Heaven Sent the Wrong One

by VJ Dunraven

  The gaucheness of that particular detail was astonishing. For all her sensibility—and though the duke was by far an excellent catch, he could not fathom what compelled Alexandra to marry a man more than twice her age who was formerly betrothed to her aunt. Moreover, Alexandra was a passionate woman—he doubted if the old duke could satisfy her in bed. Rank and monetary considerations aside—things that Alexandra certainly never lacked—nothing made sense as to why Alexandra chose to wed the duke. But the most nonsensical of all, was the timing—which he'd heard, to his utter vexation—was so sudden that it provoked unsavory gossip among the ton. Could the rumors be true? Was she carrying the duke's babe even before she had walked down the aisle? The bitter taste of bile percolated in Allayne's throat.

  "Don't move." The press of a gun barrel dug into the small of his back.

  Allayne froze with a muffled curse, angry for letting himself get distracted and failing to notice that someone had sneaked up behind him.

  "Get on your knees." The gunman's speech sounded unusual—as if he's trying to disguise his real voice. He pushed the gun barrel roughly against his back.

  Allayne flinched at the sharp thrust of the gun on his spine. Goddammit! Now, he would have to break the fellow's nose and knock him unconscious. He just hoped the poor fellow was not one of Alexandra's relatives—but then again—why would a cousin be sleeping in what obviously was the ducal chambers?

  His eyes narrowed with the sudden flare of his temper. If this fellow—God help him—was Alexandra's lover—he would put a bullet between the bloody fucking sorry ass' eyes and send him to Hades.

  In one quick movement, Allayne swiveled, swiping the man's gun barrel to the side with one hand as he pulled his own pistol from the holster attached to his belt with the other. He cocked and pointed the firearm at the gunman's face.

  But no one was there.

  "Whoa." A little voice said. "That was good!"

  Allayne looked down at the source—and found himself staring at his own image.

  He had seen many shocking things in his life, but none had prepared him for this one. His mouth went dry and his jaw slackened in open-mouthed astonishment. A leaded weight seemed to have secured his feet to the floor.

  The boy was an exact replica of himself—from the color of his hair, to the distinctive Carlyle green eyes, to the deep dimples indented on both cheeks.

  Allayne's entire body went numb, save for his heart that beat with the speed of a galloping horse. A dull hum resonated in his ears and stiffness spread at the back of his skull to his temples.

  "Are you a stranger?" the boy asked.

  Allayne blinked. Good God, he still had his pistol poised in mid-air, with the safety lock unhinged, ready to fire. "Uh—no. I—I'm your Mama's friend."

  "Oh, good. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, you know." The boy's gaze dropped to the pistol in his hand. "That's a nice gun. Can I see it?"

  "Er—of course." Allayne forced his limbs to move, uncocking and emptying the gun of powder and bullet in his pocket.

  The boy jumped in delight and placed the toy gun he held on the bed.

  "Be careful with it." Allayne kneeled in front of the boy and let him handle the pistol, watching his little fingers curl around the trigger and raise it with both hands to aim at some figurine by the fireplace.

  "It's heavy." the boy glanced at him.

  "It's not a toy." Allayne's chest clenched upon closer inspection of his face. The boy even had long, curly lashes identical to his own. The certainty of his discovery began to sink and make some sense in his addled brain. "How old are you?" He asked in a hoarse voice, even though, at the back of his mind, he already somehow knew.

  "Three," the boy replied without taking his eyes off the pistol.

  Three. Allayne did not have to have Jeremy's prowess for numbers to figure out how long it had been since he had last seen Alexandra, the period of time it took for his seed to take root and grow in her womb, added to the years he spent in America. The boy was most likely three years and some months old.

  The hairs on the back of Allayne's neck stood. Was this boy the reason why Alexandra plunged into a swift marriage with the duke? A flicker of suspicion burned in his gut. There could be no other reason—she must have done it to save her reputation, thinking she had disgraced herself with a servant.

  By God. Allayne swallowed the mixture of elation and nausea that rose to the roof of his mouth. So, this was what she had been trying to hide. Now, that she had discovered that he was not a valet, but a viscount's heir—did she think he would be angry at her, when she'd had no other choice, but to marry for her sake and that of their son's? Was that why his interrogation had visibly agitated her?

  Allayne watched the child before him with increasing curiosity. The stamp of a Carlyle was clearly evident in the boy's features, down to the color of his eyes—not to mention his proclivity for firearms. Allayne reached out to touch a lock of the boy's long honey-blond hair, rolling it in his fingers. There could be no denying the truth. This boy—this beautiful boy—was his son. Goosebumps rose on Allayne's skin and he resisted the sudden urge to gather his little body in a fierce hug.

  "What's your name?" Allayne peered at him, unable to keep himself from staring at his cherubic face.

  "Gabriel." He closed one eye and aimed the pistol at the ceiling. "Same as my Papa."

  A stab of something close to jealousy lanced Allayne's heart. He may have fathered the child, but he was in no way his own son's Papa. "Is that your Papa over there?" Allayne pointed to the painting on the wall at the head of the four-poster, quelling the feeling of guilt and loss that unexpectedly filled his chest with heaviness.

  "Yes." Gabriel lifted his shoulders with a sad sigh. "I miss Papa. He lives in heaven now."

  "I'm sorry," Allayne said, and was surprised that he genuinely meant it. Here was a boy who had lost a parent—a beloved parent—as far as he could tell, from the way Gabriel's expressive eyes shadowed at the memory of the old duke. Allayne took the pistol from his little hands and tucked it back in its holster at his waist. "Come." he opened his arms towards Gabriel. "Let me give you a hug."

  Gabriel wordlessly went to him and rested his head on his shoulder, clinging onto his neck with both arms.

  At that very moment, Allayne didn't know what to think. Holding Gabriel—his own flesh and blood—infused him with a feeling akin to euphoria—something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He scooped the boy in his arms and stood up, carrying him to the four-poster. "It's late," he whispered in Gabriel's hair. "You should go to bed."

  "I can't sleep," Gabriel said, as Allayne laid him on the mattress. "Papa used to read to me before bed."

  "Is that so?" Allayne replied, remembering how his own Papa used to do the same thing.

  "Will you read to me?" Gabriel asked with large, imploring green eyes.

  "Of course." Allayne lit the lone candle on the bedside table and picked up the book next to it. His talk with Alexandra could wait until the morning. He sat on the bed and leaned against the headboard next to Gabriel, crossing his booted feet at the ankles on top of the coverlet.

  Gabriel crawled alongside him, circling an arm over his chest and clamping a leg across his hips, before finally settling his head just below his shoulder.

  Allayne wrapped an arm around him, overwhelmed by the tenderness and protectiveness that flowed like a flood into his ribcage. He began to read the book, a story about an explorer's adventures, which he recognized as one of the popular publications written by the old duke. The book was full of anecdotes, which they laughed at together and the pages had plenty of interesting illustrations, which they studied closely. After quite some time, Gabriel yawned and his lids began to flutter. Allayne gently stroked his hair until he closed his eyes and fell asleep on his shoulder. Then, he carefully leaned towards the side table, with Gabriel still in his arms, and blew the candle out.

  Allayne settled his head onto the pillows and stared at the shadows on
the ceiling, cast by the dwindling fire in the hearth. Now, he understood how Richard and Jeremy felt about their children. The natural inclination to spend every waking moment and provide his child with all that he needed—a home, a family, a legacy—a Papa who would always be there for him—filled him with anticipation. Gads—his mother and father had no idea they had another grandson—the long awaited heir. He could not wait to for them to meet Gabriel. His father would probably shout with joy and his mother would probably swoon—but not before she showered her grandson with kisses.

  Allayne smiled at the thought. He and Alexandra had a great deal of important matters to discuss. But first and foremost in his agenda—he wanted to ask for her hand in marriage—the proper way, this time around. An interview in the morning would suffice—after all, they loved each other and their reunion, as a family was long overdue. It was time to put everything to rights and claim his son and Alexandra. A meeting with Jeremy and her father, the Earl of Weston, to finalize the settlements would follow soon after.

  Allayne planted a kiss on top of Gabriel's head. For the first time since that agonizing day in Bath, a kind of peace descended over him. As the shadows in the room grew and darkness began to creep in, his lids got heavier. He had never felt so content—relieved, as if a vise had been removed from his chest. Ah—he never thought he would be so happy—finally.

  Allayne closed his eyes and drifted off to his first restful sleep in years.

  Chapter 26

  Truth or Consequence

  Alexandra woke up early, after a restless night of sleep. Her decision to attend the soiree had been a disaster. After the incident in the library, Allayne and his fiancée had mysteriously disappeared, which added to her angst. Then, for the rest of the night, she'd had to endure her cousin Jeremy's watchful eye, while the Duke of Grandstone escorted her wherever she went, casting anyone who dared stare or whisper behind her back with a sharp blue gaze, cold enough to freeze the entire ballroom. Meanwhile, Jeremy's wife Cassie, together with the Duchess of Grandstone, Viscount Rose, and Lady Carlyle (who had miraculously recovered after swooning in her husband's arms) and of all people—Lord Bhramby, had seen to it that the guests had enough diversions to keep wagging tongues at bay. When at last the soiree had come to an end at close to three in the morning, she had breathed a long, heavy sigh of relief, saying her farewell to everyone as quickly as she could, with the reassurance that she was fine and they need not worry.

  Well—that was a big, glaring lie.

  She had barely reached her carriage before her legs felt so wobbly she thought they would give out. And, as soon as she sat inside on the soft velvet squabs, she had burst into tears and couldn't stop weeping, which upset her maid so much she'd offered to sleep on the sofa by her bedside—a kind gesture she'd declined. So, she had lain alone in her bedchamber, thinking about Allayne, about how much she missed him and how much she loved him, and how hopeless everything was as she'd cried herself into a fitful slumber.

  Alexandra shook away the events from the soiree and rose from her bed, washing her face and brushing her hair as best as she could without summoning her maid. She had been so distraught when she'd arrived last night that she failed to check on Gabriel for the first time in years. Donning a wrap over her shift, she padded towards the side door adjoining the large sitting room that was situated between the duke's and duchess' chambers to check on her son.

  The first thing she saw was the open window. Alexandra frowned at the slight chill in the room. She really ought to have the housekeeper call someone to put a new lock on it. The old one was so loose that the barest gust of wind could unhinge the latch and push the panes open. She ambled towards the gaping windowpanes and pulled both of the glass panels shut. A soft shaft of sunlight signaled the first light of morning and Alexandra stood back to admire it, watching the glass sparkle and turn opaque as the sun's rays shone through.

  And that's when she noticed the reflection of Gabriel's bed a few yards behind her.

  Alexandra swiveled around with a gasp—and laid eyes on the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

  Two honey-blond heads lay snuggled together, Gabriel sleeping soundly on Allayne's chest, a little arm and leg curled over his father's midriff. Allayne's long hair fell over his cheek and brow, a muscular arm curved possessively around his son. Gabriel's favorite book was spread face-down by his booted feet. A sudden urge to remind him about ruining the book's spine, the same thing he used to nag her about in Bath, put a smile on her lips.

  Alexandra quietly moved closer towards the sleeping pair. Dear God, how had Allayne gotten in here? Then, she remembered—the window. It must have been the window. Her heart filled with tenderness at the scene before her, the two people she loved the most, finally together. Tears prickled behind her lids. Was there a more precious moment than this? She leaned over and pressed a kiss on Gabriel's cheek, then, unable to resist temptation, she very carefully, ever so gently, touched her lips to Allayne's enticing mouth.

  Neither of them stirred. She gazed at Allayne's countenance, mesmerized by how beautiful he was, how strong the resemblance was, between him and Gabriel, before her thoughts spiraled to the inevitable problem at hand. What was she going to do now? What was she going to say to him? A nervous shiver slithered down her spine as she slowly straightened and began to turn away. She must think this over, formulate a way to dissuade…

  A strong hand curled on her wrist.

  She darted a startled glance over her shoulder and found half-closed green eyes trained at her.

  "Don't go," Allayne's low, sleep-laced voice rumbled.

  Fear clutched her in a choke-hold. Apprehension must have shown in her eyes because Allayne's grip tightened on her wrist.

  "Why do you look at me so?" He slid his hand down, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Are you afraid I will be angry at you?"

  "Yes," she said in a voice, guilty and rueful. After all, she had deliberately hidden from him the fact that they had a son.

  Allayne kissed the top of Gabriel's head. "He's beautiful," he said softly, a trace of a dimple appearing on one cheek. "I'm happy, Alex."

  A breath of fresh air banished the hysteria that had blossomed in her gut upon hearing his words. He was not disgusted with her—at least, not yet—because he didn't know the half of it. Tears skittered down her cheeks. Blast it. She mopped her face with the back of her free hand, flushing with embarrassment. She could not seem to stop crying these days, like some stupid, overflowing watering pot—

  "Come here." He tugged at her hand.

  Alexandra stared at their joined hands. Oh, Lord, how could she possibly resist? With a stifled sob, she threw herself alongside him on the bed, burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar clean scent of his that reminded her of springtime and sunshine.

  "I love you." He brought her fingers to his lips. "Will you marry me?"

  His sweet declaration made her cry even worse. Now she was bawling, because she knew she would soon hurt him. How could she make him understand the dilemma she was caught in? Now that he had found out about Gabriel—would he try to take him away from her? The fear returned and slammed into her chest with a force that took her breath away.

  "What's the matter, love?" Allayne tilted her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

  Alexandra could not bear to look at him, to watch the joy flee from his eyes, so she averted her gaze. God help her—but she won't try to wheedle her way out of this confrontation again. The truth had to be told, and there's no one on the face of the earth that could do it except her.

  "If—" she swallowed the coarse lump in her throat. "If we marry—what would happen to Gabriel?"

  Allayne regarded her with a puzzled expression. "I will claim him, of course. His proper birthright will be legally restored and his surname will revert to mine. And, if there are challenges to his heritage, they can be easily managed by the powerful connections we have in the system. "

  "A-and what about the Duk
edom?"

  "You will retain all the un-entailed monies and properties bequeathed onto you by the Duke, but the Dukedom itself and all its holdings shall revert to the crown if the bloodline has become extinct—or pass on to the next rightful heir."

  The next rightful heir—a Mr. Blake Norton. By God, his reputation as a gambler and a wastrel preceded him everywhere he went. He had a long line of creditors chasing after him and according to rumors, he was a few weeks away from getting hauled into debtors' prison. Henry's voice echoed at the back of Alexandra's mind. "Don't allow Blake Norton to plunge the Dukedom into perdition," he'd said on his deathbed. "Ensure that Gabriel becomes the Eighth Duke of Redfellow. I put my trust in you."

  The lump in Alexandra's throat swelled and she remembered all the people relying upon her—the duke's faithful butler—Mr. Walters, Mrs. Wigsley—the housekeeper, the pensioners, and every single person in the Duke's employ, the tenants—their children. All of them would be compromised at the hands of Blake Norton, who would surely usurp the ducal coffers and drain the funds to the last shilling.

  The horror must have registered on her face, because Allayne regarded her with narrowed eyes. "Tell me what's bothering you," he said in a tone that told her, he expected nothing less than the truth.

  Oh God, oh God, please don't let him be angry, Alexandra's anxiety climbed another notch. Nothing could aid her now—she owed him the truth. She knew he was going to hate her, but no one could hate her more than she hated herself at this moment.

  "Allayne—" she choked on a sob, "Oh, Allayne—Gabriel—Henry claimed him as his own. A-and I gave him my blessing."

  Alexandra waited for his temper to flare, to rile and call her names, but he became pensive and quiet instead. The tensed silence stretched and so did the strain on her nerves. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and hear the gust of his breath on her ear. The hand that had cupped her chin fell to his side in a rigid fist.