“I didn’t cry.” She was wearing a plain navy blue dress, a recent purchase. No frays, no faded spots. Her hat hosted an assortment of colorful flowers, but then she’d always sought out colors in the drabness that was her life. He shifted his attention to Aslyn, as beautiful as ever, in pink. Her lips twisted into the familiar uneven smile did not make her look at all innocent in this, and he wondered what part she might have played. A large part no doubt. She was probably responsible for locating and getting word to his mum. Or maybe the duke had remembered where he’d delivered him that long ago night. Damnation, he should have made his mum move into better lodgings.
“I’m given to understand you prefer whiskey to tea,” the duchess said, and only then did he notice the etched glass holding two fingers of amber liquid set in front of the empty chair that rested between his mum and Aslyn. Taking that seat would leave him facing the duchess.
“Do sit down, Mick,” his mum said, her tone one of reprimand that he knew from experience would be quickly followed by a smack if he didn’t obey.
“I see nothing to be gained by this.” He gave his mum a hard stare. “You don’t know what you risk.” If they were to report her as being a baby farmer, the repercussions could see her imprisoned.
“They mean me no harm.” She reached out for him. “It’s like Pandora’s box. You can’t shove back inside everything that flew out. Besides, I rather like your mother.”
“You’re my mother.”
“How fortunate you are to have two when there are some who have none.”
He took her hand, squeezed it. He would protect her unto death. Releasing his hold, he dragged out the chair and dropped into it. He glared at Aslyn. “What is the game being played here?”
“No game. The duchess was merely curious about your upbringing, your life.”
“It was nothing at all like Kipwick’s,” he said tersely. “You don’t want to know about it.”
“It was hard and filthy—at least on the streets. I suspect your home was clean. It’s obvious Mrs. Trewlove loves you dearly. I can’t claim to hold that deep affection for you. I did not cradle you to my breast. I did not sing you lullabies. I wept when you were born, but the tears had nothing at all to do with joy.”
“You don’t have to tell me this.”
“You have no idea what it cost me to come here. I shook the entire way. Do you know that except for when we travel to and from the ducal estate, I never venture far from Mayfair? I almost never leave Hedley Hall, to be honest. I have spent most of my life fearing my own shadow. But wanting to see what you have accomplished forced me out of my little hidey-hole.”
He hardly knew what to say. He knew what Aslyn had told him about the duchess, but he assumed it was her frailty that kept her indoors.
“I am not your mother. I know this, but I look around and I see what you have built, what you are building, and I am impressed. I can take no credit for it. I did not influence you. But now that I know the truth of you, how can I not want to know everything?”
Her eyes delved into his, and he was very much aware of his mum holding her breath. She was the one who had raised him, who demonstrated kindness even though he didn’t always embrace the lessons—especially where those of his past were concerned. And then there was Aslyn. For her, he wanted to be better than he was. He took a good healthy swallow of the whiskey.
“I have three brothers and two sisters.”
“Four brothers,” the duchess said.
He flashed a grin. “I doubt Kipwick is keen on acknowledging me as such.”
“He’s adjusting,” Aslyn said.
He turned his attention to her. “Is he?”
“It’s been a shock to him obviously, to all of us. I think he’s struggling as much as you are with figuring out his place in the world now.”
“I’m not struggling.”
“You’re denying the truth of your birth.”
“No. I accept it, but it does not alter my present or my future.” He looked at the duchess. “I can’t be part of your life without causing speculation, gossip and quite possibly scandal.”
“I have a very simple solution for how you can be in their lives without anyone ever being the wiser,” Aslyn said quietly.
He gave her a mocking smile. “Have you?”
“Yes. When you first arrived at Hedley Hall, you told the duchess you were the man who would wed me if I would have you. Well—” She gave him an impish grin. “I will have you.”
Staring at her, he was vaguely aware of the duchess and his mum quietly leaving the table, like two old friends who communicated without words. He should have finished off his whiskey. Perhaps her words wouldn’t have come as quite a shock to him then.
“Aslyn—”
“You’re not going to cause an upheaval in their world by allowing them to declare you as their son. And I love you for it.”
“Aslyn—”
“You’re not turning your back on your adoptive family, and I love you for it.”
“Aslyn—”
“You dashed out here to protect your mum . . . and I think a good deal of your decisions are because of her, because you don’t want her to feel as though you don’t appreciate all she did for you. You are correct. There is no easy way to bring you back into their lives, to resurrect you without weaving some tale that would be believable without causing harm. But to deny them the opportunity to get to know you—there’s a certain sadness in that. You’ll have children, their grandchildren. Would you deny the duke and duchess getting to know them? Would you deny your children time with their true grandparents? If you marry me, no one will find it odd that you and your family are embraced by my guardians, by the couple who have raised me since I was seven. It’s the perfect solution.”
“Marriage to me will not make you a duchess.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do you think I care so much for a title?”
He shook his head. “No. I know you don’t care at all. But I can’t help but believe this will cause hardship for them, for you.”
“It will be harder if you are not in our lives. I love you, Mick. You told me to find a man deserving of me, and I have. If you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to marry me, at least spend time with them. Let them know the remarkable man they brought into the world.”
He hardly felt remarkable, but he’d missed her, and he knew that with her by his side, he could be better than he was. Shoving back his chair, he stood, then dropped to one knee and took her hand. “I want a life with you, Aslyn. A dozen children and slipping off to the park for a bit of peace.”
She smiled sweetly, crookedly. “A happily-ever-after.”
“A happily-ever-after,” he promised her before cradling her face and kissing her.
Chapter 25
Mick found the duke strolling the street, stopping occasionally to study a building. He seemed to be in no hurry, simply taking a leisurely meandering. He wondered if the man had known about the tea party in the gardens, had his answer when he came to a stop beside the duke.
“Did you enjoy your tea?” the older man asked.
“Fortunately whiskey was on hand. Didn’t they invite you?”
Staring at the building that was nearly completed and would be a bakery, he shook his head. “Ladies will talk about things among themselves that they are reluctant to voice with a man about. My presence adds to Bella’s guilt. She feels she denied me a son.”
“Knowing what transpired, I don’t hold the decision to be rid of me against her—or you.”
“There should have been a better way.”
“Aslyn mentioned that she might like to open a home that would welcome illegitimate children.”
The duke glanced over, a corner of his mouth shifting up. “I am not surprised. We were too protective of her, I think. You will give her more f
reedom.”
Mick’s chest tightened. There was a part of him that wanted to lock her in a room and ensure no harm ever came to her, that wanted to guard her from all the ugliness in life. “Will you give us your blessing to marry, then?”
“Unequivocally. Although I would ask that you not keep her from us. She is like a daughter.”
“She has already insisted I not. That we visit often. I am concerned that when people see you and I together, they may wonder—”
“If you are my by-blow?”
Mick nodded.
“I’m certain there will be some speculation. We can weather it. Some might think you’re a distant relation. I would rather acknowledge you.”
“There is no way to do that without causing pain—for you, the duchess, Kipwick. He has grown up expecting to inherit. It will be hard enough that I am taking from him the woman he wished to marry. I will not take his titles, as well.”
“He needs to change his ways.”
“I can help him with that.”
The duke nodded. “When I first saw you, when I realized who you were, I was torn between relief and despair. What I’d done all those years ago never stopped eating at me. I’ve tried to make amends with good works. But they hardly signify.”
“There needs to be laws to protect infants. The practice of farming out babies cannot continue unchecked, and men cannot continue to be relieved of the burden of caring for the children they spawn.”
“I shall work on that in Parliament. You could advise me, ensure reform does all it should.”
“I shall make time in my schedule.”
The duke glanced around. “Thirty years ago, this was the outskirts of London. It fell into disrepair, and you are reshaping it with your magnificent buildings. It will be interesting to see where we are thirty years from now.”
Curled in a chair by the window in her room in the Trewlove Hotel, the low flame in the lamp barely illuminating the room, Aslyn heard the click of a key going into the lock, the snick of the latch, no opening of the door as the staff kept the hinges well oiled.
However, she saw it opening, the dim light from the hallway outlining the silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders. He stood there unmoving, as though testing the waters, as though wondering if she would turn him away, wouldn’t welcome this inappropriate clandestine meeting. But then when it came to Mick Trewlove, there was very little between them that was appropriate. Although that would soon be changing when he took her to wife.
He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and his soft footfalls barely echoed as he came nearer, stopping when he reached the bed, leaning against the poster, crossing his arms over that magnificent chest. “I see you’re wearing the cameo.”
On a ribbon about her neck. It was the only thing she was wearing. “I rather like knowing you were thinking of me when you purchased it.”
“I’m always thinking of you.”
“I was hoping you would come.”
“Mum is staying in my suites tonight, and as I have only the one bedchamber furnished with a bed”—he lifted a shoulder—“I decided to go in search of another.”
They’d had dinner earlier with the duke, the duchess and his mother. It hadn’t been awkward, but neither had everyone been completely at ease. She had no doubt that would change over time. “How fortunate I am then that you happened upon this chamber.”
“Is the bed available?”
She spread her mouth into what she hoped was a saucy smile. “I’ll always make room for you.”
“Ah, Christ.” Stepping forward, he reached out and drew her into his arms, blanketing her mouth with his, the kiss deep, full of hunger and need. She scraped her fingers along his face up into his hair, holding him firm and near, as he plundered and his broad hands stroked and caressed her bare back and buttocks. Up and down, over and around. Sensations building, heat consuming.
She’d missed this, yearned for it, longed for it. The way his passion engulfed her, swept her up into a rising tide of titillation.
“I thought I would go mad with the wanting of you,” he said, dragging his sultry mouth along her throat.
“I miss the beard.”
“I’ll grow it back.”
“Because I desire it?”
“Yes. I’ll give you anything—everything—you desire.”
“I desire you take off your clothes.”
He broke away from her. She would have helped him, but he was too quick, a frenzy of action that found his clothes in a heap on the floor in no time and her back in his arms. She wondered if it would always be like this, the wanting, the desire, the passion. She rather suspected it would be for her, and when his head came up after he licked across her collarbone, and she gazed into his smoldering blue eyes, she suspected it would be for him, as well.
He lifted her up and tossed her onto the bed, capturing her screech with his mouth, as he followed her down. “We’re going to do this in every room in the damned hotel,” he growled.
“How many rooms are there?”
“Not nearly enough.”
She laughed, then went abruptly silent as he closed his lips around her nipple, suckled gently, then hard. She cried out, not with pain but with pleasure, wrapping her legs around his hips, holding him close, desperate for him to be even nearer, to be one with her, for them to be one.
“Now.” The word was a breathy sigh. “Take me now.”
“Not yet. I’m not done worshipping you.” He slid down. His tongue circled her navel, leaving dew in its wake, creating dew farther down between her thighs.
Then his mouth was on that honeyed spot, feasting as though it was the most exquisite buffet he’d ever been served and he’d never have enough of it, would never have his fill. And she knew then that it would always be like this between them. The hunger would never be sated, not completely. It would always rise up and demand their attention, insist that they at least strive to tame it, but it would remain wild and feral, frightening in its intensity, satisfying in its power.
It was powerful as it rocked her to her core, had her screaming out his name until her lungs were empty of breath. His deep smug chuckle echoed around them, and it pleased her that he took such pride in wringing pleasure from her, that her joy in the act was as important to him as his own.
Moving up, he slid into her in one long, smooth stroke. “So hot, so wet, so tight.”
“So hard, so thick, so filling.”
Resting on his elbows, he grinned down on her. “What a wanton I am going to have for a wife.”
“Would you want any other kind?”
“I want you to be no different than you are. I love you, Aslyn. Every inch, inside and out.” He began rocking his hips, slowly, provocatively, his eyes never leaving hers, his gaze challenging her to reach again for the fulfillment he was determined to deliver once more.
And she did reach, meeting his thrusts, skimming her hands over his back and shoulders, squeezing his backside, digging her fingers into undulating muscles. Their movements quickened, their breaths following suit. Faster, harder, until they were both crying out, until locked in a tight embrace, they found their way back to each other.
Chapter 26
You’re a bloody duke?” Aiden asked.
His family, along with Aslyn, were gathered in what served as his mum’s parlor. His mum had insisted he tell his siblings the truth of his parentage. His secret would be safe with them, and she felt it important that they know.
“No. My father is a duke, which you knew. Legally I’m his heir, but as I explained, it’s too complicated to see the matter righted.”
“Do we have to bow to you, then?” Finn asked.
“Don’t be daft.”
“So you’ll be marrying Lady Aslyn,” Aiden said.
“You may just call me Aslyn,” she said
.
“But even if you marry him, you’ll still be a lady, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, but not among family.”
“The duke can’t be too happy about gaining a family of bastards,” Beast said. “There will be scandal galore among the toffs.”
“Could be fun,” Finn said.
“You’ll all behave,” Mick admonished. “They’ll be welcoming you into their home.”
“How did Lord Kipwick take all this?” Fancy asked.
“As uneasily as the rest of us, but he’s still the heir apparent.”
“He hasn’t been to my club,” Aiden said. “Nor have I heard rumors of him getting into trouble elsewhere.”
“He’s promised not to do any wagering,” Aslyn said. “He knows he’s very lucky not to have lost everything.”
“Promises can be broken,” Aiden said, rubbing his thumb over his fingers. “When Lady Luck starts whispering in your ear . . .”
“How fortunate he will be, then, to have a brother-by-marriage with the experience to know when he’s letting things get out of hand,” Aslyn said sweetly.
“I’m not his keeper.”
“But still you’ll keep watch,” Mick said pointedly.
Aiden shrugged, studied his nails. “I suppose no harm in doing so.”
“It’s going to be the grandest wedding,” Fancy said. “I can’t believe that during the wedding breakfast we’re going to be in a grand salon overflowing with aristocrats.”
“Not me,” Gillie said. “Love you, Mick, and I like you well enough, Aslyn, but posh places aren’t for me.”
“Gillie!” Fancy lamented. “We’ll get you a lovely gown and put flowers in your hair.”
“Flowers in my hair? No, thank you! I’m not a bloody garden.”
“Your language,” his mum chided.
“Mum, I’m a tavern keeper. I’ve heard worse and I say worse when it’s needed.”
Ettie Trewlove released a long-suffering sigh. “Do you see what you’re getting, Aslyn, when you marry into this family?”
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