It was an extraordinarily rude question, even for a close friend of the family. Everod subtly braced himself, half expecting Solitea to smack him on the back of the head for his outrageous behavior.
Composed, the young duchess merely arched her right brow at his impertinent question. Her lips curled into an arrogant smirk. “Who says I haven’t, Everod?” Satisfied with his stunned expression, Kilby strolled off with her precious burden while a laughing Lady Fayre followed just a step behind her.
Everod glanced at Solitea. From his friend’s indulgent expression and Brawley’s amusement as the men watched the two women disappear through the doorway, it was apparent the duchess’s announcement had not been a surprise.
Grinning, Everod clapped his friend on the back. “Solitea, I see congratulations are in order. Did I happen to mention that Cadd and I have a long-standing wager on your fertility or lack thereof?”
Solitea gave him an aggrieved look. “Are you and Cadd void of all scruples? Is nothing sacred?”
Everod offered him a mocking smile. “Apparently not.”
Now that the ladies had left the room, Brawley retrieved the brandy from a silver tray along with three glasses. “Your good news calls for something stronger than tea, and a proper toast.”
He accepted the glass of brandy Brawley offered him. “To your cock, Solitea,” Everod said, ignoring the other man’s snort of disbelief. “We are all pleased it is not as empty as your threats.”
Solitea tackled him before Everod could bring the glass of brandy to his lips. He flung his hand out as he and Solitea landed halfway on the sofa. Everod heard the glass shatter behind them. Laughing, he barely felt the punch Solitea landed on his stomach. Though to be fair, his friend was more exasperated than angry with him. If Solitea had wanted to make an impression with his fist, the man had the skill to deliver his displeasure.
Solitea seized him by the coat and hauled him onto the sofa. The duke was laughing when he pushed Everod into the cushion. “Damn puppy!”
“We’re the same age,” Everod replied, panting from their brief fierce exertion. Good-naturedly, he rubbed his abdomen. “Bastard.”
“A foul rumor. Likely started by you or Cadd!” Solitea said carelessly as he moved away and accepted Brawley’s glass of brandy. He took a healthy swallow. “Christ, Kilby is carrying my child. I am a lucky gent!”
Braced on his elbows, Everod grinned up at his friend. The twist of envy he felt in his gut was likely a mild reaction to Solitea’s pathetic excuse for a punch. “I wager you’ll swallow those words if your duchess births a girl.”
Solitea handed his glass of brandy to Everod, and gave him a level look. “Consider yourself challenged, my friend, if I see my name in the club’s betting book. Again!”
Everod took a sip from the glass. Wisely, he refrained from responding.
Chapter Five
“My lord, a package has arrived for Miss Keighly,” the Worringtons’ butler announced shortly after Maura had finished breakfast with her aunt and uncle.
No one was more surprised by the announcement than Maura herself. She had just arrived in town. There had been little time to renew acquaintances, and her parents, while generous, were not the type to send gifts to her when they were traveling.
“Aunt Georgette, are you responsible?” Maura asked, rising and moving to the end of the table where Abbot had placed the mysterious cloth-wrapped gift.
Her aunt shook her head, looking as bemused as Maura felt. “Not I, my precious. My impulsive nature does not complement a well-staged surprise.”
The earl chuckled as he reached for his countess’s hand. “Very true, my love. However, I adore your impulsiveness.”
The trio watched as the butler efficiently cut the cording and unwound the length of waxed fabric protecting the contents.
Maura shifted her gaze to the earl. “What about you, Uncle?”
Lord Worrington gave her an indulgent wink. “I cannot claim responsibility, little one. It appears our Maura has an admirer.”
Rowan.
It was possible. Georgette knew Maura was reluctant about betrothing herself to a gentleman she had viewed as a brother for years. Perhaps the earl and countess had ordered him to court Maura. It was a mortifying thought.
The only thing worse would be that her mysterious admirer was—
“Books. How fascinating,” Georgette said without much enthusiasm. She settled back into her chair and signaled for the footman to fill her cup.
Everod.
Maura did not need to peer closely at the two volumes. She recognized the tomes as the very ones she had been admiring at the booksellers. Oh, the arrogance of the madman! What kind of mischief was this? The viscount had to know his package would upset the entire household.
“Is there a card?” the earl inquired politely. Fortunately, he seemed more intent on nibbling his wife’s fingers than learning the identity of the sender.
Maura hastily snatched the books up before Abbot could search for the card. “No, Uncle. No card.” She opened the first book and snapped it shut. “It appears my admirer prefers to remain anonymous.”
“A secret admirer,” Lord Worrington mused. “What do you think, my lady, is Rowan teasing our pretty niece?”
Wrong son, Maura dourly thought.
Georgette smiled, the depth of her joy putting a sparkle in her lovely eyes. Her aunt was determined to match the young couple, and if Rowan had shown some creative initiative, then the lady heartily approved.
“I have noticed for some months that Rowan appears to be enamored with Maura. While I would have encouraged a slightly more romantic token of affection, Maura’s mysterious admirer has selected a gift that would please our girl.”
With her head full of the knowledge that Everod was the one who had sent her the books, she needed to go somewhere private and ponder the viscount’s actions. Was it a brazen taunt? A reminder that his absence had been a matter of choice and that the books heralded a warning that he was not finished with the family who had betrayed and abandoned him?
Maura glanced at her aunt and uncle. Her lips relaxed into a faint smile. It was so obvious the earl loved Georgette. He would do anything for his lady.
Even if their silent battle ended with Worrington killing his heir?
“I have to go,” Maura blurted out, her statement separating the couple. “What I meant is … it’s a grand gift!” She backed out toward the door, hugging the tomes to her chest. “I want to sit somewhere quiet and read.”
She whirled away and slipped out the door Abbot held open for her. In the distance, Maura could hear her aunt and uncle’s soft laughter at her awkward departure. It was not until she was away from the breakfast room, away from the prying eyes of both family and staff, that she opened the first volume of A Sicilian Romance by the authoress of The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne.
Lord Everod had taken care not to inscribe anything on the first few pages of the book. After all, anyone might have opened the package, and Maura suspected that any message from the viscount was for her eyes alone. As she thumbed through the pages, a thin piece of paper fluttered out and floated to the marble floor. Maura crouched down to retrieve it. She flipped it over and in a flowing elegant script were three words:
Think of me.
Indeed. The scoundrel knew Maura would do little else until she saw him again.
Everod gently placed his splayed hands over the rounded abdomen of the very pregnant Velouette Whall, Countess of Spryng.
“Good heavens, Vel, how can you bear it? This babe weighs more than you!”
Long ago, before his friend had found his duchess, the widowed countess had been one of the Duke of Solitea’s favorite mistresses. Everod had dallied with the lady, too. A few years earlier, there had been a few brief, albeit pleasurable months when Everod had sated himself between the soft generous limbs of Lady Spryng.
Regrettably, he had a faithless heart. That lazy summer he had pursued not only Lady Spryng, but her close friend
Lady Silver, and several other silly wenches whose names he could not recall. While Lady Spryng was more tolerant than most women about sharing a lover, she had surprised him one evening by losing her temper. It had been a dreadful row, the sort Everod usually took pains to avoid with his lovers.
Their passionate affair ended that night, but a friendship had taken its place. When he needed a quiet place for reflection or the tender caress of a woman without the messy entanglement of sentiment, he usually found himself sitting in Lady Spryng’s boudoir.
Velouette’s dark eyes sparkled with humor. “Everod, it is unkind to remind a lady that she has grown so big that she no longer can ascend her carriage!”
Everod grinned unrepentantly up at her. The baby curled within her womb, kicked his hand. The countess gasped and they both laughed at the novelty. Neither one of them had any experience with children. Kissing her belly, Everod rose from his crouched position and sought out one of the nearby chairs in her private parlor.
“Are you feeling well, little mother?” he asked solicitously. “Do you have everything that you need?”
The child was not his. He and Velouette had ended the carnal side of their liaison long before another gent had come along and planted his seed in the young countess. She never spoke of the father. Everod had only asked her once, and the sadness that flashed in her liquid brown gaze prevented him from asking again. Velouette considered the child hers. She was a rich widow, and not without friends. Everod could not help but admire her stubbornness.
“Stop fussing, Everod!” she lightly chided. It was evident that she enjoyed having a friend who worried about her. “I am well. My accoucheur tells me that the babe is growing as he should be.”
“So it is a son, you think?”
At six and twenty, the dark-haired Velouette with her rounded figure was an artist’s vision of a fertility goddess. Her exotic dusky features were a gift from her Spanish mother. Lord Spryng had claimed her as his countess when she was merely sixteen. Everod could not fault the dead man’s taste. Many duels had been fought over the widowed Lady Spryng.
“It would please me to have a son,” Velouette said simply with her hands resting on her swollen abdomen. “You know how I enjoy having a male around my house.”
Or in her bed.
He immediately doused the thought. That path of meditation would only get him in trouble. “And what of the father, Vel?” Everod silently cursed, wishing he could take back the question when her expression became guarded.
“What of him? He has done enough, do you not think?” she said, her accent becoming more pronounced as her agitation increased. Velouette considered him a close friend, but the topic of her child’s sire was forbidden to all. “You did not come this afternoon to discuss my health or the babe. What brought you to my door, Everod? Trouble?”
He and Velouette shared the same aversion for intimacy. Oh, lovemaking was a simple, pleasurable endeavor, one at which they both excelled. What they both avoided went beyond the physical. Neither of them seemed capable of sharing that secret, inner part of their soul. It was obvious to Everod that Solitea shared himself wholly with his duchess. Ramscar, too, seemed at ease with allowing his lady to glimpse those vulnerable aspects of his nature. They were brave men. Everod could not fathom sharing himself, the good and evil, the whole muddled package, with anyone.
Everod had broken their unspoken rule about discussing anything so intimate as her child’s sire. Understanding her need to change the subject, he thought it only fair that he distract her with his current troubles.
In truth, he had sought her out for that very reason. She was compassionate, had known sorrow, and above all, Everod thought she might understand in a way Solitea, Cadd, and Ramscar never would.
“Old sins, Vel,” he said with a weary sigh. Everod craved a drink stronger than the tea the countess offered, but he refrained from asking for it. “Lord Worrington and his countess have decided to amuse themselves by spending a few months in town.”
“Lord Worrington?” Velouette wrinkled her face, attempting to connect the name with her former lover. “I have not heard of him.”
“Since his marriage twelve years ago to the former Lady Perton, my father, the Earl of Worrington, has not mingled in polite society,” Everod said blandly, waiting for his companion to understand the connection between him and the couple.
“Your father!” she gasped, which turned into a groan when the baby kicked her again. “I did not realize that your father still lived. You never speak of family. I thought you were alone in this world.”
Like her. Perhaps that was why they still remained friends, even after they had burned out the passion between them.
“I was fifteen when my father brought his new countess home to Worrington Hall. She was my father’s fourth countess, and thirty years younger.”
“Merciful heavens! You are like your father, no?” she teased, astounded at the number of wives his sire had buried.
“Not in the slightest,” he said through clenched teeth. Everod swiftly leashed his temper. It was not Velouette’s fault that he disliked discussing his family. He was the one who had chosen to tell her his one unpardonable sin against his father.
“You must promise me that you will not repeat the tale I am about to tell you. No one knows except the participants, so if I hear—”
“Everod,” she said curtly, overriding his threat. “We know each other better than that.”
Comforted by her waspish retort, he settled back as he prepared to tell his tale. “My stepmother was beautiful. She would have been slightly younger than you are now. I was fifteen. Innocent …” He took a deep breath.
Velouette shook her finger at him. “Liar. I doubt there was a time that anyone could accuse you of innocence!”
Everod snickered at her wry remark. “As innocent as a fifteen-year-old male can be,” he amended, and then his expression grew somber. “It was more than beauty that drew me to her. She was vivacious, and a bit naughty. The woman flirted outrageously with everyone and my father seemed to love the attention his new wife received.”
“You fell in love with her,” Velouette said flatly. “No, wait. I do not mean to mock or criticize your actions. Lest you forget, I met and married my Lord Spryng when I was sixteen.”
Everod nodded, ignoring the knot in his throat. “She seemed to encourage my interest. Georgette flirted with me at each encounter. When we were alone, she found reasons to touch me. Each day I became more ensnared by her sensual spell, and before long, it no longer mattered that the lady was my father’s wife. I wanted her. No, craved her as I had no other female.”
The young countess had taken countless lovers since she had lost her husband to lung fever. She did not blush or shy away from lust. Like him, she embraced it. “Poor Everod. You never stood a chance against this woman, your father’s wife, did you?”
Georgette had been his first lover.
Everod did not have to speak his admission aloud. Velouette had already guessed the confusion and shame of his feelings for his stepmother. “Georgette teased me until I was half mad with lust.” He shook his head. “I must have been; mad, that is, to have agreed to the chance that we took.”
Velouette clenched her fingers into fists. “Georgette was twice married, and nine years older than you,” she said tersely. “She knew wholly the risks that she took.”
He warmed at her defense. “I wish I had had the sense to understand that I was being manipulated. But, I was fifteen. Halfway in love with a lady forbidden to me. Even if someone had warned me off, I don’t know if I would have refused what she offered.”
Everod occasionally summoned that afternoon in his dreams. After weeks of feverish kisses, and letting him clumsily fumble her breasts and skirts, Georgette had offered her body to him. They had slipped away into the back gardens, while his father was conducting business in his library. Neither one had expected him to finish until early evening. Perhaps it was because Georgette had been his fi
rst lover that he remembered the details of their brief passionate encounter. He recalled how her blond locks glistened in the sunlight as he pushed her into the tall grass. How her exposed breasts smelled like the flowers around them, and the feel of her feminine flesh as he pushed his cock inside her wet channel.
The memory of Georgette lying beneath him only reminded him of what a fool he had once been. “We had thought no one had noticed that we left the house together. I was supposed to be at the stables, and Georgette had told my father that she was looking over the household accounts.”
“Your father saw you?”
Everod smirked as he thought about Maura. Of the miserable girl who choked silently on her tears. “No. Georgette’s ten-year-old niece followed us into the gardens. She immediately ran to my father with the news of what she had seen.”
Velouette closed her eyes in sympathy. “Mi Dios!” she whispered like a prayer.
“God has little to do with the devil’s mischief, Vel,” he said dryly, trying to make light of the tragic events that unfolded next. “When I heard my father scream my name, I saw Georgette’s beautiful face change from pleasure to a cunning that I did not understand at the time. Maura was screaming and—”
“Maura?”
“Georgette’s niece,” he said dismissively. “Before I could untangle myself from Georgette’s limbs, I felt the sharp edge of my father’s blade cut into my throat.”
“That awful scar on your throat!”
Tears instantly filled Velouette’s eyes, and tumbled down her cheeks. Everod was aghast. He had never seen the woman cry. Ever. He fumbled for his handkerchief and leaned over to press it into her hand. “Vel, there is no need to cry. I know the scar is ugly. Nevertheless, as you can see, I survived my father’s attack.”
He watched her sniff and dab at her eyes. The actions did little to stem her tears.
“Did your father give you a chance to explain?”
Everod gave her a wary glance when she hiccupped. “What was there to explain? My father had caught his heir tupping his new bride in the back gardens. He did not need a confession.”
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