to a woman who had married out of love—to protect her family—but not for love. He knew she would do so again, would do whatever was necessary to see her sisters happy. The artist had captured her temerity in the firm set of her mouth, the angle of her chin, the square set of her shoulders. She stood there, a warrior prepared to do battle. She might as well have been wearing a suit of armor, a sword raised high in defiance. She would sacrifice herself on the battlefield of happiness for those she loved.
Sitting on the terrace, looking out over the elaborate gardens, she knew Aiden was impressed with all he’d seen. How could he not be?
She had heard of the splendor of Sheffield Hall but had not seen it until after she was married. It had overwhelmed her to realize she had become mistress of all that lay before her.
Nibbling on a small square of cucumber sandwich, she peered over at her guest who had spoken very little as she’d taken him through the assortment of rooms. She’d pointed out the duke’s bedchamber and given him leave to peer inside. She had not invited him into her chamber beside it, although it seemed as they passed it that a stillness came over him, even as they carried on. He had spent a great deal more time than she would have expected in the nursery, and she wondered if he’d been envisioning his son lying in the bassinet with its lacy canopy. Every aspect of the residence was elaborate, screamed wealth. No expense had been spared by previous dukes to display their power.
“After luncheon, we’ll take a stroll through the gardens, shall we? Twelve acres that represented Lushing’s pride and joy. He did love his gardens.”
“He did the work himself?”
She laughed lightly at the absurdity of any noble toiling in the soil, getting dirt beneath his nails. “Oh no. But he designed them, then hired others to bring to life what he’d envisioned. Some areas are extremely calming, others invigorating.”
Ahead of them was a fountain, Poseidon leaping from it, his trident in hand. The babbling water always brought her a sense of peace. She finished off her sandwich. “Is it what you expected?”
“More so.”
“Does it hold sway over you?”
He shifted his gaze over to her. “It’s impressive. And it certainly calls to my greedier instincts. Don’t you feel guilty about what you’re planning? It’s theft, sweetheart.”
“I can’t afford the luxury of guilt at the moment. It is not the things that I want. It is the prestige, the position. We once had two hundred guests visit. Every bedchamber occupied. Tents were erected on the lawn for those who didn’t warrant a bed within the residence. I planned the guest list and the itinerary. The Prince of Wales took several suites of rooms. I was terrified I would get something wrong. But I handled it all with aplomb, never let on that I was trembling in my slippers, because that was what was expected of me. We’ve had foreign dignitaries in residence. I was ever the gracious hostess here, at the other estates, in London. They say that nobles do not work. Well, I worked. Not backbreaking labor but soul-crushing endeavors that often prevented me from eating or sleeping because of worry that whatever I did would be found lacking. And because I wanted Lushing to be proud, proud he’d taken me to wife.”
“I can’t imagine that he wasn’t.”
“He certainly never made me feel as though he wasn’t. Still, in the end I didn’t give him the one thing he required: an heir.”
“That responsibility could have rested with him.”
“People always view it as the fault of the woman. I can’t help but believe, however, that his vanity would find solace in my giving birth to a child presumed to be his heir, so his manhood would not be doubted.” She glanced back toward the lush gardens that were presently a sea of white. In a couple of months, they would be blue, then red in the height of summer. The flowers had been chosen based on when they bloomed so the blossoms became a rolling tide of colors that changed with the seasons. “Because while the woman is held accountable, whispers about the man do emerge. He was undeserving of any sort of ill gossip. He was incredibly kind, sometimes I think too kind for this world. And remarkably tolerant of those not of his class. I think he’d have liked you and you him.”
After taking a small sip of her white wine, she settled back against the chair. “So what say you? A leisurely stroll through the gardens and then we’ll away back to London?”
“We’ll be staying the night.”
She shot up quickly. “I beg your pardon?”
He gave her a laconic look beneath half-lowered lids. “I’ve not finished seeing all I wish to see. I want to view the stables, ride out over the land, visit the village—”
“But you can simply look about you and see how majestic everything is. I don’t understand why seeing every little thing is so important to you.”
“Because if I decide in your favor, and fortune smiles on you and gives you a boy, I may never actually see my son playing here. All my memories of him will be what I create in my imagination. His riding a hobbyhorse. Sitting on your lap in the library while you read him a story. You expect me to be like my father, to plant the seed and be done with it, to never give my child another thought. I don’t know if I have it within me not to wonder. I think you’ll be a marvelous mother, but even that, I may never witness.”
The earnestness of his answer made her ashamed that she was even asking of him what she was. “As we discussed before, we’ll find a way for you to spend some time with him.”
“Stolen moments here and there. But so many lost to me. And I will never be able to acknowledge him as my son—not even to my family. Lena, I’m striving to ensure that if I embark on this deception with you, that I do so with no regrets. For once begun, there will be no going back.”
She turned her attention to the blooms that the gardener managed to coax into opening even during the chilliest of winters, but now spring was emerging. White for innocence and yet she’d fallen far from any sainted position. Was she being unfair to this man, unfair to Lushing? “I won’t be able to accompany you. It wouldn’t do for the villagers to see the recently widowed duchess out and about. And we wouldn’t want, years from now, someone remembering and remarking on your visit to Sheffield Hall.” It was risky enough for the servants to know he was here, but they adored her, and it was unlikely they would see anything sinister in his presence.
“I’ll be most discreet.”
So against her better judgment, she took him to the stables and ordered that the duke’s stallion be readied. Lushing had loved his animals, and she was rather certain he would approve of his horse being given the run of the grounds and beyond. While she knew the stable lads were taking him for a daily canter, she had little doubt the beast would find it a treat to be ridden by one who she instinctually knew would give the horse his lead while remaining in command. She was not at all surprised to see how well Aiden sat a horse. Nor was she surprised by the pang in her heart as she watched him gallop away, knowing a day might soon a
rrive when his leaving would herald his never returning to her.
He’d galloped over the verdant green, taking the cool country air deep within his lungs, until he reached the edge of England and could stare out over the glorious blue sea. No soot, no stink, no grime to make a man always feel in need of a bath. Although he knew that wasn’t true of the entire area. He understood that when he stopped in at the local pub where miners took a pint, along with farmers and laborers. He wondered if the duke had owned mines, if he’d gone down into them to encourage the men. For some reason, he suspected he had. He wondered if those trips had weakened his lungs, had contributed to his succumbing to influenza.
He didn’t bother to engage with anyone, merely observed and eavesdropped, tried to get a sense of how the nobility in the area were regarded. It seemed the duke and his duchess were greatly admired, and the locals voiced a worry or two regarding how their lives might change if the duchess didn’t produce an heir “right quick.” He found it inconceivable that a child’s birth should affect so many.
But he also decided Lena was no doubt correct: he’d have liked the duke.
From the village, he traveled at a more sedate pace. After delivering the horse to the stables, he strode back to the manor, not much liking the gladness that swept through him when Lena emerged, having obviously been on the watch for his return. He didn’t want to contemplate how very much he would like to have her greet him anytime he returned from anywhere.
“Did you see all you needed to see?”
He nodded as he came to stand before her. How difficult it was not to take her in his arms and lower his mouth to hers, but it wouldn’t do at all for the servants to see anything untoward pass between them. He wanted to reach out and press the crease between her brows until it disappeared. “It’s impressive. Gorgeous really. So much space. I think after a while, however, I’d become a bit antsy.”
The Duchess in His Bed Page 23
