by Darcy Burke
First, however, he had to answer to his wife and make absolutely certain she wanted this too. Even if he meant for the world to believe his lies, she would need to know the truth. She already knew the most important part, and she deserved to hear the rest.
Kit leaned over and brushed a kiss against Beau’s head, then eased off the bed. He adjusted the coverlet, and Beau turned to his side, snuggling deeper into the bedclothes.
With a smile, Kit turned and left, closing the door softly behind him. He’d abandoned his coat and his cravat before joining Beau, and briefly considered fetching them before going to see Verity. Why? She’d tended his wounds, she’d kissed him, and now she’d invited him to her private study. Hang the rest of his clothes.
He walked to the end of the corridor, where the door to her room was barely ajar. He rapped softly and waited for a response. Hearing none after a moment, he pushed the door open. The bedchamber appeared to be empty. Rather, devoid of Verity or any other human. One of the cats slept at the end of the massive bed.
The bed dominated the room. Tall, with drapes tied at each post, it was made of ornately carved wood. He recognized the Beaumont crest at the foot. His father had proudly showed him the family emblem during Kit’s visit. He’d adopted part of it—the blue and yellow, which wasn’t part of the bed carving—into his personal flag on his ship. He’d omitted the lion rampant, which took up the center of the crest.
“I thought I heard you.”
He turned at the sound of Verity’s voice, pivoting to his right where she stood in the doorway to her study. She wore her floral-patterned dressing gown that hugged her upper torso but left her lower curves a mystery he longed to unravel. He walked toward her. “Forgive my attire. I was reading to Beau.”
“I know.” Of course she did. She’d left them together after kissing her son good night. “Did you finish the book?”
He shook his head. “He fell asleep after a page and a half.”
She laughed softly, and the gentle sound made the moment feel even more intimate. Because they shared this boy—a love for this boy. He’d never felt more like an usurper. He’d stolen into their lives and forged a place for himself, whether they wanted him or not. All of it was a lie.
And now was the moment of truth. “I went to confront Cuddy last night.”
She instantly tensed, her shoulders bunching and her hands coming together in front of her waist. “Please, sit.” She gestured toward the chaise in the corner by the windows, and she perched on a chair angled nearby. Concern streaked her face. “You got into a fight?”
“Cuddy attacked me after I accused him of embezzling.”
She winced. “Clearly you were able to defend yourself.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid Cuddy was intent upon murder. I had no choice but to defend myself.”
Her eyes widened as she understood. “Is he dead?”
Kit’s gut clenched. “Yes. I’m so sorry.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth and turned her head toward the black window. After a moment, she looked back to him. “What did you do? I mean, did you notify the constable?”
He took a deep breath. “I considered it. However, Cuddy indicated that he knew I’m not Rufus.”
Her face, after barely settling into a grim acceptance, registered shock once more. “How?”
“I don’t know. But he said he’s not the only one.” He pinned her with a frank stare. “I didn’t go to the constable because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Verity, it’s time I told you the truth. All of it.”
She nodded slightly. “I know.”
He could feel her tension across the space between them but didn’t dare move closer. She might throw him out in a few minutes.
“I should start at the beginning,” he said. “With my parents—John and Helena Powell. John was a vicar in Poulton. I grew up spending much of my time watching the men who worked at the docks on the River Wyre. And of course the ships that came in bearing goods. That is where I became enamored of ships and the sea.”
“Were you actually conscripted?” she asked.
“No. I went of my own accord when I was fifteen.”
She gasped softly. “So young.”
“Not as young as others.”
“Were you in the navy, then?”
His lips curved into a slight smile. “In a manner of speaking. I carried letters of marque.”
Her expression reflected surprise again, but along with something else. Perhaps just a glimmer of admiration. “That sounds dangerous. Did you enjoy it?”
“Probably more than a man should. It was so different from the vicarage where I was raised. But I wanted that. Especially after my mother died.”
“How old were you?” she asked softly.
“Eight. It wrecked my father. She died in childbirth—it was her fifth attempt to bring a child into the world. All of them failed.”
“Except for you.”
He shook his head. “I was not their blood. I was given to them to raise.”
Another flash of surprise in her gaze. “Why?”
This next revelation would only deepen her shock. Of that he was certain. “Because I was a bastard. Augustus Beaumont’s bastard, to be specific.”
Verity gasped and lifted her hand to her mouth. “That’s why you look so much like Rufus.”
“It’s a bit more than that, actually. Rufus was my cousin, yes, but he was also my half brother. I am the product of his mother and his uncle—a child conceived in adultery and sent away in shame.”
Her jaw dropped. “I’m so sorry.”
Kit longed to stand and pace, to release some of the pent-up energy coursing through him. But she was utterly fixed on him, and he didn’t want to move. “When I was thirteen, the duke—Augustus—requested my presence. His wife had died several months prior, and he only had three daughters, all of whom had married. He wanted to meet the son he’d sired.”
“You came here?”
“For a summer.” He rubbed his palms along his thighs as he spoke. “The vicar was reluctant to let me come, but one didn’t say no to a duke, particularly when that duke was your child’s blood father and had provided for his care.”
“I’m not surprised to hear Augustus cared for you,” she said, allowing a smile to trip across her lips. “He was a kind man.”
Kit’s muscles tightened and his lip curled. “He was a selfish prick.”
Verity started at the vehemence in his tone. “Why do you say that? He was always kind to me.”
“I’m glad for you, but he wasn’t that way to me. He invited me here and showed me the life I could’ve had if I’d been born on the right side of the blanket. He promised to send me to school and to secure my future. I asked if I could stay—anywhere—on the estate. I didn’t care where or in what capacity, I just wanted to be a part of this place, of this history, of my birthright.” He looked toward the window. “He said his new wife would arrive in the fall, and she didn’t want his bastard around. I learned from Whist actually that she had two sons of her own and was still of childbearing age. Augustus hoped to sire his own heir, and as you know, he did.”
Her jaw dropped. “You met Whist?”
He nodded, returning his gaze to hers. “I worried he would recognize me, but thankfully, my resemblance to Rufus is apparently strong enough.”
“It’s rather uncanny, really. But now that I know the truth, I see the subtle differences.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why Augustus invited you here. Did he mean to taunt you? That doesn’t sound like the Augustus I knew.”
“Truthfully, I don’t know either. I can only guess he was curious about me and hungered desperately for a son. What I do know is that as soon as he had his son the following year, the support to my father stopped. When he wrote to Augustus to ask why and to ensure he still meant to pay for my education, he was ignored. When I turned fifteen, and I went to Liverpool where I boarded a ship and didn’t look back. Not for fifteen years.”
“Why did you come back now?”
“I needed a ship.”
“Were you a captain?”
“I was. Until my ship burned. It’s strange to think your ship can catch fire and burn in the water, but that’s what happened. Now it’s sitting on the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.”
“The other night when you spoke of fire and water... Now I understand.” She flinched, her eyes turning sad. “You miss that life. You didn’t come here to stay.”
Agony tore through him at the disappointment in her gaze, but he owed her the truth. “No, I did not. I came here to obtain something of value so that I could purchase a new ship. It was the least Augustus could do for me. But I found that he had died, as had my father.” He took a deep breath and plunged onward. “When I learned Augustus had died and the new duke was missing, I decided to come here and take something.”
The disappointment in her gaze turned to incredulity. “You were going to steal from the estate. Like Cuddy.”
He kept his voice steady even as emotion rioted through him. “Yes. But when I arrived in Blackburn, someone mistook me for Rufus, and I couldn’t ignore the opportunity.”
“So you pretended to be him.” Her scorn burned him. “That’s rather arrogant of you to think you could pull it off.”
Yes, it was. “I knew enough about Beaumont Tower, and thought I could bluff the rest.”
Having sat unmoving for so long, she unclasped her hands and flattened her palms against her knees. “You thought it would be easy to pretend to be my husband?”
He deserved every bit of her anger. “I didn’t plan to be here very long, and I thought I could do what I needed to in order to find something of value and take it—something you wouldn’t miss. I was actually trying to be a conscientious thief.” He tried to inflect a bit of humor to lighten the atmosphere. But he shouldn’t have. Her eyes darkened and her brow furrowed.
“You committed fraud.” Her eyes were fire and her tone ice. “You pretended to be someone you aren’t for personal gain. And you didn’t just ensnare me and the staff and the tenants in your lies, you deceived a boy. Explain that to me—if you can.”
Chapter 13
Verity’s heart thundered in her chest. What had she expected? That he’d masqueraded as Rufus because he’d wanted to help her and the estate? No, that hadn’t been his motive, by his own admission, but that was precisely what he’d done. He’d also involved an innocent child.
“I didn’t know about Beau,” he said softly, his voice laden with regret. “I have no excuse but I will say it gave me pause. I’d intended to be here less than a week at best. However, Beau captured my heart immediately.” Warmth heated his gaze, and he leaned forward slightly. “I’m afraid my plans to stay a short time and take what I needed to fund my ship faded into the background as I immersed myself…here. In the estate,” he added.
“And in our family.” She was torn between anger at his audacity and his self-serving motivation and the joy and contentment he’d brought to Beaumont Tower. “You’ve put me in a terrible situation. I should despise you.” Her voice was low with anger and hurt.
“You should, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done—to you and to Beau. I never meant to cause you or him to suffer and to think that you might…” He stood and paced across the room. He turned, and his eyes were never a more vivid green, nor his demeanor more open and earnest. “I’m not proud of my motives, but I don’t regret a single thing. I can’t. Not when it brought me to you and to Beau. I fell in love with both of you, and that it just happens I am in possession of a title that should never be mine but which I desperately wanted is a happy coincidence. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it all.” He strode toward her, his face intensely determined. “The dukedom, Beau, you. I won’t let any of it go.”
She refused to be swept up with his words of love, no matter how glorious they sounded. “Even kill a man who knew your secret?”
He swallowed, his throat working as he kept steady and intense eye contact with her. “That’s not why I killed Cuddy. It was either him or me, and I have an aversion to dying.”
She recalled their conversation last night about his wounds. “It seems as though you’ve had to defend against that many times. How many men have you killed?” She didn’t for a moment think Cuddy had been the only one. Kit had captained a privateering vessel during wartime.
“Too many to count. Nor do I want to. I have generally tried to put them from my mind. But know that each one affected me. It is not something I’ve done lightly or without remorse.” Yet he spoke of it easily, as if it were just a part of who he was. Which she supposed it was.
She was glad to hear his regret, but the matter was far from over. “The constable will likely investigate Cuddy’s death. What are we to do about that?”
He paused, his gaze fixed on hers. “You said we.”
She had. While she was angry, she wasn’t going to cast him out. He said he was in love with her and with Beau. She knew Beau returned that emotion. Did she? She wasn’t ready to address that emotion, not when there were so many other things clogging her mind.
“I did. You are a part of this family now. But I don’t know that I trust you, and I need to be able to—for Beau.”
“Then I shall be as honest as I can. I knew I had to tell you the truth. I just didn’t know how. When you said you knew I wasn’t Rufus… It was a gift, and I don’t refuse gifts.”
Because she suspected he’d been given very few of them. Well, neither had she—until Beau.
And until him.
He’d come into their lives with purpose and kindness and an enthusiasm for the estate and, surprisingly, for fatherhood. He’d given Verity space and deference and respect. Those were gifts she’d never been given. She wanted to believe him, to believe in him…
“I don’t either,” she said, moving toward him. “And I won’t start now.”
His breath caught, and she watched the muscles in his jaw contract. “What do you mean?” The question was low and deep, barely audible.
“You said you’d do whatever it takes to keep the dukedom and Beau and…me. You’ve already done it by baring yourself completely.” His words of love filled her mind. She wanted that too. “I only ask that you be honest and open with me and with Beau.”
“Do you want to tell him the truth about me?”
“We must. In time. I don’t think he’ll care—he loves you.” Did it matter that this man was actually his uncle? Or cousin. She truly couldn’t have asked for a better father for Beau.
“Not as much as I love him.” The ferocity in his statement made her throat ache.
Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. “That’s what it feels like to be a parent.” That much she knew. What it felt like to be a wife, someone who was a partner, a friend, and a lover? She wasn’t as confident, but she was learning. She moved closer until they almost touched. “Show me what it feels like to be a wife.”
Expecting him to touch her, to kiss her, she was surprised when he sank to his knees in a posture of pure supplication. “A wife should be honored.” He took her hand and kissed the back. “Worshipped.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Adored.”
His words heated her and filled her with hope and passion. “Last night, I asked if you would leave us. If you want to claim your place, I take that to mean you are committed—to the title, to the estate, to Beau, to me.”
He stared up at her, his eyes full of emotion. “I am.”
She touched his face. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Kit,” he said softly, his lips curving into a smile that made her toes curl. “My name is Kit.”
“You look like a Kit.” She caressed his cheek and ran her thumb along the rough edge of his jaw where his beard began to sprout. “I want to forget the past and embrace the future you’ve given me and Beau. I’ve never experienced anything…pleasant. Last night was a revelation. I’d like you to do more than kiss me. Will y
ou?”
He rose up in front of her and clasped her waist, his touch burning through the meager layers of her dressing gown and night rail. “I will do anything and everything you ask, including stop if you decide you want me to. Verity,” he whispered. “Your name means truth, and I want that between us. I promise to go slow and ensure you are satisfied at every turn. Do you trust me to do that?”
“I do.” Verity put her arms around Kit’s neck and pressed herself into him as his mouth descended on hers.
Last night, he’d taught her that kisses could be beautiful and wondrous, tantalizing and fulfilling. They’d left her wanting so much more. She knew what else could happen—and how awful it had been. But with Kit, it would be different and wonderful, just as everything had been with him.
As with last night, he went slowly, his mouth molding to hers. In fact, she found it was too slow. Something inside her was bursting to be released, and she was more than ready. She angled her head and slid her tongue deep into his mouth, praying she was doing this right.
Apparently she was, for he groaned softly as his hands tightened their grip on her, his fingers pressing with a need that matched her own. She edged backward to the chaise and sat down, taking him with her. The movement broke the kiss briefly, and they exchanged a heated look as she lay back on the chaise.
He followed, settling on top of her. His weight and warmth were delicious. This was a sensation she’d never even realized she was missing. Just to be held and kissed and touched filled her with joy.
He moved his hand along her neck, his palm grazing her flesh followed by his fingertips leaving a trail of breathless desire. His touch continued along her collarbone and lower until he laid his palm over her breast.
