“We were sentenced to death, and we did nothing to deserve it except be born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Not all the widows murdered the children handed over to them.”
“A good many did.” Over a thousand graves had been discovered in one woman’s garden.
“Don’t you ever wonder about where you came from, Gillie?” Finn asked.
She shook her head. “No. Unlike you lot, I don’t know who fathered me, or anything at all about the immoral woman who lay on her back for him, but Ettie Trewlove is my mum. That’s all I need to know.”
None of them knew anything about the women who’d given birth to them, although Aiden’s and Finn’s sire had delivered them to Ettie Trewlove’s door within weeks of each other so everyone assumed the man had possessed two mistresses.
“Don’t you want to know if the woman who brought you into the world was his lover or just someone he took for the night?” Finn asked. “I wonder about my mum, if she meant anything at all to him.”
“If she had, do you think he’d have gotten rid of you?” Gillie asked. “Don’t be daft, lads. The women who gave birth to us were mistresses or prostitutes or, heaven forbid, some poor servant girl who got cornered in the linen pantry. Keeping us would have ruined their lives, made them as unwanted as we were. Look ahead, lads, not back. Nothing to be seen in the rear but heartache.”
But Mick couldn’t help but wonder if sometimes heartache was needed in order to move forward.
Chapter 6
Everyone who wanted to be seen was in Hyde Park. Generally Mick preferred to do his business in the shadows, but he recognized there were times when a man needed to step into the sunlight in order to be effective and gain what he wanted. This afternoon was one of those times.
Sitting astride his gelding gave him a clearer view, and it didn’t take him long to spy Lady Aslyn. He’d expected to find her amid a gaggle of females. Instead she appeared to be alone, except for the entourage of servants who had been accompanying her the day before. Not wanting to appear overly eager, he hadn’t joined her at the park yesterday. Seduction required subtlety and patience. Especially when the lady was supposedly enamored of another.
He didn’t cut a direct path to her, but instead meandered about, tipping his hat whenever any lord with whom he might have done business acknowledged him. The occurrences were few, but that would change once his place within high Society was recognized. Once his place was established, Fancy’s would be, as well. Ever since he’d learned at the age of fourteen that his mum was with child, he’d put all his efforts into protecting her and the babe. It was only then he’d fully understood the price Ettie Trewlove was paying to the landlord every Black Monday when she didn’t have enough coins for her weekly rent. If he’d been older or bigger or stronger, perhaps he could have protected her from the lecherous proprietor sooner, with his fists.
He damned well protected her now—and the daughter to whom she’d given birth out of wedlock, in shame and in sin. When it came to children, the law required nothing of the man and everything of the woman. Ettie Trewlove had little to give except for her heart, but it was enough, enough for own daughter and the five unwanted children she’d taken under her wing. He owed his mum a price he could never repay, so he would make a proper place in the world for her daughter, her blood, even if it cost him his soul to do it.
He knew the moment Lady Aslyn spotted him. She stopped walking, tipped up her parasol slightly along with her chin and smiled softly as though she’d been kept indoors all day because of the rain—and the sun had suddenly made an appearance.
Drawing his horse to a halt, he dismounted with ease, removed his hat and waited for a more public acknowledgment from her.
“Mr. Trewlove.”
“Lady Aslyn, what a pleasure it is to find you in the park this afternoon.”
“And you, sir. I thought I might have seen you yesterday.”
What a bold chit she was. He’d not expected the subtle reprimand. “I had business that kept me away.” He cast a furtive glance at the servants hovering nearby, all appearing to be ready to pounce if he made an untoward movement. He resettled his gaze on the lady. “But you occupied my thoughts.”
A lovely blush rose up her neck to encompass her face and make her cheeks more pronounced. He had the fleeting thought that he was looking forward to discovering if the flush began at her toes. And he would discover it. Before the month was done, he intended to have her in his bed. She would be to him whatever the woman who had given birth to him had been to his father—and he’d throw the similarities into the duke’s face. Looking at her youth and innocence now, he refused to feel remorseful about the role she would play in his gaining satisfaction. He’d given the duke the opportunity to publicly recognize him, and the damned man had ignored each missive.
“Might we stroll together for a while?” he asked.
Her blush deepened, but she looked slightly uncomfortable as though uncertain where to go from here. She gave a barely perceptible nod. “I suppose there’s no harm in walking together for a few minutes.”
Guilt nagged at him. Was he a blackguard for using a girl who seemed far too innocent to be out alone among the wolves? He didn’t bother to offer his arm, because he wasn’t certain she’d take it, and he never took any action unless he was certain of the outcome. In a distant corner of his mind, an irritating thought nagged at him that he also hadn’t offered his arm because he’d be distracted by her touch. She had small hands, no doubt fragile and delicate. There’d never been anything gentle in his life. Everything he’d experienced had been hard, harsh and challenging. Even his bedding rituals had a rough, wild element to them. The women he took were strong, fierce, gave as good as they got. He couldn’t imagine Lady Aslyn on all fours acting the mare to his stallion.
Damnation. She wasn’t touching him, but simply gazing on her distracted him from his purpose. He walked with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the reins held firmly as the gelding followed, providing an effectual barrier between the lady and her footmen who traipsed along behind. While he walked to her left, the two maids had taken up positions to her right, but they were keeping a respectful distance, allowing them a bit of privacy as long as they spoke quietly.
“Did you find a parasol for your sister?” Lady Aslyn asked, as she glanced askance at him.
“I did. A white lacy thing. She seemed to fancy it.”
“White goes with anything.”
Only then did he notice her pink parasol, resting against her right shoulder, was the same shade as her frock. She no doubt possessed a hundred of the blasted things, one for every outfit. She lived in a world where coins were taken for granted. While he was now in a position to be generous with his, he never forgot the price paid for each one.
Silence eased in around them. He supposed she was waiting for him to continue their discussion of ladies’ paraphernalia. Flirtation involved speaking of inconsequential things. If he had any hope at all of seducing her, he needed to move quickly before the duke or the earl realized his intentions.
“How many languages do you speak?” she asked, catching him off guard with the change in topic. Was she trying to discern where he’d been educated? The rookeries had been his classroom, poverty and vulnerability his harsh tutors. He’d learned their lessons well. They’d never again threaten to break him.
“The Queen’s English.” He could speak a few words of other languages, enough to communicate with laborers when needed, but mentioning them might put her in the mood to test him, and he wasn’t going to show himself lacking in any regard. Although he’d never seen the advantage to boasting. Better to keep one’s talents close to the vest. “You?”
“Five,” she said blithely. “English, of course. French. Handkerchief, fan and parasol.”
He stared at the impish smile she gave him. It transformed her face into ra
re beauty, something that went beyond the surface. He had no desire to be intrigued or mesmerized by her teasing—no one dared tease him—yet she seemed completely unaware of the danger he presented. “I beg your pardon? Handkerchief, fan, parasol?”
“Any lady of good breeding knows them. Did you not teach them to your sister when you gifted her with the parasol?”
“I am not a lady of good breeding.”
Her smile deepened, causing a strange sensation in his chest, something he’d experienced once when a large wooden crate had toppled onto him. It had been terribly unpleasant, then. It wasn’t so much so now, and yet he still found it difficult to breathe. “No, I suppose you’re not. Do you see that couple walking over there, the lady in the purple gown, the gent with the gray cravat? Her parasol rests against her left shoulder. She is displeased with him. He’s said something that upset her.”
“Perhaps it keeps the sun out of her eyes better on that side.”
She laughed lightly. “My dear sir, carrying a parasol has little to do with the sun.”
Dear sir? He was not her dear anything. He knew that, knew she didn’t understand the consequences of words spoken. Still the endearment left a strange longing that he did not wish to examine. He was thirty-one, reaching the time in his life when it would be natural to take a wife, to have someone who called him dear. He’d never really contemplated that before, didn’t know why he was doing so now. She was not to be a permanent part of his life. She served a purpose, and when that purpose waned, he would release her. He wondered why he suddenly feared he might do so with regrets.
“Do you see the woman in blue who has folded up her parasol and is touching the handle to her lips?”
“The one who has wasted her coins by purchasing something designed to protect from the sun and is using it most ineffectually?”
“Depends on your definition of effectual, I suppose. She is signaling to the gent walking beside her that she would like to kiss him.”
“You’re bloody well putting me on, aren’t you?”
Her eyes widened at his sharp tone, or perhaps his profanity, but he hated little more than he hated being made a fool of. She shook her head. “No. Women aren’t allowed to speak their minds, to declare what they want so they have to do it through bits of frippery.”
Her voice was edged with a hardness he’d have not expected of her. He didn’t know why it pleased him to realize she had a bit of a temper, one that she no doubt controlled because of societal expectations. “And what is it you want to declare?”
She blinked slowly, stared at him. Suddenly laughed. “At this precise moment, I don’t know.”
“You never have to watch your words with me.” Which wasn’t fair, as he’d always be watchful of what he revealed to her. “My sisters always speak their mind.”
“And do what they want, I suppose. The sister who accompanied you the other night no doubt was allowed to stay at Cremorne Gardens after the riffraff arrived.”
“No, I strive to protect her from the less savory elements of London.”
“My apologies.” She sighed. “Sometimes I yearn to rebel against proper behavior.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Scandal would serve me no good. Lord Kipwick would be dismayed and disappointed in me.”
He found it difficult to believe anyone would ever be disappointed in her, that she had it within her to bring about censure—on her own at least. With his assistance, she was going to find herself engulfed in improper behavior. She would disappoint. She would bring about censure. She would despise him. Regret began to well, and he shoved it aside. It could overwhelm him later, but not now, not while his plans were still in their infancy, before they’d come to fruition.
“Why is he not here?” he asked, working to keep his voice neutral, when in truth there was a small corner of his soul that was angry on her behalf, because unlike the myriad of other ladies, she was not being escorted by her swain.
“The park bores him no end.”
“But surely you do not. I would suffer through any dull activity to be at the side of a woman who interests me.” And she interested him, far more than she should have, far more than he wanted her to.
That blush again, accompanied by a fluttering of her eyelashes that he suspected had nothing at all to do with flirtation, but rather his words had taken her unawares, as she’d not considered the message a man’s absence might be communicating. While he’d given it a great deal of thought. If she didn’t mean as much to Kipwick as the gossip sheets hinted, then she was no longer a crucial part of his plan. For some unfathomable reason, he was more disappointed on her behalf than on his.
“It seems a lady would be most fortunate to have your attentions, then.” She averted her gaze, released a taut laugh. “It seems our couple with the closed parasol has secreted away.”
“Have you ever been secreted away?”
She snapped her gaze back to him. “Of course not. A lady in my position does not engage in such inappropriate behavior, but must act in a manner that ensures she stay above rumormongering.”
“Is there not some part of you, some deep dark part of you, that longs for scandal?”
He watched in fascination as the delicate muscles at her ivory throat worked while she swallowed. “Absolutely not.” There was little force behind the words. “I have delayed your enjoyment of the park long enough, I think.”
She was dismissing him. He should have taken offense. Instead he viewed it as a victory. He was getting to her, making her doubt Kipwick’s devotion. He wondered why he took no satisfaction in the knowledge.
“Indeed.” He bowed his head slightly. “I have a meeting with my solicitor regarding some new property I wish to obtain. He charges me double when I’m tardy.”
“Then I shan’t keep you.”
“One question before I go—what does it signal when a lady rests her parasol on her right shoulder?” As she had done throughout their entire stroll.
“That she welcomes the gentleman speaking to her.”
“Quite innocent, then.”
“I suppose it depends upon what she welcomes him speaking to her about.”
He chuckled low. “I suppose it does at that.” He gave an elegant bow. “It has been my pleasure to spend a few minutes with you, Lady Aslyn. I do hope our paths will cross again.”
“I’m not certain that would be wise.”
“Sometimes a man gains more by being unwise.” Before she could respond, he mounted his horse, tipped his hat to her and took off at a gentle canter.
She was not as he’d expected. He did want to cross paths with her again, and it had little do with reprisal. The thought making him uncomfortable, he shifted in the saddle and spurred his horse on. If he were a smart man, he’d cast aside this part of his plan. But then he’d already admitted to finding profit in not always being wise.
“I heard you were seen strolling through Hyde Park with Trewlove yesterday afternoon.”
Aslyn stared up at her waltzing partner’s somber face. She’d never known Kip to look so serious. She’d arrived at the Collinsworth ball, maid in tow, respectfully late, expecting him to arrive even later. Instead he’d already been there. As soon as she’d greeted the host and hostess, he swept her onto the dance floor.
The inquisition began without his even asking how she’d fared since he’d last seen her. “It wasn’t arranged.” Exactly. “Our paths simply crossed, and he was gentlemanly enough to spare me a few moments.”
“He’s a bastard, Aslyn.”
Her mouth dropped open at the harsh word, delivered cuttingly, in a manner she knew he’d never say it to Mick Trewlove’s face. His voice held disapproval, disappointment, but also a measure of something she thought might be jealousy. “You indicated the other night during dinner his illegitimacy was only rumor.”
“N
ow I know it to be fact.”
With the knowledge, she should have thought less of Mick Trewlove, been horrified at the way she’d stared at his hands as he assisted her with her bracelet, been mortified by the gladness she’d felt as he escorted her in the park. Yet she seemed incapable of viewing him any differently. “Have you ceased your associations with him?”
Kip appeared decidedly uncomfortable, glancing around quickly as though fearful someone might overhear their conversation, while all along his terse expression was going to be cause for much gossip and speculation. “It will do your reputation no good to be seen speaking with him.”
“So if he approaches, what am I to do? Give him a cut?”
“Simply don’t acknowledge him. If you do not speak to him first, he cannot speak to you.”
“Did he strike you as someone who follows Society’s rules?”
“You cannot encourage him or give any indication that you overlook the circumstances of his birth.”
“That’s hardly fair. He’s done nothing to deserve my censure.”
“He was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“How is that his fault?”
He released an exasperated sigh. “My parents would not be at all pleased to know you’d spoken with him. They made that perfectly clear the other night.”
“You were the one who brought him up during dinner after we both agreed we wouldn’t mention the encounter.”
His cheeks flamed red. “I didn’t mention the encounter, only the man. You are the one who is going to cause problems if you continue to associate with him.”
“I’m not associating with him. We merely spoke when our paths crossed in the park.” And near the shops. Not that she was going to mention that. It would only heighten his upset, which she was finding distressing enough, as he’d never been cross with her before.
Beyond Scandal and Desire Page 7