Beyond Scandal and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  Stopping near the carriage where a footman held the door ajar, he held her gaze. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Tell me true. Was the outing Fancy’s idea?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t hesitate, never hesitated with the truth. She liked that about him, was beginning to think their relationship was the most honest one in her life. If she hadn’t centered her marriage hopes on Kip ever since she was a little girl, would she have been equally intrigued by another gent? Or was it just him? Would it always be only Mick?

  “Would you send me the address of the orphanage? I’d like to visit on the morrow, make certain Will has recovered fully from his ordeal.” Not that she had any idea what she would do if he hadn’t, but she did care about the lad, cared even more for the pleasure that made Mick’s eyes sparkle like sapphires.

  “I will.”

  “I suppose I should be off.”

  “I suppose you should.”

  Only she didn’t want to leave. She wanted another few minutes with him, another few hours. Longer.

  But he took charge of the matter, moved up to the coach, totally ignoring the footman, and held out his hand to her. Neither were wearing gloves. The salt water had ruined hers. She placed her hand in his, welcomed the closing of his fingers around it, wondering why it was that the merest of touches from him could send sensations rioting throughout her.

  Holding her gaze, he brought her fingers to his lips, pressed his mouth against the middle two, allowed it to linger, hot and moist. Then his tongue gave the tiniest of licks across the narrowest expanse of her skin, and her knees nearly buckled, pleasure tightened her belly, and it was as though his tongue had dared to touch the most intimate part of her. The intimacy of the moment, the action, made her profoundly regret there could be no more between them than friendship, that he could not call upon her, that his courtship would be met with fierce resistance. Her birth determined her destiny to marry a titled gentleman. His decided that no matter how high he rose, he would always fall short of being considered good enough for the daughter of an earl. No matter how that daughter felt.

  She was barely aware of his mouth leaving her fingers, of his handing her up into the carriage.

  “Safe journey home, Lady Aslyn,” he said. Then he released his hold on her and was striding away, although she felt that he hadn’t let go at all, that he’d somehow managed to anchor her more securely to him.

  While she managed to get to her bedchamber and changed into dinner attire without her guardians any wiser concerning her day, she lost some of her joy when she strolled into the parlor and discovered Kip waiting with his parents.

  He approached, bussed a quick kiss over her cheek. “Aslyn.”

  Where was the warmth from him, from her? Why did she feel naught but cold?

  “How was your day at the museums?” the duchess asked.

  Museums? Ah, yes, her lie. “Lovely.”

  Kip wrinkled his brow. “Mother mentioned you were spending the day with the Cats?”

  “Ladies Katharine and Catherine. Just a silly moniker I gave them.”

  “Do I know them?”

  “Probably not. They debuted this Season, were snatched up rather quickly.”

  “By whom?”

  “I’m not quite sure.” She needed to stop spinning before she toppled into discovery. “I am sure, however, that I’m quite famished. Shall we go into dinner?”

  In hindsight, she should have claimed a sudden megrim and returned to her bedchamber. She’d never known such awkwardness at the dining table.

  “Have you two decided when the wedding is to take place?” the duchess asked.

  Kip looked at her, studied her, but she kept her face impassive, unwilling to give her thoughts away, willing to let him squirm until he told his parents the truth of their situation. “We’re still discussing it,” he finally said.

  “After all this time, I’d have thought you’d be rushing to the altar,” the duchess said.

  “As you say,” Aslyn began, “it’s been a long time. I see no need to rush.”

  “But—­”

  “Darling, let them move at their own speed,” the duke said. “They’ll have years together.”

  Aslyn very much doubted it. “I shall be going to an orphanage tomorrow.” She held Kip’s gaze. “Perhaps you’d care to join me.”

  His brow furrowed. “What interest have I in an orphanage?”

  “I thought you might have an interest in the orphans.”

  He looked at his parents, looked back at her. “No, I haven’t.”

  Because he had no interest in anyone other than himself. How had she not noticed it before?

  “And I’m quite busy these days handling a goodly number of the affairs of our estates. I don’t have time to take off during the day for play.”

  But he had time to lie about being sick from too much drink.

  “Aslyn,” the duchess said tentatively, “you don’t want to visit an orphanage, dear.”

  “I do actually. I thought to take them some toys—­tops, dolls and tin soldiers.”

  The duchess stared at Aslyn as though she’d admitted to wanting to dash down the street without a stitch of clothing. “No,” she finally said. “We don’t involve ourselves in the dregs of society.”

  “Dregs? They’re children. With no parents, no advantages. I want to do what I can to help.”

  “You have a wedding to plan and then a household to oversee. You’ll not have time for such nonsense.”

  “I don’t see that helping the unfortunate is nonsense.”

  “They will not appreciate your efforts. They will not be glad of your presence. They will resent anything you do for them. They are the dregs of society for a reason, my dear. You cannot lift them up. You must not even try. You will gain naught but heartache. You have been bred, trained, educated in your role as a future duchess. You must not abandon your charge for those who couldn’t care less about you.”

  “I want to be useful.”

  “You are useful by seeing to your duty.” With near desperation, she leaned toward Aslyn and placed her frail hand over hers. “Promise me you will not do this, that you will not go out among the poor, the disadvantaged. That you will not place yourself in harm’s way.”

  “I will take servants with me.”

  The duchess looked to her husband. “Hedley, forbid her to go.”

  Aslyn wasn’t certain she’d ever seen the duke look so sad. “She’s no longer a child, Bella. We can’t clip her wings if she’s ready to fly.”

  “She doesn’t understand the dangers.”

  “I’ll send extra footmen. They’ll stay close. She’ll travel in the coach. All will be well.”

  “It’s not as though she’s headed into the rookeries, Mother.”

  The duchess gave her attention back to Aslyn. “Simply send them the toys. You don’t have to take them yourself.”

  “I will be perfectly safe. No harm will come to me. I know it.”

  “That is when you are at your most vulnerable, when you believe no one would wish you ill. You cannot see the dangers.”

  “They are children in need of love. They will not hurt me.”

  “But others would.”

  “Bella, my love, I promise to see that she is protected.”

  “Do not give me a promise you cannot keep.”

  The duke appeared devastated by the words, leaving Aslyn to wonder what promise he may not have honored.

  The duchess set her napkin beside her plate. “I am done here. I must abed.”

  She scooted back her chair. The duke shot to his feet and helped his wife rise. “Carry on without us,” he ordered before escorting the duchess from the room.

  Kip settled back in his chair, called for more wine. “That was rather odd.”

 
She hadn’t wanted to upset the duchess, but she was also weary of feeling like a canary trapped in a cage, with freedom always in view, but never obtainable. “Sometimes I feel as though I’m suffocating here.”

  “Let’s go for a turn about the gardens, then, shall we? I think we could both use some fresh air.”

  She nodded. He rose, drew back her chair. Standing, she ignored his proffered arm—­suddenly tired of any and all assistance as though she wasn’t fully capable of taking care of herself—­and walked through the manor and into the gardens.

  He fell into step beside her and held his silence until they were well beyond the house. “I thought we might enjoy a game or two of cribbage this evening,” he said.

  “I’m quite weary from the day’s activities. I’ll be retiring as soon as we’ve finished our stroll.”

  “You’re still put out with me.”

  “I am.” Although she had appreciated his defense of her going to the orphanage. Tension stretched between them, taut and brittle. He sighed, clucked his teeth. She suspected he was clenching them, as well.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said quietly, “for my behavior yesterday as well as the night before that. I was troubled by my losses and embarrassed that you saw me lose.”

  “Telling me you owe me an apology is not apologizing,” she stated succinctly.

  “Aslyn.” He stepped in front of her, halted her steps. “I’m certain this evening my parents noticed there is a bit of a strain between us. It might have even led to my mother’s upset or whatever it was.”

  “Which is the reason we should tell them how things are between us.”

  “And how is that precisely?”

  “That we’ve ended our arrangement.”

  “But we haven’t. It’s merely on hiatus while we . . . couples have rows all the time. They work things out. I’m trying to make it right.”

  “You can’t.”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he released a deep breath. “I apologize.” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry. Tell me what more I can say.”

  “There is nothing you can say, only things you can do, and even then, you are unlikely to change my opinion regarding our suitability.”

  “Why are you being so blasted stubborn about this? Men gamble, drink, go to clubs. It’s what we do.”

  “The man I marry will not.” Edging around him, she began walking toward the rose trellis. He quickly caught up to her.

  “Do you want me to go to the damned orphanage with you? Will that make you forgive me?”

  “No, actually, I don’t want you along. You don’t want to be there, and the orphans would sense it. I would sense it. You’d mope about, and it would ruin my outing.”

  “What has gotten into you? Where is the biddable woman I asked to marry me?”

  She swung around to face him. “You broke her heart, and all the love she held for you spilled out. You can’t gather it back up.” She shook her head. “That’s not entirely true. I was hurt, and I saw a side to you I cannot embrace. But I’ve come to realize I’ve always viewed you more as a brother, that my feelings for you are not such that we would make good lovers.”

  “Lovers,” he repeated softly, his tone one of someone testing a newly discovered word. He blinked, stared at her as though he’d not considered that once they married they would indeed become lovers. He shook his head, obviously in need of clearing it. “This is not at all like you. Why cast me aside because of one error in judgment? What has brought this on?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her, but she couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t tell him that another man intrigued her, caused her heart to pound, her fears to dissipate—­

  “Good God, it’s Trewlove, isn’t it? That’s why he insisted I bring you to his affair.” He laughed, the sound ugly and horrid. “He’s using you just as he’s using me.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “Because it elevates him. To be seen with those of noble blood when his blood is tainted beyond redemption.”

  “You’re wrong. He doesn’t need us to elevate him. He’s risen to great heights on his own volition. With his businesses and his buildings and the kindness he shows others.”

  “You must know my father would never let you marry him.”

  She did know. “If he knew him—­”

  “Never.” He looked to the rose trellises. “You will come back around to the notion of marrying me.”

  “Never,” she said, repeating his word.

  He swung his gaze back to her, and she saw a humbleness in his features that she’d never before seen. “I remember when I first saw you. You were lying in your bassinet. I was all of eight. My mother was holding my hand. She leaned down and said, ‘You will marry her someday.’ We are fated, you and I, whether we like it or not.”

  She liked it not one whit, and if she’d learned anything from meeting Mick Trewlove, it was that destinies could be changed.

  Sitting behind the desk in his office, Mick stared at the deed that had been given to his brother, who now lounged in a nearby chair with a smirk of satisfaction. He was familiar with the small estate of Candlewick, but then he’d made himself familiar with all of the duke’s holdings—­the entailed and the non.

  “He just handed it over to you?” Mick asked.

  Aiden studied the nails of his right hand as though trying to determine if they were in need of another buffing. He didn’t know anyone who was so fastidious about his hands. “I told him I couldn’t continue to loan him money without some sort of collateral—­as he’s yet to pay back a penny owed. Apparently his father has signed all the nonentailed properties over to him. He was quite boastful about it.”

  Things were happening, coming together, much more quickly than Mick had anticipated. “Although I knew he had a gambling habit, I didn’t realize he was so remarkably reckless with it.”

  “He’s reckless with everything.”

  Including Aslyn. The man was not aware of the treasure he held, was in danger of losing. May have already lost. He was so unworthy of her. Leaning back in his chair, Mick tapped his fingers on his desk. “Loudon Green is the one I want. Everything falls apart without it.”

  “For you or for them?”

  Both. “For them. It accounts for the majority of their income. They can’t support the other estates without it.”

  “I find it difficult to believe you sprang from the loins of a man with no business acumen whatsoever. What possessed him to give his scapegrace son such a valuable property?”

  “Because he’s his legitimate son. Takes no more than that for the duke to trust him with his valuables—­his name, his titles, his legacy.”

  “But surely he must know the trouble his heir is heading toward.”

  Mick doubted it. The man never seemed to take much interest in anything beyond his wife. On the one hand, he wanted to admire the duke for his devotion to his duchess, but he suspected that devotion had resulted in him being handed over to Ettie Trewlove. God forbid the duchess discover her duke had sired a by-­blow.

  His actions wouldn’t gain him legitimacy, but they would prove he didn’t belong in the gutter. He might be a bastard, but he came from nobility—­and that would make him worthy of Aslyn.

  Chapter 16

  “Another package delivered secretly.”

  Nan didn’t sound too pleased, possibly because the package was larger than the others, not easily hidden within the folds of her skirt.

  Aslyn rolled out from beneath the covers, walked over and took the long, slender box from her maid. She carried it back to the bed, opened it. Nestled inside was a beautiful white lace parasol, the note accompanying it lengthier than any of the ones that had come before. Someone I hold in high regard once told me white goes with anything.

  He held her in high regard, remembered her words. Clutching the note to her breast, she knew she shou
ldn’t be so pleased by the knowledge, and yet she was. Kip was wrong. Mick wasn’t using her; he had a care for her. She imagined how lovely it would be to begin each day with sentiments expressed by him.

  Taking out the parasol, she held it aloft. “Where the devil does he do his late-­night shopping?” she wondered aloud.

  “My lady, all of this is very improper. He’s improper, not the sort with whom you should have secret trysts.”

  Not the sort with whom she should have public trysts, either. Then she saw the second note, one that had been hidden by the lacy contents of the box. The Trewlove Home, he’d written, along with an address. Her heart very nearly stopped, as her first thought had been that he was inviting her to tea at his mother’s. Quite suddenly, she realized he was referring to the orphanage, not his mother’s home. Silly girl, to be so disappointed.

  “We need to dress for going to an orphanage today,” she told Nan. “We’re to be subtle in our leaving, as I don’t wish to upset the duchess.”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  “And we shall need to stop at a toy shop on the way.”

  She brought a hoard of toys with her, and the orphans gathered around her like she was the Pied Piper. Lowering herself to the floor, giving no thought to the dirt that would infect her lilac skirts, she hugged each and every child who approached. Her laughter floated on the air, a wispy trill that rivaled that of the nightingale in beauty. Her smile wreathed her face, and he thought of the joy she’d show to her own children, the love she would shower over them. How fortunate those children would be.

  Standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, he took her in as though he were a parched flower and she was both rain and sun offering life. It was obvious she saved her longest, tightest, warmest hug for Will. He found himself envious of a scrawny little urchin.

  Finally, she lifted her gaze to him and gifted him with a lopsided, almost shy smile. It was a hard blow to the gut, a kick to the groin, a punch to the chest. No other woman affected him as she did. He should avoid her at all costs, but convincing himself to do that would be no easier than convincing the sun not to show itself at dawn. If she were near, he would always look for an excuse to close the distance between them.