Nobody's Duke (League of Dukes Book 1)

by Scarlett Scott

  “Aye.” Clay’s voice was thick. He swallowed. His heart drummed. Thump, thump, thump against her ear.

  “Before we tell him, however, I will have your promise,” she said, knowing she had to protect her son as best she could. Clay had left her once. Had disappeared from her life for eight years. She understood the reasons. He had been beaten, disfigured, and left to believe she had betrayed and abandoned him. But he was also not the same man now as he was then. She had only known him for weeks after eight years of separation. There remained so much of him that was a mystery, so much of him that was a stranger.

  She was still a mother, above all. She had to put her son first. He depended upon her. He needed her. And he had already been denied so much.

  Accordingly, she had to be certain he was willing to remain in her and Edward’s lives now, despite the dangerous missions he undertook. In spite of everything. “Promise me you will not disappear from his life, and that you will stay a permanent part, just as he needs you to be. I do not think he can bear to lose you.”

  And neither could she, but she kept that bit to herself. Silence was better. Sometimes, silence was necessary. It kept her from saying too much. From revealing all the humiliating, dark recesses of her heart.

  “You need not ask it of me. I give my promise freely. I could not ask for more than to be a part of Edward’s life. He is my son.” Pride rang in his voice. “You have raised a good lad, Ara. You can be proud of him. I am proud of him.”

  She smiled again. “Yes, he is a very good lad. Let’s go tell him now, Clay. Together.”

  He tensed beneath her touch. “You’re certain, Ara?”

  “Certain,” she echoed.

  He set her from him, and then his mouth came down on hers, firm and hard. The kiss was swift, ruthless, and beautiful in a way that took her breath. It claimed. It promised.

  It healed.

  Their lips parted. She met his gaze, nose to nose, she on her tiptoes, her hands roaming the rigid planes of his back. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. And though she had no notion of how Edward would react to the news, the time had come. The truth needed to be told at long last.

  “Thank you,” he whispered against her mouth. “Ara mine.”

  She kissed the corner of his lips. “It is long overdue.”

  Hand in hand, their fingers intertwined, they made their way from the protective shade of the forest and into the dazzling sun.

  Clay stood in the library alongside Ara, facing her son.

  His son.

  Their son.

  How surreal to think the lad was his own, and that at long last he would know the truth. Within seconds. Mayhap minutes. Clay was sweating. His scar itched. He had never been so nervous in all his life.

  And then, Ara slipped her hand back into his. Her fingers delivered a tentative squeeze. He swallowed, squeezing back, grateful for her. Grateful she had been strong enough to keep their son when he had been absent from her life. Whether or not it was of his own volition no longer mattered. He could not change it, but he could appreciate the fight Ara must have waged, unmarried and with child, doing her utmost for Edward.

  The lad eyed their laced fingers, his brow furrowing. He was an observant little chap. Damn, but he reminded Clay of himself.

  “Mama, why are you holding Mr. Ludlow’s hand?”

  “Because I…” Ara turned to Clay, her expression seeking.

  Bloody hell, he did not know what to say either. What to do.

  He improvised.

  “Because we care about each other.” Lord knew he was more in love with the maddening woman than he had ever been before. “And because we have something we wish to tell you.”

  “You are going to marry each other,” the lad guessed, his expression solemn.

  Ara jerked her gaze back to their son, wetting her lips. “Not precisely, Edward.”

  “Yes,” Clay gainsaid her without a dash of compunction. “We are.”

  A gasp flew from her throat as her eyes snapped to Clay once more. “We are?”

  The decision had come to him without thought, without hesitation. The words simply fled him. He didn’t regret them. Ara had always been meant to be his wife. She was the other half of him, and he knew it with a certainty that was elemental, as natural as his knowledge that the sun would rise each morning. No one would ever complete him as she did.

  “If you will have me,” he said softly.

  Emotion shimmered in her eyes. “Oh, Clay. Of course I will.”

  He pulled her into his arms for another embrace, burying his face in her silken hair. Gratitude washed over him. He was so damn thankful for her, to have found her again, to have found their son. He’d never known such joy, and he was terrified and elated all at once. He kissed her cheek. “Thank God, Ara mine.”

  Suddenly aware of their audience and the real reason they stood in the library—not his impromptu proposal at all, but rather to tell their son the truth—he stepped back, putting a respectable distance between himself and Ara. Half of him was bloody tempted to haul her back into his arms and kiss her silly, even with the lad looking on.

  She wanted to be his wife.

  Just as she should have been eight years and a hell of a lot of scars ago.

  Clay sank to his haunches before Edward, looking his son in the eye. “I know this will be more change for you, lad. You have endured a great deal in the last few months, and your mama and I do not wish to upset you, but there is something else we must tell you as well.”

  Edward regarded him seriously. “Do you want your cat back now?”

  A reluctant laugh tore from him. “No, lad. You and Sherman have bonded, and it is plain the feline prefers you to me.”

  His son gave him a shy smile. “Thank you, sir. When you marry Mama, will you be my father?”

  Emotion swelled inside him, constricting his throat. He glanced back at Ara for assistance. Every carefully planned word he’d prepared had vanished from his mind.

  She placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, granting him her support. “Yes, Mr. Ludlow will be your father, Edward. But not just because I am marrying him. Mr. Ludlow is your father.”

  Edward’s brows furrowed as his mind absorbed Ara’s words. “I do not understand, Mama. Papa was my father, and he is gone.”

  Clay found his voice at last. “Before your mama married the duke, she and I were in love. We were going to wed, but then…circumstances would not allow it. The duke graciously stepped in when I could not. He will always be a father to you. Nothing will change the love he had for you or the love you have in your heart for him. But I am your father, lad.”

  “Mama?” Edward looked to Ara, shock on his small, pale countenance. “Why did you never tell me?”

  Ara sank to her knees on the thick carpet of the library, her jet silk skirts pooling around her. “I was not able to tell you. I am so sorry, Edward. I acted in my best capacity as your mother to provide for you and keep you safe. I did what I had to do, but now the time has come for you to know the truth.”

  “Then I am not the Duke of Burghly,” Edward said slowly. “I am Edward Ludlow.”

  “You are both of those titles,” Ara said, gripping the lad’s thin shoulders. “There is no surviving male heir but you. Freddie wanted you to be the next Duke of Burghly, to keep the line going. He made every provision for you accordingly. You must honor his wishes, though you now know the truth.”

  Clay gritted his teeth against the notion of the lad never taking his surname, but he knew that perpetuating the lie was necessary to avoid ruin and scandal for both Ara and Edward. Since Burghly did not have a rightful heir, no one was being harmed by it. Only his pride suffered. But there was also a certain, delicious irony to the notion that the son of a duke’s bastard would be a duke himself. One day, Edward would lead the life Clay had always wished could have been his.

  And he was grateful for that. Grateful his son would never know the scorn that had dogged him his entire life.
Humbled that the Duke of Burghly had been a kind and loving father to his son when he had not been able. All the anger and jealousy seething inside him dissipated, vanquished by happiness and love and a great, abiding sense of peace.

  The past was over.

  The time to move forward had come, and he was walking into it, headlong and openhearted.

  “I am sorry, lad,” he said, his throat still thick with more pent-up emotions than he knew he possessed. “I know this must be a shock to you.”

  “Did you not want me as your son?” Edward asked, hurt and confusion lacing his voice.

  “I have never wanted anything more,” he assured him. “I am honored to have you as my son. I did not know about you. If I had, nothing would have stopped me from coming back to you and your mama both.”

  “It is a long and difficult story, what happened in the past,” Ara added, a frown creasing her brow as she met Clay’s gaze once more. They had decided there was no need to reveal the full extent of the ugly truth to Edward. One day, when he was old enough to understand, they might. For now, they would offer him only as much information as he needed. “What’s important is that you know the truth, and you keep this truth to yourself. Tuck it into your heart, my love.”

  Edward nodded slowly. His eyes flitted to Clay once more. “Does this mean I can have my knife back now?”

  A laugh tore from him. “No, lad. You must still heed your mama.”

  He was silent for another moment. “Is Mrs. Lily my grandmother? She tells stories about knights and dragons and gives me sweets. I like her.”

  “Aye.” Clay grinned. Thank God for his mother. The woman was an angel, and he had no doubt she would help to ease the transition for the lad.

  Edward cocked his head then, giving Clay a bashful half smile. “I like you too, sir. Having a warrior for a father is just as honorable as having a duke for a father.”

  Warmth exploded in Clay’s chest. His eyes stung. His vision blurred.

  He blinked.

  Tears.

  Tears of happiness. He ruffled the lad’s dark hair, so like his own. “Thank you, son.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ara had been waiting for the knock on the door adjoining her chamber to Clay’s for what seemed like an eternity. She had prepared herself, she thought, for the dialogue they would have. They had not been alone since she had found him in the copse of trees earlier that afternoon. The rest of the day had passed by in a frenzied blur. The new governess, Miss Palliser, had arrived, sending the house into a flurry as the small staff of domestics saw her settled. She was set to begin her new position tomorrow, and Ara had met with her accordingly, doing her best to make certain she had not hired another Miss Argent.

  Miss Palliser was dark-haired and lovely, soft-spoken and pleasant, and she seemed genuinely excited to take on Edward as her charge. Only time would tell, but it was a promising start, at least. After sending Miss Palliser off to get her belongings sorted and brush off her travel dust, Ara had joined Clay, his mother, and Edward for an informal dinner. Lily was a lovely woman with a heart as big as England. Her adoration for Edward was plain, and likewise his for her. It was as if the lost time between them had never existed.

  Ara had sat at the dinner table, basking in the warmth, feeling for the first time in a long time as if she were a part of a family again. Her family. It was not that Freddie had not loved her or that she had not loved him, but rather that their love had been platonic, and he had made his home with Sir Percy, the one he loved with all his heart. Being with Clay, watching him interact with their son, watching his mother’s eyes well with tears of maternal happiness, had been humbling indeed. And gratifying as well.

  But not another word had been spoken between them regarding his sudden marriage proposal. Heavens, if one could even refer to it as such. Rather, it had been more of an announcement than a question. She had not minded. Her heart—always his, still his, forever his—had leapt, eager to agree. Sitting alone in the silence of her chamber, however, brushing out her curls before the long, beveled glass, gave her time to fret.

  She fervently hoped he had not changed his mind.

  What if he does not wish to marry you after all, an unwanted voice inside her asked. Then her mind started churning, doubts and more questions brewing. What if he spoke out of the abundance of emotion coursing through him in that moment? What if he had simply gotten carried away?

  What would she do if he—

  Knock, knock, knock.

  There he was, one piece of wood and a dozen steps separating them, and though she had been expecting him, anticipation skittered through her all the same. For a beat, she felt as if she were the same girl she’d been eight years before, stealing away from Kingswood Hall beneath the cover of darkness and running to him. Tonight was different, however. She was older. Wiser, she hoped. More in love with him than ever. She had not stopped loving him. He had always been a part of her, and she had carried him in her heart all this time.

  She stood, shaking out her dressing gown, flipping back her long hair, surveying herself in the mirror for a moment longer than necessary. She had never been a vain woman. Indeed, she did not think she had even noticed her appearance in some time. But tonight, she wanted to look as well as she could.

  For Clay.

  Knock. Knock.

  The raps on the door were a bit louder this time, suggesting he was growing impatient. She tightened the sash belting her waist for good measure. One last look in the glass—pale face, wide eyes, bright-red hair she had always loathed, a smattering of freckles on her nose she could never successfully cover with pearl powder, lips that were too large—and she sighed, willing her heart to calm itself.

  “Enter,” she called, attempting to strike a nonchalant pose.

  Dear Lord, what if he realized she had been assessing her reflection? How embarrassing. How silly of her. Nine-and-twenty years old, vicious assassins threatening her life, her entire world in shambles, and here she was, worrying about if her robe accentuated her waist enough, counting the spots she had always reviled. You are a ninny, Ara. A complete and utter fool.

  But then the door opened, and Clay strode through it, and she forgot to think. Forgot to breathe. Forgot everything and simply drank him in. He wore a dressing gown as well, fashioned of navy silk, and it hugged his powerful body in a way that made her mouth go dry.

  His chest was exquisite. He was exquisite. Flawless. He was not the same young man she’d fallen in love with, but this man was so much more. The scar on his cheek only accented his beauty, for it told the story of who he was. It showed his resilience and determination. His strength and fortitude. She hated how he had received it, and she would never forgive her father for the grievous sins he had committed, but all the same, she would not trade the Clay before her now for the Clay she had first fallen in love with.

  They were the same, and yet they were different. So different. Both beloved. Both hers.

  He did not hesitate or waste time. His long legs ate up the distance between them until he stood before her, close enough to touch, the decadent scent of his soap wafting to her.

  “Ara mine.” He opened his arms.

  Every part of her sighed yes.

  Her heart.

  Her body.

  Her mind.

  She stepped into them, into him, wrapping him in her embrace as his strong arms banded around her, anchoring her to him as well. He felt so right, so wonderful, so strong and warm and sure. Her ear was pressed to his heart again.

  Thrum, thrum, thrum.

  How thankful she was for that heart. For the lifeblood it sent through him. For the fact that he was here, alive, holding her. And he was hers. Words bubbled up inside her. A confession. She could not stay them or keep them within any longer.

  “I love you, Clay,” she said.

  His arms tightened on her. “I love you, Ara mine.”

  Ara closed her eyes, savoring the words she had not dared to imagine she would hear agai
n. “I never stopped loving you. Even when I thought you had betrayed me, I ached for you. I longed for you. I was so hurt, so angry you had left me behind. I had to put you out of my mind, to keep you locked away, and I focused instead on Edward. Being his mother was all that I had.”

  He tensed ever so slightly. “What of Burghly? You loved him, did you not? You wear your mourning brooch for him like a shield.”

  “Yes, I loved Freddie.” She paused, hesitant to betray Freddie’s secret but knowing she needed to be honest with Clay.

  “It is wrong of me to be jealous of a dead man,” he said lowly, his hand traveling slowly up and down her spine in a caress that was as comforting as it was maddening. “Part of me is grateful to him for being the husband and father you and Edward needed. Part of me hates him for the time I lost. For the love you gave him. It is weak and wrong of me, I know, but I wish to God I had been the man holding you and loving you these last eight years instead of him.”

  “The love Freddie and I shared was different, Clay,” she said softly. “It was not like what you and I have.”

  “How so?” he asked quietly.

  She would trust Clay with her life. Indeed, she had already entrusted her life to him, and he had saved her. There was not a finer, more honorable man she knew.

  She stepped back in his embrace, looking up to meet his dark gaze. “Freddie was not attracted to me. He was already in love with another when I met him. I was… After you left for the Continent and my parents discovered I was with child, my father told me I must either marry in haste or leave, bear my babe in secret, and give him away. I chose to find a husband.” She hesitated as old, painful emotions resurged inside her. “I went to my sister because I could not bear to marry Dorset. I would have, if I had needed to, but I was hoping to find someone more amenable. I found Freddie. He was in my sister’s set, and he was looking for a wife to assist with his political ambitions. He was kind and sweet, and when he proposed, I confessed everything to him.”