He continued to pump into her until she was well and truly spent. Opening her eyes, she met and held his gaze. His jaw was clenched, his muscles taut and rigid. Her name was a growl on his lips as he bucked against her, his body a series of spasms, his head thrown back.
His fingers loosened their hold on hers and he closed his arms around her, burying his face in the curve of her neck.
Tears stung her eyes as she realized he hadn’t left her, hadn’t spilled his seed elsewhere. She wrapped herself around him as much as she was able and held on tight.
As he watched her fall into the abyss of physical release, he realized he could deny her nothing she wanted. And so when he should have left, he stayed, doing what he’d never before done: poured his seed into a womb.
He had expected to feel a measure of regret, but it was not to be found. Nothing, it seemed, mattered more than she did, more than her happiness. He’d been playing at a game, striving to justify not giving her the only thing she asked of him. Just like the billiards game they’d played, the odds were stacked against him winning. Not because she was coy or clever or knew how to manipulate him.
But because she hadn’t pushed. She’d given him time. She’d accepted his qualms and allowed him to come to his own conclusions. In the end, they weren’t what he’d expected.
He who had never loved before loved at last, and it was the most rewarding, the most terrifying thing he’d ever known.
He’d almost voiced the words I love you out loud, but had known that doing so would only make things more difficult when the time for parting came. Because they would have to part. Eventually she would realize that.
Or perhaps he hadn’t voiced the words because he feared discovering her feelings for him weren’t equal to his for her. Not that it mattered. Which was a recent and surprising discovery.
Years ago, when Finn had fallen in love with the daughter of an earl, Aiden had called him a fool. Only now did he truly understand that his brother had been given no choice in the matter. The heart did as it wanted, loved who it would love. And seemed to have a penchant for choosing those who provided the most difficult of challenges. But then if love were easy, poets would hardly be heralded for putting into words what most found indescribable.
He pressed a kiss to the spot where her neck met her shoulder, where a love bite was fading. He’d sought to brand her that night. What a fool he’d been not to realize how she had the power to permanently brand him. His heart was hers. Would remain so. He’d never give it to another. That he knew with certainty.
Lifting his head, he captured her gaze, frowned. “Why the tears?”
Her eyes were glistening with them. He watched as one rolled along her cheek.
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I don’t know. Silly, isn’t it?”
With his fingers, he brushed the damp strands of her hair away from her face. “Nothing about you has ever struck me as silly.”
“I suppose I just didn’t expect—”
Gently, he placed a finger against her lips. He didn’t want to discuss how he’d arrived at his decision or what it meant for their future—separately or together. “A gift horse and all that.”
He’d expected her to laugh. Instead she appeared somewhat bewildered and sad. Still, she nodded.
He rolled off her, taking solace that she rolled right along with him until her head was nestled in the curve of his shoulder, her leg resting across his hips, her thigh nudging against his flaccid cock that immediately perked up. Not to the extent it was ready for another go, but it was definitely hoping to be in short order. Her fingers trailed lazily along his breastbone.
“What do you like best about the estate?” she asked.
“You.” He was aware of the movement of her head as she tilted it up to look at him. He glanced down. “My favorite part is that you’re here.”
Her cheeks blossomed into a pink that mirrored the shade of the sky just before the sun disappeared behind the horizon, coating everything in a blanket of darkness. As long as he lived, he’d never forget the sight of that sunset or the feel of her hand nestled in his.
She kissed his shoulder before settling back into its curve. “You make me wish things were different, that I had no responsibilities, that—” She scoffed, laughed. “I was going to say that I wished I was a shopgirl, but we’d have never met if I were.”
“I go into shops sometimes.”
“But what are the odds that you’d go into mine?”
“My businesses are built on the premise that the odds always favor the house but that does not mean that the house always wins. Even if the odds are one in a hundred, someone has to be that one. Those are the dreamers, the ones who believe they could be that one. The realists are more practical, know they probably aren’t.”
“I’d have not thought you would be so whimsical.”
“Normally I’m not. But I’ve known men to bet their last shilling and walk out with their pockets stuffed with their winnings. So if you were a shopgirl, we might still have met.” But she wouldn’t have needed him and wouldn’t have sought him out.
“I’m afraid my parents’ deaths ensured I became more of a realist. I don’t like to take chances that things will work out. I need to know they will. I could never start a business, risk failure.”
“That is what makes the success so sweet—to know you might have failed, but you didn’t.”
Pushing herself upright, she straddled his hips and his cock came to full attention. “I doubt you’ve ever questioned your ability to succeed. I can’t say the same. I’m afraid I’ll fail now, that I’m barren.”
“You’re not a failure if you don’t conceive. You told me that you wanted people to see that you were more than your beauty. Lena, you’re more than your womb.”
Sitting, he claimed her mouth even as he lifted her up, brought her down, and filled her heated tunnel with the long, hard length of him, determined to give her all she longed for. He now understood that love made one reckless. And he embraced the knowledge as he embraced her, with all that was within him.
Chapter 20
They journeyed back to London in the carriage in silence, but it was a comfortable quiet. Sitting across from Selena, Aiden wore a small satisfied smile that no doubt matched the one on her face.
She fought against folding her hands over her belly and holding close what might already be growing there. After seven long years, the odds were against her. She knew this. Yet still she held out hope, hope he’d given to her when he’d spoken about odds. Even when they were low, it still meant there was a chance. While the realist in her revolted, the dreamer she’d long ago been peered out as though from a lengthy sleep and refused to retreat.
Being with him was like running barefoot over clover, wild with abandon. It was joyous. She would find a way to keep him in her life while protecting their child.
“Why have you grown sad?”
His voice brought her from her reverie, and she wondered if anyone else in the world would ever know her as well as he did.
“I’m not sad.”
“What are the other estates like?”
“Smaller, but no less opulent. The Dukes of Lushing took their responsibilities quite seriously. Ensuring their estates were the envy of all was seen as a duty, a requirement of the position.” She glanced out the window. “Commoners resent the nobility their place in Society, but it comes with sacrifice.”
“All positions in Society come with sacrifice.”
She glanced over at him. “True enough, I suppose. Have you ever visited your father’s estate?”
He shook his head. “I have as little to do with him as possible. Speaking of him, has he made an appearance on your doorstep since his atrocious proposal?”
“Not as far as I know, although I’ve not been at home that much. You’re keeping me rather busy.”
“You will let me know if he does.”
His voice contained something dark and foreboding. “What will you do if
he does?”
“Pay him another visit.”
She felt her eyes widen with her alarm. “You paid him a visit? When? Why?”
“A couple of nights ago. Because he’s not to bother you.”
She was more than slightly distressed. “He knows about us?”
He shifted on his seat. “Whatever he may think he knows, he won’t tell anyone. There is little he fears more than he fears the wrath of the Trewlove brothers.”
“What if he guesses? What if he seeks to—”
Leaning across, he took her hand, putting a stop to her words. “Lena, I may not be publicly involved in your life or that of the child, but I will be like that great statue on the front lawn, ever watchful from afar. No harm will ever come to the child. No one will ever question his parentage.” Reaching up, he skimmed his knuckles along her cheek. “I’m very good at keeping to the shadows.”
While she took immense comfort from his words, she couldn’t help but wonder how difficult, how painful, it might be for him to be hovering at the edge of his child’s life. “It will not be easy for you.”
“It is the price I pay. Willingly.”
For you was not said, but he might as well have etched the words on her heart because she felt them all the same.
She had struggled mightily to make her decision to live the remainder of her life without honor. She regretted that her actions would have such a profound effect on his life as well. Perhaps years from now when the child was grown, had made a life for himself, Selena would return to the Elysium Club and find true happiness with the owner. By then who would care? Who would be suspicious? The odds were against that happening, and yet it gave her something to hold on to.
He settled back. The satisfied smile was gone. Now she saw longing—not hunger, not desire—but a pining for something that could never be: quiet conversations before a fire, long walks in the park. A public acknowledgment that they meant something to each other.
She barely noted that they’d reached London, not until the carriage came to a halt outside the club. He made a move toward the door that had not yet been opened.
“I’ll meet you here tonight, shall I?” She could barely stand the thought of a night without him.
He paused and looked back at her, his smile soft, his eyes filled with a satisfaction that came from knowing he meant something to her. “Midnight. Fewer ladies about then, fewer tasks that require my attention.”
Then he was gone, leaping from the carriage, striding into the club, disappearing from her sight.
They had left Sheffield Hall early enough that she arrived home shortly before noon. She noted a black horse secured to a post out front and assumed it was Winslow or Kittridge come to call. She was hoping for Kit as she wanted to indulge in a short nap before addressing any concerns that Winslow might bring with him regarding his estate and lack of funds. She really needed to find someone to take him in hand and help him adjust to his duties, because Lushing’s passing had left him in a boat with no oar or rudder. As she darted up the steps, it occurred to her that the Duke of Thornley might be just the ticket, an excellent example to follow. While she knew him fairly well, it wasn’t well enough to impose but perhaps Aiden could make the suggestion to Thornley. It would be lovely to have one fewer sibling to worry over.
She opened the door, crossed the threshold, and came to a stop as though she’d slammed into a brick wall. Not Kit or Winslow.
Her butler dipped his head slightly. “Your Grace, I was just explaining to Lord Elverton that you were not in residence.”
“Yet here you are,” Elverton said, his smile a bit too bright. Aiden had not inherited the shape of his mouth from his father.
“I’ve only just returned from Sheffield Hall and am quite weary. How might I be of service, my lord?”
“I was hoping for a few minutes of your time, perhaps a spot of tea.”
She wondered if his presence indicated he gave no credence to whatever threat his son had made or if he was marking his defiance of it. “If you’ll give me a moment to right myself, I’ll join you in the parlor. Wiggins, see that tea is brought in.”
Making her way to the stairs, she was grateful he’d caught her after traveling, when she wore black, rather than after a night at the club when she was decked out in blue. In her rooms, she removed her hat, washed her face, tidied her hair, and fortified herself for a social call she had little doubt would turn out to be beyond the pale. He’d already offered his condolences. What more was there for him to say?
She returned downstairs to find him standing at the fireplace, looking down into the empty hearth. Nothing in his stance reminded her of his son. It wasn’t because Elverton wasn’t as fit, that the years had brought a roundness to his shoulders and belly. It was simply that he was not in possession of the magnetic presence that encompassed his by-blow. Aiden quite simply commanded the room, took control of it the moment he strode into it. His father might yield power through his position, but Aiden yielded it through his very existence. He didn’t need a title to mark his place in the world. He’d accomplished it all through his own merit. He was what the earl would never be: his own man.
Strip away Elverton’s title and he would be nothing more than a wisp of smoke with no substance. Aiden was all substance, caring and loyal, and real. Honest. He didn’t put on airs. She’d always known precisely where she stood with him.
As Elverton turned and gave her a small smile that caused the hair on her arms to rise, she realized she could not say the same of the earl. She didn’t trust the upturn of his lips or the glint in his eyes. She settled into a plush chair near the tea service that had already been brought in and began pouring the dark brew into the delicate china cup that sported small pink roses. The earl dropped onto the nearby settee, which put a comfortable distance between them. She finished preparing his tea, handed it off to him, saw to her own brew, took a sip, and settled back.
The silence stretching out between them wasn’t nearly as comfortable or natural as that between her and Aiden. “I’m fairly certain you didn’t come here for my tea.”
Setting aside his cup, he leaned forward. “I wondered if you’d given our previous conversation any thought.”
Another sip of her tea, a placement of the cup on the saucer so it made not a sound. “Indeed. I’ve given all the condolences I’ve received great thought. They bring me a good deal of comfort in these trying times.”
Something like impatience flashed in his eyes. “I was referring to other matters we discussed.”
“I don’t recall much of a discussion.”
He shifted his backside over the brocade cushion. “You are a young woman with needs. Many needs from what I understand. I have heard Lushing left you a rather modest trust. It will not see you acquiring all you deserve.”
She wondered where he’d gathered that information. Certainly not from Mr. Beckwith. She doubted very much that it had come from Kittridge. Possibly one of her sisters, in innocence, had spouted to a friend and from there it had made the rounds. Or perhaps Winslow had let it slip at one of his clubs when he was in his cups. “I am content with the accommodations my husband made for me.”
“A woman as beautiful as you deserves more than contentment. I want to ensure that as a potential future husband I am not dismissed out of hand.” He scooted up to the edge of his seat. “I would like to take advantage of this time while you are in mourning to forge a friendship—a deep and abiding friendship—with you.”
“I fear, my lord, that I will be too busy seeing that my sisters are properly situated to have time to spend building friendships.”
“I can see them well married.”
Her breath caught, and she froze, the teacup suddenly feeling as though it weighed as much as an elephant. Before it began to rattle in her hand, disclosing her shock at his words, she set it aside. He was not making that offer out of the goodness of his heart. He was doing it in exchange for her. “My lord—”
“It is no
t an idle boast. I have influence and prestige, which I will put at your disposal. Their mourning period will be at an end shortly after the Season gets underway. I shall see all three married to lords of the highest caliber. This is not a claim your brother can make or see through as he is too young, too green. But my word carries weight. I can start planting the seeds now and we shall see them bloom by Season’s end.”
“That’s quite a generous offer, my lord. I am, however, befuddled regarding why you would care so much about their well-being.”
“It is yours I care about. Once they are situated, once I have proved my devotion to you, once your initial mourning period has ended in a year, we may wed.”
Although a widow went into half mourning after a year, it was not unheard of for her to marry at that time. Still, she was likely to suffer the indignity of being thought promiscuous. Not that the Earl of Elverton cared about that, apparently. “There is still the matter of your present wife, my lord.”
“As I mentioned, she has not been well of late.”
It turned her stomach knowing he was already on the hunt for her replacement. “To be quite honest, Lord Elverton, I find your offer not only grievously vulgar but insulting to your wife as well.” She rose to her feet. “I decline. Please see yourself out.”
With her head held high and her shoulders back, she headed for the door.
“I can see that they have no offers at all.” The low menacing threat stopped her in her tracks.
Slowly she turned and impaled with her eyes this vile blackguard, and she found herself grateful he’d had no part in Aiden’s upbringing. “I fear, my lord, that you have underestimated my influence. While I may no longer have a duke at my side, I am still the Duchess of Lushing and I am fully capable of seeing to the needs of my family. I warn you, sir, that you do not want to incur my wrath.”
With that, she quit the room.
From the moment she’d left Elverton’s presence, she’d debated whether to tell Aiden of his father’s visit, but finally decided against mentioning it, fearing only ill would come of his learning of the earl’s further pursuit of her. Certainly she had made her position clear. She had no interest in the man, would not entertain the notion of having him in her life in any intimate capacity, whether as a mistress or a wife.
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