To Desire a Wicked Duke

by Nicole Jordan

  Ian relished the violent hug the child gave him. Then, still grinning, Jamie scrambled down and ran back to his nurse, who led him from the room after giving the duke another curtsy and a humble, apologetic look.

  When they had gone, a profound silence reigned.

  Tess stared down at her plate, avoiding Ian’s gaze. It was several moments before she finally spoke. “Why did you not tell me about Jamie?”

  Ian hesitated, knowing he had to choose his words with care. “I planned to eventually, but there has scarcely been time in the past two days.”

  She looked up, her dark eyes measuring him. “Is he your son?”

  Ian parried her question as he picked up his coffee cup. “Why would you assume he is mine?”

  “He looks very much like you.”

  Although he didn’t reply directly to her observation, he responded with a significant part of the truth, not wanting to lie to her. “Jamie is not a by-blow, Tess. When his mother bore him, she was wed to one of my London footmen. Jamie was a mere baby when he lost her to the same influenza epidemic that took your mother. I legally made him my ward to give him a better life.”

  Tess’s sympathy was immediate at the tale of a helpless baby growing up motherless, yet he could see the distress on her face. Any genteel young lady would be angry and hurt to think her husband had sired a child out of wedlock, which was clearly what she had assumed of him.

  “I never heard any rumors that you had a ward, natural born or not,” she murmured.

  “My servants are protective of Jamie and shield him from the gossips as much as possible.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Three, nearly four.”

  Ian saw her making the mental calculations … determining that Jamie had been born the year after her London Season and that he’d lost his mother in December of 1814, the same hard winter that Tess had lost her own mother.

  “I don’t know why I am surprised,” she added quietly. “Richard always said you were a wicked rake.”

  It irked Ian that she would leap to conclude he was the one who had sinned. It irked him more that Tess had always relied on his cousin’s account of events to make her judgments of him. But he clamped his lips shut. He didn’t intend to offer her meaningless defenses, nor would he shatter her illusions. Prevarications would hurt her much less than the truth.

  “Do you mean to acknowledge Jamie as your son?” Tess asked.

  “No,” Ian answered carefully. “He has a father, although one who doesn’t want him.”

  “Who is Sheila, the owner of the pet lamb he mentioned?”

  “The young daughter of one of my tenant farmers, I believe. I charged Mrs. Dixon with finding regular company for Jamie. It is lonely here at Bellacourt for a young boy, and I want him to have children his own age to play with.”

  “Is that why he breakfasted in the kitchens this morning?”

  “Yes. He usually takes his meals there. The nursery is too secluded for a child. My cook and her staff dote on him, so he considers eating in the kitchens a special treat.”

  Biting her lower lip, Tess shook her head as if still trying to come to terms with Jamie’s existence. “Your kindness toward him does surprise me, your grace,” she remarked, pointedly returning to her irksomely formal form of address. “You are not generally known for your softheartedness.”

  It was not only softheartedness that had made Ian decide to take the boy in, although he couldn’t tell her so.

  Tess reclaimed her fork to resume eating her breakfast, but she only toyed with her food. Watching her, Ian felt a sharp ache twist in his chest. He didn’t want to feel this fierce need to comfort her, yet he did.

  He wasn’t being exceptionally noble, though, in desiring to shield Tess and spare her pain as long as possible. She was the kind of woman that men instinctively respected and protected.

  At the thought, Ian repressed a humorless smile. Tess had always aroused contradictory impulses inside him, with her paradoxical images of both strength and vulnerability.

  She could take care of herself quite well, however. Jamie could not. Ian was determined to protect the young lad and provide a real home for him. He himself had never had love in his life, and he wouldn’t let Jamie grow up the same bleak way he had.

  “I suppose your vices simply caught up to you,” Tess commented when he was silent.

  “I never claimed to be a saint,” he pointed out more curtly than he intended.

  “I know. And what you do with your own life is your own affair. But it troubles me when innocents suffer for it.”

  “Jamie is hardly suffering, Tess.”

  “But he has no family who will even acknowledge him.”

  A muscle in Ian’s jaw clenched. He well knew Tess’s opinion of him. She thought him selfish and wicked, a dissipated nobleman who had wasted his entire life. It was not too far from the truth. He was known for his many deliberate youthful indiscretions. As a young man, he’d spent his days pursuing reckless adventures and his nights indulging in wild carousing. He deserved her condemnation in most instances.

  Ian attempted to swallow his frustration, knowing his young ward was just one more strike against him in Tess’s eyes. Whatever progress he’d made last night with his overtures toward her had been wiped away in a single moment.

  Indeed, the air between them practically vibrated with suppressed tension as she studied him.

  “What do you expect of me in regard to Jamie?” she asked. “Do you wish me to accept him as my own son?”

  “No, I don’t expect that of you,” he answered honestly. “I would like him to continue living at Bellacourt—although I would understand if you wish him to leave.”

  “I don’t wish him to leave. This is his home. A child is innocent of his father’s sins.”

  Ian felt a strong measure of relief. He should have known she wouldn’t take her wounded pride and resentment out on a child. Tess was too tenderhearted and kind. She would never banish a young boy from the only home he remembered.

  He had little doubt that Jamie would take to her quickly. Tess had always drawn people to her because of her warm nature. It was also an indication of the kind of mother she would be when she had children of her own—

  Ian quelled the unwanted thought, but didn’t try to conceal his sardonic humor. It was unlikely they would be having children any time in the near future, not when even the consummation of their nuptials was in doubt. Apparently their marriage bed would be as contentious as the rest of their relationship.

  Yet he couldn’t change the past now. His course had been set years ago when he’d assumed responsibility for Jamie. The ward of a duke would be far better treated than the unwanted castoff of a London footman. More importantly, the boy would have ample warmth and affection in his life.

  He’d come to love Jamie as his own son, Ian reflected. He’d had to fight tooth and nail for his own father’s love and attention—futilely, as it turned out—and he’d be damned before condemning Jamie to his same bitter fate.

  For now, however, he would keep the details about the child’s birth to himself. There were some secrets that simply could not be shared.

  And as he’d told little James, he honored his promises.

  Tess managed to continue eating breakfast, but it required fierce determination on her part to maintain a semblance of composure with her thoughts in such turmoil.

  She’d woken this morning feeling strangely optimistic. The taste of desire Rotham had given her last night had been sinfully hot, while the emotional aftershock of his lovemaking had left her with an even keener physical awareness of him. She would have difficulty, she knew, pretending that he hadn’t made her yearn to share his bed for real.

  His nearness at the breakfast table further addled her already muddled thoughts. And when Rotham had offered to tour his estate with her this morning, Tess had begun to hope they might eventually—someday in the distant future, at least—have a friendly marriage, if not a loving one. />
  She should have known better. Her optimism had been dashed the moment his young ward had scampered into the room.

  It should not have bothered her, this living proof of Rotham’s licentiousness. She’d always known the kind of man he was. Richard had claimed his cousin was the wickedest nobleman alive.

  Rotham hadn’t actually denied the child was his natural son out of wedlock, merely parsed his words to insist that Jamie was not a bastard in the legal sense. But if the boy was not his, why had he not just said so to keep her from thinking so poorly of him? And why would he make Jamie his ward if not to accept responsibility for his profligacy?

  It wasn’t that she cared about Rotham himself, Tess vowed to herself. It was just that she’d been taken off her guard seeing this side of him—a side that was both shocking and more endearing at the same time. There was clearly a deep affection between the ordinarily arrogant duke and the adorable, adoring child.

  The silence in the breakfast room now was charged and heavy. Rotham’s expression was unapologetic, his countenance implacable, almost as if he were angry at her. Which was as bewildering as it was vexing, Tess thought, annoyed all over again.

  Perhaps she should not have ragged him about his hedonistic tendencies. In truth, it was admirable that he had taken in a motherless baby to raise as his ward. His generosity had nearly melted her heart, as had his obvious affection for Jamie—an instinctive, involuntary response that infuriated and dismayed her. She didn’t want her heart softening toward Rotham. She found it difficult enough to resist her deplorable weakness for him as it was.

  One thing was becoming clearer. She needed to escape this tightening coil, and soon. Spending the next fortnight or more here at Bellacourt with him would be disastrous to her willpower. Learning of Jamie’s existence had only underscored the danger she was in. She had to get away from Rotham before she succumbed to his tempting offer to show her passion.

  Her best course was to go to Cornwall at once, Tess decided. She could take Fanny with her, and Basil, too. Not only would her friends keep her company and take her mind off her irresistible husband, but Fanny and Basil would finally have the chance to be together and fall in love irrevocably.

  Convincing Rotham to let her go, however, might prove difficult.

  While swallowing the last of her coffee, Tess cast about for the best approach and decided simply to announce her intentions without giving him the chance to argue.

  Setting her napkin on the table, she rose. “I believe I must decline your invitation to tour Bellacourt this morning, your grace. I must go upstairs and pack just now.”

  His head rose sharply as he surveyed her. “Pack? What do you mean?”

  She gave a casual shrug. “I intend to set out for Cornwall this afternoon.”

  His lips pressed together. “You are upset at learning about Jamie.”

  “I am not upset in the least,” Tess lied through her teeth. “I simply want to implement my plan to help my friend Fanny in her courtship with Basil Eddowes, and I realized there is no reason to wait. Pray, will you write me a letter of introduction to your servants at Falwell Castle so I will not descend upon them unexpectedly?”

  Rotham frowned up at her, his gray eyes intense, penetrating. “I am afraid I cannot support your plan, sweeting. It is too dangerous a journey for you to make alone.”

  “I will not be alone. I will have Fanny with me.” Or hopefully I will once I write to her and beg her to accompany me. “She knows quite well how to take care of herself. And my coachman and footmen will protect me from any danger. One of my footmen was once a pugilist and employed as a bruiser at a gaming club, did you know?”

  “As it happens, I do know.”

  Before she could ask Rotham to explain his cryptic admission, he voiced another objection. “I also don’t want you putting yourself in danger at Falwell. There could be trouble if there is any truth to the ghost sightings.”

  Tess nodded. “I truly hope there are ghosts. As I told you, a haunted castle will provide the perfect atmosphere and inspiration for Fanny to write her next Gothic novel.”

  “Even so, I don’t want you journeying there until I can investigate the matter for myself.”

  His refusal struck her the wrong way. “You cannot prevent me from going, Rotham.”

  “Actually I can, love.”

  As their glances clashed, Tess bit back a hot retort. She would not permit him to turn her into a shrew. She was always agreeable and even-tempered; indeed, she never raised her voice to anyone but Rotham. Letting him provoke her was not the way to win this argument. No, she intended to remain on the offensive.

  Taking a calming breath, she forced herself to say sweetly, “So you mean to act the tyrant and refuse me?”

  Rotham hesitated before a faint scowl crossed his features. “I am not acting the tyrant.”

  “No? Then what do you call this high-handed, autocratic manner of yours? Do you honestly believe you can browbeat me into following your commands?”

  Rotham opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Mutely, he leveled a look at her, his eyes containing a gleam of mockery, even exasperation.

  Evidently he understood her strategy, since he took a different tack. “How will it look if you bolt from Bellacourt after only one day of marriage? Who will believe that we made a love match?”

  Tess arched an eyebrow. “So that is what worries you. The ton will think you have driven me away and you will look the villain.”

  “Oh, yes, I live in fear of looking the villain,” he said, very dryly. In a softer tone, he added, “I admit I would rather not have the entire world think I have sent my new bride fleeing from me, but my concern for your safety is the more pressing reason for my objection.”

  She smiled brittlely at him. “We have had this argument before, Rotham. Your concern is unwarranted.”

  “I disagree. I promised Richard I would look after you.”

  Her smile fading, Tess gave him a puzzled look. Then her gaze narrowed. “Is that what your recent interference in my affairs has been all about? Because you made Richard a promise to keep watch over me?”

  Rotham’s eyelids lowered to shade his striking eyes. “In part. I was the one who bought Richard his set of colors. I owed it to him to see that you remained unharmed.”

  “So you felt guilty for sending him off to war?”

  Rotham didn’t reply, but Tess knew she had struck a nerve in him—and herself as well.

  She had never consciously acknowledged her feelings about the part the duke had played in his cousin’s military service, but truthfully, she had always resented Rotham a little for purchasing Richard’s commission, even though she knew such resentment was irrational. Yet how could she feel otherwise when her fate had been impacted so cruelly by the decision? Richard had planned to sell out his commission after they were wed, but then he’d been called back to war and had lost his life in battle.

  With effort, Tess swallowed the sudden ache in her throat and managed to keep her voice light. “You never fail to astonish me, Rotham. To think that you actually have a heart.”

  Her taunt made him wince. But at least she achieved her initial goal. Rotham exhaled a heavy sigh of annoyance. “Very well, I won’t object if you go to Cornwall.”

  Before she could celebrate, however, he added in a stern tone, “However, I intend to accompany you.”

  Tess shook her head. How was she to fight her attraction for him if he went with her? “That will never do,” she said hurriedly.

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, you promised Jamie you would teach him to build a fort of leaves today, remember? You cannot disappoint him now. And for another, there is Basil’s pride. We discussed this last night, Rotham. For Basil to be able to wed Fanny, he must earn a significantly greater salary than he does now, but the offer of better employment must come from you so he will not think it charity on my part. Therefore, you need to remain here in order to hire Basil away from his curren
t employer. You will, of course, send him to Cornwall as soon as the deal is struck—and you can even accompany him if you must—but I am traveling ahead with Fanny immediately. This afternoon, if I can arrange it.”

  He was not pleased about her scheme, clearly. Yet something in her tone must have warned him that after the emotional upheaval of being forced to wed him, and the shock of seeing his young ward, Tess had reached the end of her tether.

  “As you wish,” Rotham said finally. “I will write a letter of introduction to Falwell and have it sent by courier at once.”

  Tess eyed him warily, surprised that he had capitulated to her terms without further battle. But she wouldn’t give Rotham time to change his mind.

  “Thank you,” she said swiftly, graciously, and sincerely. “Now if you will excuse me, I must send a message to Fanny and tell her of my plan.”

  She turned and escaped the breakfast room, feeling Rotham’s gaze following her all the while. When she reached the corridor, Tess breathed a sigh of relief and vexation.

  Relief because she would soon be on her way to Cornwall, far away from her dangerous new husband.

  Vexation because of her contrary, tumultuous, maddening feelings toward him.

  Sparring with Rotham always got her blood up, but now she had softer, more tender assaults on her heart to contend with—namely, his unexpected bond of affection with his young ward. She also had a dull ache in her chest induced by this fresh evidence of Rotham’s wickedness.

  Tess muttered a low oath. She had wanted to bring sparks and fire and feeling into her life, and she had undeniably done so with her unwanted marriage. The damnable truth was that for the first time in two years, she felt truly alive. She’d been living half a life, sacrificing joy and excitement for freedom from emotional pain. And after such a long numbness, she yearned to experience simple emotions other than sorrow again … to know joy, pleasure, excitement, passion.…

  Without a doubt, last night’s passion with Rotham had been exhilarating, thrilling, amazing—and he had given her only a fleeting taste of what she could expect if they became lovers.

  But it infuriated her—galled her even—that of all men, it was the wicked Duke of Rotham who stirred her blood and made her vulnerable again to pain.