The Duchess in His Bed

by Heath Lorraine

  “Think you we care about your threats? She is my mother.”

  “Who asked me to rid her of you so she could continue to live in luxury.”

  That wasn’t what she’d told Aiden. He’d been taken from her. He placed more value on her words.

  “That damned Trewlove woman was supposed to kill you both. I should ask her for recompense.”

  Aiden’s fist struck fast and hard, square in the middle of his sire’s face, sending the man reeling back and landing with a hard thud on the floor.

  Finn was there, slipping his arms beneath the man’s shoulders, helping him to his feet. Once the lord was steady, Finn rapidly locked the earl’s arms behind him and held him in place.

  “What the devil—”

  Aiden sank his balled hand into the pudgy gut. The sound of flesh pounding into flesh and the grunt were both satisfying to his ears. “Your wife is under our protection now.”

  Another strike. Another oof! “She won’t be returning to you.”

  He would set her up in a room at Mick’s hotel until he could work out other accommodations. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it onto the desk and rolled his shoulders.

  “You have no right,” the earl yelled, his face blotchy and red.

  “We protect what is ours.” Aiden didn’t restrain himself as he delivered another solid blow.

  The earl’s legs buckled, but Finn clenched his jaw and continued to keep him upright.

  “I’ll see you both hanged!”

  “We’ll see you dead first.” He didn’t plan to kill the man, but he was going to leave him hurting. He pummeled him three times, taking satisfaction in the grunt and groans. Stepping back, he nodded at Finn, who immediately released his hold. The earl dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes tossed into the cupboard. His face was blotchy red with anger, his eyes bulging with hatred, his breathing labored as though even the air sought to avoid being in his presence.

  Aiden crouched in front of him. “You’ll stay away from the Duchess of Lushing. You’ll stay away from your wife. As a matter of fact, I believe you’re going to steer clear of all your mistresses as well. We’re going to keep a close watch on you and won’t hesitate to visit you again to make our position clear.”

  “You bast—bast—ba . . .” His mouth went slack and one side of his face seemed to melt as it drooped and he made murmurs of distress.

  Finn knelt beside Aiden. “What the devil is wrong with him?”

  The blows might have rendered him immobile for a time, but this reaction was more than that. With his gaze distant and his eyes glazed over, it didn’t seem the earl was with them any longer, but he certainly wasn’t dead.

  “Could it be apoplexy?” Aiden asked.

  “It’s possible, I suppose. If so, I shall take no pity on him.”

  “Neither will I. He’s brought far worse hell to others.”

  Graves had arrived and gone to the earl’s bedchamber to examine him. Aiden had gone to the club to inform the countess of what had transpired, and she’d returned with him to the manor. Aiden and Finn sat with her in the front parlor, awaiting the physician’s diagnosis.

  The slamming of the front door echoed through the residence, and they all came to their feet as a young man rushed into the parlor. Aiden didn’t need an introduction to know he was Viscount Wyeth. He saw himself reflected in the man’s brown hair, dark eyes, and strong jaw.

  “Mother.” He had his arms around the countess before the word was completely uttered. “I left my club as soon as I received your missive about Father. How does he fair?”

  Aiden knew a pang of unjustified envy at the evidence of their close relationship. She wasn’t his mother. His mum was Ettie Trewlove. Yet, he couldn’t help but believe that he would have found her arms as welcoming as he did his mum’s.

  “Dr. Graves is with him now. We hope to hear shortly.”

  Wyeth leaned back and studied her. “You don’t look too chipper yourself.”

  “I’ve been a bit under the weather, but I’m all right now.”

  “Your father tried to poison her,” Aiden told him.

  “My God!” Wyeth appeared horrified and incensed as he studied his mother more intently. “Is this true?”

  “I fear so, although I have no proof. I was poisoned, yes. Dr. Graves can attest to that fact, but I can’t prove your father was the culprit. I’d be dead now if not for Aiden.”

  “Aiden?”

  “Your brother,” the countess said softly, looking toward him.

  Wyeth’s gaze landed on him so hard that Aiden was surprised he didn’t hear a thud. The man’s eyes traveled the length of him, his curiosity obvious. “One of my father’s bastards that I’ve heard rumors about?”

  “And one of mine as well.” The countess’s voice was quiet, but Aiden heard no shame mirrored in it. She was merely stating fact.

  Her legitimate son’s gaze swung back to her, a corner of his mouth hiking up laconically. “So those rumors are also true.”

  Aiden doubted the man saw him as a threat in any way because children born out of wedlock were not allowed to inherit, even if the parents eventually married. Only those born within the union of a marriage had any rights, so Wyeth would still inherit his father’s titles and properties.

  She nodded. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Aiden Trewlove.”

  “Trewlove. That’s a name that seems to be on everyone’s lips these days. I don’t know whether to be delighted to make your acquaintance or appalled.”

  “Appalled is probably the safer way to go,” Finn assured him, drawing Wyeth’s attention.

  “Another bastard, I assume, as I see Father’s likeness in you as well,” the young lordling said. He looked at his mother. “Also yours?”

  She shook her head.

  “Finn was born about six weeks after I was,” Aiden said.

  “Your father always did have strong appetites.” The countess had some color in her cheeks now, perhaps because she’d spoken of something so intimate. “It was unusual for him to be satisfied with . . . one . . . lady.” Her voice had gone faint as she went pale and began to sway.

  Both Aiden and Wyeth reached her at the same time, assisting her onto the settee.

  “My apologies. It seems I’m not as recovered as I thought.”

  “Here.” Finn held out a glass of water he’d retrieved from a table that housed several decanters.

  Taking it from him, Aiden wrapped his mother’s fingers around it. “You need to drink this, get some fluids into you. Dr. Graves’s orders.”

  “Yours as well it seems. Your mother raised you boys well.” Following his command, she slowly sipped.

  Sitting beside her, Wyeth took her free hand. His concern was evident in his eyes and the gentleness with which he treated her. “Why didn’t you come to me when you realized what Father had done to you?”

  “I didn’t realize, not at first. I simply thought I’d eaten something that had gone bad. I went to Aiden’s club to speak with him, to confess he was my son . . . only I worsened, and he saw to me.”

  “Well, you’re not staying here. You’ll come to my residence where you’ll be safe.” He shook his head, his jaw taut. “I suppose he sought to rid himself of you because someone younger, equally beautiful caught his fancy. The Duchess of Lushing, perhaps. I saw him follow her out into the garden on the day the duke was laid to rest. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt—that he sought to console her. But I would not be at all surprised to discover he’d propositioned her. I should have gone after him.”

  “He’s not your responsibility, sweetheart. Although I suspect you are correct when it comes to the duchess. I, too, saw him follow her into the garden. And before that I saw the lust in his eyes when he looked at her.”

  Aiden had a strong urge to go up to the bedchamber and give his sire another solid thrashing, only this time he might not stop until the man ceased to draw breath. He’d known the earl had approached Lena, but hearing it all again
only served to rekindle his anger.

  “I’ve been expecting him to do something for some time.” The countess looked up at Aiden. “Another reason I didn’t object to that tart he brings here. My amenability ensured I drew breath a while longer. For some time I’ve suspected he disposed of his first wife to make room for me.”

  “Bastard,” his two illegitimate sons growled, at the same moment his heir proclaimed, “Rotter.”

  Wyeth shoved himself to his feet and began to pace, clearly agitated, his fists clenched. “We’ll have to find a way to deal with Father. I haven’t it within me to kill him.” With a nod, he came to a halt and faced them. “But I could see that he is committed to an asylum. He is obviously not well and is a danger. I will not allow my mother to be put at further risk.”

  “If what Finn and I witnessed regarding his apoplectic fit is any indication,” Aiden said, “I don’t think he’s going to be capable of creating much havoc in the future.”

  “So how is it that you two happen to be here?” Wyeth asked, returning to his mother’s side.

  After settling into a chair, Aiden explained the entire story, including the beating he’d given the old man.

  “I wish I’d been here with you to deliver a few blows of my own. I’ve lived my entire life ashamed to be called his son. He flaunts his mistresses, spends a fortune keeping them in residences, clothes, and baubles. Disposes of the children they bring into the world.”

  “Dispose is a rather harsh term,” the countess said. “He finds loving homes for them. Aiden and Finn here are proof of that.”

  Wyeth glanced over at Aiden, and he could see the battle the young man was facing. Did he hide the truth from this woman he loved?

  “No, Mother. I fear they are the exception. When he is in his cups, he gets rather loud, likes to hear the sound of his voice, wants others to hear it as well. On occasion, I’ve heard him advise others on how to rid themselves of their by-blows so as never to be inconvenienced by them again.”

  “But he promised me.”

  “Perhaps he made an exception for you.”

  But Aiden could tell from Wyeth’s tone that he didn’t think exceptions were made. How fortunate he and Finn were to have been given over to Ettie Trewlove.

  “I always imagined his heir had a charmed life,” Finn said.

  Wyeth snorted. “When he gave me attention, which was rare, it was usually to find fault or to reiterate how I was falling short of his expectations. He was the better cricket player, the better yachtsman, the more skilled horseman. The better shot. It was as though we were always in competition. And when I did best him, he would get angry and somehow find fault with my achievement. It got to the point where I no longer cared if I pleased him.”

  Footsteps sounded, increasing in volume as someone descended the stairs. With a somberness hovering around him, Graves walked into the parlor. The men stood while Lady Elverton remained seated. Aiden wasn’t certain what message Graves communicated to Wyeth, but the young man moved aside, and Graves joined the countess on the sofa, taking her hand. “As we feared, Lord Elverton has suffered apoplexy. Quite severely. A good bit of his body has gone numb. He seems to have lost his ability to speak. I fear, dear lady, that he is presently bedridden, and I do not hold out much hope that situation will change.”

  With very little expression revealed, the countess nodded sagely, as though she’d expected his dire words. “How long? How long will he suffer?”

  “It’s difficult to tell. It could be as short as a few hours or as long as several years.”

  As unkind as it was, Aiden hoped for years. He wanted the man to have nothing else to do but ponder his actions and live with the unhappiness he’d brought others.

  “Is there no treatment?” Wyeth asked.

  Graves shifted his attention over to the viscount. “I fear not, my lord. You could hire a nurse to see to him, move his limbs about so the muscles don’t atrophy on the off chance he gains the ability to use them again.”

  “No,” the countess said. “We’ll have no need to hire a nurse. He is my husband and I shall tend to him. His valet can handle the unpleasant tasks such as washing him up and keeping him tidy. I’ll increase his salary.”

  “Extreme patience is required to attend to the needs of an invalid,” the doctor told her kindly.

  “Tending to any of my husband’s needs has always required significant patience.”

  “Lady Elverton—”

  She patted his hand gently. “Do not worry yourself, Doctor. I won’t slip arsenic into his food. I will do naught to hasten his demise.”

  He nodded. “How are you feeling, my lady?”

  Her smile was gentle and kind. Aiden imagined she might have looked at him that way when he was a lad and got into a scrape—had he been allowed to remain in her life. “Weary. But I have my sons to look after me. We shall persevere in the face of this tragedy.”

  Two things struck Aiden. That she didn’t view this turn of events as a tragedy at all. And that she was referencing him as her son.

  Graves must have concluded to whom she was referring or perhaps she’d confessed to him while he was tending her, but in either case he shifted his gaze between Wyeth and Aiden before rising to his feet. “Then I leave you in their care. Send for me if you have a need.”

  She rose gracefully to her feet. “Thank you, Doctor. Johnny, will you be good enough to see him out?”

  “I can see myself out. Thank you, my lady.” He gave a brisk nod. “Gentlemen.”

  Then he strode from the room. No one moved until the front door made a hushed thunk as it was closed, no doubt as a result of the physician’s effort not to disturb them further.

  Without a word, Lord Wyeth went to the decanters and poured his mother a sherry. Then he offered Aiden and Finn each a glass of scotch. “Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.”

  They seated themselves while Wyeth took a glass of scotch for himself before dropping down into a chair with a gust of a sigh. “Well, that’s that, then.”

  “You’ll need to take over all your father’s duties,” the countess said.

  Wyeth lifted a slender shoulder. “That won’t be much of a bother. I’ve been taking on more responsibilities of late anyway.” He studied Aiden. “Are you the bastard who was paying my father a princely sum each month?”

  Most people spat the term bastard as though it left a foul taste in their mouths, but Wyeth wove a semblance of respect around it as though it reflected a badge of honor.

  “Until Finn here visited him a few months back and put an end to it.”

  He nodded with what appeared to be admiration at Finn. “Are you, then, the bastard who broke his arm?”

  “I am.”

  “Did he cry out?”

  “Screamed like a baby.”

  The viscount grinned. “I imagine he did.” He brought his attention back to Aiden. “How did he manage to extort you?”

  “Finn was arrested for stealing a horse he didn’t steal. They were going to transport him to Australia. I knew the earl had influence. So I asked for his help, wrongly believing he would care that his blood was being sent halfway around the world. He’d only do it if I paid him a portion of the earnings from my gambling establishment.”

  “So Finn went free for a fee.”

  “No,” Finn said curtly. “I wasn’t transported but I served five years in prison.”

  Wyeth scoffed. “Naturally. Our father is not known for going beyond the bare minimum—”

  “He’s not our father,” Aiden said.

  The viscount’s scrutiny was long and assessing, but Aiden never averted his gaze. Rather he met it head-on with an assessment of his own. He saw very little in this man’s mannerisms reminiscent of the earl’s, found his concern, loyalty, and devotion for his mother to be redeeming qualities.

  “No, I suppose he’s not.” Wyeth tossed back his scotch. “Be grateful for that. Your records regarding how much you gave him are probably far more accurate t
han his regarding how much he took from you. Send me the figures and I’ll see that every farthing is returned to you.”

  Aiden exchanged a surprised glance with Finn before looking over at . . . his mother. He supposed he could refer to her as that without feeling guilty about not reserving that particular affiliation for his mum. The countess seemed rather relaxed, with a small smile playing over her lips as though she was enjoying watching the exchange. “I was under the impression that the earl’s financial situation is a . . . challenge.”

  His brother—his full brother—grinned. “His is. Mine is not. Whenever he and I would get into a row regarding the near empty coffers, he would give me a portion of your payment in an effort to bring me to heel, so I would learn how difficult it is to manage money. In addition, to punish my defiance, he placed the running of the estate into my hands so I would see how far the coins would not go. He, however, taking very little interest in my affairs, remained unaware that some friends and I are very keen on investing. And we’re quite good at it.”

  The last was said very simply. A fact. Not a boasting. And Aiden realized he could come to like this fellow very much indeed.

  Lord Wyeth leaned earnestly toward him. “You should not have been required to pay him to see to his duty regarding his son. I have lived my life with the rumors that he has over a dozen bastards. That he spread them around London as one might manure. He is not a man who commands respect among his peers, which made me all the more determined to be one who does. I believe in paying my debts. I would not be living as comfortably now as I do if not for what you paid him. To be honest I should have sought you out some time ago, but I wasn’t quite certain you’d welcome the one he kept.”

  “You had no choice in that. None of us had any choice. But I would say we all made the best of our circumstances.” He came to his feet. “Now that we know you’ll be safe, countess, Finn and I are going to take our leave.”

  “I’m glad you all were finally able to meet,” she said. “I hope something lasting can develop between you.”

  Aiden grinned at the viscount. “Our sister Gillie owns a tavern, the Mermaid and Unicorn. You’ll have to join us there for a drink sometime.”