He’d sought it out, he’d nurtured it, he’d ensured that it encompassed a great deal of his life. What was the point in breathing if pleasure was not available? The quest for pleasure had always dominated his life. Yet, here he was casting it aside for something that seemed more worthwhile. Who was this man striding through the hallways? He wondered if he even knew himself any longer.
Entering the library, he was surprised to see Dr. Roberts sitting in a chair near Ainsley’s desk. The man came to his feet swiftly, his face flushed. “Major Lyons. Good to see you moving about so freely.”
“Without my cane, no less. I didn’t remember having an appointment with you today.”
“He’s here to see me,” Ainsley said, standing now, discreetly opening a drawer and sliding a piece of paper into it before quietly closing it. It was not like Ainsley to be secretive. Although maybe it was, and Stephen had been too consumed with himself to notice.
“What was that?” Stephen asked, stepping nearer.
“Nothing of importance.” Ainsley squinted. “What in God’s name happened to your eye?”
Stephen glanced between the two men. He recognized guilt when he saw it, but he knew Ainsley well enough to know hammering at the truth wasn’t the way to gain it. “I had a bit of a mishap last night. Ran into a door.”
Ainsley scoffed. “No doubt one of the serving girls rebuffed your amorous advances. I’ve told you to leave them alone. I don’t tolerate that sort of behavior toward my staff.”
Stephen held his tongue. Let him think what he will.
“You needed something?” Ainsley prodded.
“Yes, but it’s a private matter. I didn’t realize you had company. I’ll return later.”
“No need,” Dr. Roberts said. “I’m quite done here. Your Grace, a pleasure as always. Major, if you have any other ill effects, do call on me, otherwise, good day to you, sir.”
Stephen watched as the man made a hasty exit, then turned his attention and his glare on his brother. “Want to tell me what the hell that was about?”
“Private matter.”
He gave his brother a once over. “Concerning your health?”
“Let it go, Puppy.”
“You’ve not called me that since I returned.”
“Apologies. I shouldn’t have done so now. Old habit. You earned my admiration with your actions in the Crimea.”
“Actions I don’t even recall.”
“But worthy nonetheless. Some were reported in the Times and in the Illustrated London News. Other accounts I received from the War Office. They’re here if you ever want to read them.”
“At some point, perhaps.” He ambled over to the sidebar and splashed some whiskey in a glass. “Join me?”
“Bit early in the day, isn’t it? Even for you.”
“It’s never too early to indulge in pleasures. If Westcliffe and I taught you nothing else, we should have taught you that. Otherwise, what good were we as brothers?”
“Something’s up,” Ainsley said. “You’ve not been this amiable toward me since you were twelve.”
Damn Ainsley’s clever mind. Stephen poured whiskey into another glass. Holding both aloft, he strode back to the desk wearing his most innocent smile. “I nearly died. Surely that warrants my taking a kinder regard toward you.”
Ainsley took the glass from him and sat in his chair, leaning back. “Perhaps, but I don’t trust—”
Stephen opened the drawer, snatched the sheaf of paper he’d seen Ainsley slip into it earlier, and darted away before Ainsley could stop him. “The distrust is reciprocated.”
“Damn it!” Ainsley shouted, coming to his feet. “Hand that over.”
Stephen moved to the window where the light was better. It was a list of names. All women. “What is this? Your latest list of conquests?” His gaze fell on a familiar name. “Good God. Mercy’s name is on here.” He spun around and glared at his brother. “What is this?”
Ainsley sat on the edge of his desk and tossed back his whiskey. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t like it now.”
“It’s a list of the women who were selected to serve with Miss Nightingale.”
“Why would you have it?”
“I was attempting to verify her story. That she was indeed a nurse, that your paths might have crossed.”
“You doubt her?”
“I just wanted to be sure.”
“It’s not your place.”
“You don’t remember a bloody thing about the past two years. You don’t even know if you ever bedded her.”
“I did.”
Ainsley jerked his head back with surprise. “You remember?”
“No.” He balled up the paper. “But I know.” If he were a romantic, he might have pressed a fist to his heart for emphasis. “The boy is mine. And Mercy will be as well. I came here to ask you to help me secure a special license.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then it will be my mistake to live with.” He took a step toward his brother. “Ainsley, you’re three years my junior, yet you’ve always treated me as though I were the younger. I’m not your responsibility.”
“If I’d not purchased you a commission—”
“You and Westcliffe. I don’t remember the time I was in the Crimea, but I remember all the years before. I needed to be prodded into putting away childish things. I needed something to give my life purpose.” Just as Mercy had. He had no idea if he’d found the purpose satisfying, but he did know that he’d acquired a purpose now which he had no intention of casting aside.
“Do you care for the girl, then?” Ainsley asked.
“As much as I’m able, yes, I believe I do. Which I know seems ludicrous considering that to my present mind she’s only been in my life a few days. But there you are.”
Ainsley jumped on that argument like a flea on a dog to sway Stephen from the course he’d set. But Stephen would not be dissuaded from doing what he’d determined he must do.
Next he went to see his mother. He found her in the north drawing room, curled up in a chair near the window, looking up with a serene expression on her face as though she were gazing into heaven. It startled him to see her so. She’d always been strong, formidable, a woman with a reputation for doing as she pleased. In that particular pose, she gave the appearance of being a much younger woman, and he realized for all that she’d seen two husbands put in the ground and raised three rambunctious lads to adulthood, and was now the grandmother of two, she had not yet seen half a century.
Leo was standing off to the side, palette in hand, easel before him. It seemed the duchess was his favorite subject. Stephen had seen countless works he’d completed and she was in the center of most of them.
Leo paused, the brush hovering near the canvas. “Major.”
“Leo. May I have a private word with my mother?”
She swung her head around, her lips pursed. “You’ve asked the girl to marry you.”
“You disapprove?”
“Hardly. It is the proper thing to do for the mother of your child. She could have tossed John in the Seine and we’d all been none the wiser. But I expected to have to coerce you. Leo wagered you’d do it on your own. Now I will have to pay up.”
Leo put his brush away, sauntered over to the duchess, bent down, and kissed her cheek. “I shall leave you to visit with your son, while I scurry off to fantasize about receiving the payment you owe me.”
“Stay away from that young parlor maid. You know the one of which I speak. I don’t like the way she looks at you.”
“I’d noticed nothing amiss, but then I have eyes for only you.”
“Oh, posh,” she said, laughing. “Go on with you, then.”
As Leo strode from the room, she never turned her gaze away from him. “He has always had too romantic a bent.”
Stephen sat in the chair opposite hers and stretched out his legs. Without the sun catching her just so, she didn’t look quite so young,
but she was still a handsome woman. “What did you wager?”
She blushed. “That is between Leo and me.” Sighing deeply, she studied him. “So you will marry her then.”
“If she’ll have me. I haven’t yet asked.” He’d hinted, tested the waters, but until she’d arrived here, apparently he’d not given her the best of himself. He intended to make up for that shortcoming.
“But you want the ring?” The ring Westcliffe’s father had given her had gone to Westcliffe’s wife. The ring Ainsley’s father had given her, she would give to Ainsley’s wife. The ring her father had given to her mother—it would go to Mercy.
“Yes.”
A mist quickly covered her eyes, and she blinked it away. “You have always loved women. So I thought you’d be the last to wed, if you wed at all.”
“Women, Mother. I have always loved women. Never a woman. Other than you, of course.”
Her lips twitched. “Cheeky devil.” The amusement faded away. “You don’t love her then?”
“For all practical purposes, I’ve known her for less than a week. How could I?”
Nodding, she gazed out the window. “Do not, I beg of you, be unfaithful to her.”
“Just as the conditions of your wager are between you and Leo, so my fidelity is between Mercy and me.”
“An unfaithful husband can shatter a woman’s heart, destroy her pride, leave her bitter, make—”
“Mother, ours is a forced marriage and will be one of convenience. I do not think either of us expects more,” he said sternly.
“I raised my sons to be strong, stubborn men with a good deal too much pride. You will follow your own course, I’m well aware of that. But I pray it will be your heart that serves as your compass.”
Stephen had considered inviting Mercy to accompany him on a walk through the garden, but the winds had picked up and it was bitter cold out. The rain arrived at dusk and slashed at the windows. If it were spring, he’d take her on a picnic beside one of the rivers that cut through his brother’s land or one of the ponds where they’d sometimes fished as young lads. His chest tightened with the thought that one day he would take John fishing there.
He’d always known the possibility existed that he’d one day have children, but he’d always expected to ease into the role of father. Instead it had been thrust upon him with no preparation. He couldn’t bemoan the fact when the same situation had been thrust upon Mercy. He wouldn’t complain, resent, or wish matters were different. He would accept his duties as a father and a husband and make the best of them. He never wanted his son to regret that Stephen was his father. More, he never wanted Mercy to regret that Stephen was her husband.
He would begin their arrangement as he intended to continue it: with a great deal of thought and with her desires in mind.
He’d wanted someplace where they would have little chance of being disturbed. Someplace where his meddlesome mother couldn’t lurk in hiding and listen to what he intended to say. Finally, he’d decided on the portrait gallery. On the first floor the windows provided an exceptional view of his brother’s estate. He’d asked Mercy to join him there an hour before dinner was to be served.
He was standing at a window, rehearsing his words, when he heard her quiet footfalls. A burst of lightning lit up the black night sky and illuminated the countryside. The display was majestic and powerful. An appropriate setting, he finally decided, for a woman who had proven she was made of firmer stuff than he. As nature’s light faded, leaving only the lamps burning to provide a barrier against the shadows, he saw her reflection in the glass, standing near his. She was wearing the green gown she’d worn the first night. Only now he knew the treasures it hid.
As they would be going straight to dinner, she’d not bothered with gloves. Neither had he. The way her hair was arranged disguised its shortness. A pearl comb drew the eye. He wondered how old he would be by the time her hair once again reached her waist.
They stared at each other’s reflection. They stared at the night. They watched the storm have its way, wind lashing at nearby trees, the rain slashing at the windows. The corridor was long, the entire span of the house. He’d planned to walk the length of it with her. He’d even brought his walking stick so he could mask his remaining limp, barely noticeable as it had become. But in the end, he simply indicated a chair in front of the window. “Please sit.”
She did as he bade, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at him with expectation. He wondered if she knew why he’d asked her to come here.
Placing his hands behind his back, he returned to staring out the window, but he could see her reflection clearly. He was drawn to her. He couldn’t deny the truth of that. Nor could he deny that he was responsible for her current situation. He could take the babe, allow the duchess to raise him, set Mercy free. But he’d witnessed her deep love for the child. It would be cruel to separate her from John.
He could take John and delegate Mercy to nursemaid or governess. If she never again claimed him, in time, those who knew of her transgression would forget. She might meet someone, fall in love, and marry. Have her own life. Leave John behind. But that was not fair to John.
If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want her to leave. But he did not love her, and again, that was not fair to her. He could think of no perfect solution. So he had to settle on the one he thought would be the best, in spite of its imperfections. She was the sort who would make the best of an unfortunate situation, and he was the sort who would do all in his power to ensure she was forever happy. A woman should know no sorrow, as far as he was concerned, at least none delivered by him. They entertained, they amused, they brought a man pleasure. They were a gift. As such, he had always treasured them.
Taking a deep breath, he held on to her reflection. “I do not know if I am the man you knew in Scutari. I do not know what that man felt for you or what his intentions toward you were. I am not even certain I know the man I am now. All I know is the man I was two years ago. Quite honestly, I’m not certain I held him in very high esteem.” He turned to face her. “For what comfort it might bring you, I can tell you that the man I was two years ago never took to his bed a woman for whom he held no affection whatsoever.”
She nodded and swallowed, her delicate throat drawing his eye, before he returned his gaze to hers. “You should know that there has never been any man other than you,” she said quietly.
He released a light laugh. “That was rather obvious last night. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn you were a virgin.”
“Have you known many?”
He arched a brow. “Virgins?”
She nodded in obvious embarrassment, her cheeks flaming red.
“No, but discussing my past exploits—in detail—is not the reason I asked you to join me here. This morning you indicated you were not opposed to marrying a man who had lost a part of his mind.”
“You’ve not lost your mind. You’ve lost only your memories.”
“And what if this … affliction is not limited to the time I was in the Crimea? What if it visits me again and I forget you again? Forget you and John?”
“I do not believe in borrowing trouble.”
But she had borrowed it, with a vengeance, when she’d made the decision to keep his son. Stephen couldn’t continue to allow her to carry that burden alone. Regardless of the man he might have been in the Crimea, he knew the man he’d been before it. That had not changed. Always when he’d bedded a woman, he’d done it with the full knowledge that he would never abandon her in a difficult situation.
“You are the mother of my child, and in my head, I know that would not have occurred if I did not have some care for you. I cannot say that I loved you. Even now, I cannot … but just as you did not abandon my son, I will not abandon you.” He dropped to his knee, his healing leg protesting as he bent it to accommodate his position.
She gasped. Her eyes widened. He took her hand, pressed it to his lips, drank in her whiskey eyes. “Miss Dawson�
�Mercy—will you marry me?”
Chapter 11
Mercy continued to feel the weight of his words as they joined the others in the library.
The duchess came out of her chair in a rustle of silk. “Well?”
“She’s consented to marry me,” Stephen said, his voice strong with the conviction that he’d expected no other response from her.
Yes was the only answer she could have given and ensure her place in John’s life. Any other course would put her at risk of one day losing him. She loved him too much to take that chance. And she cared deeply for his father. The stirrings of love. No, he wasn’t exactly the man she’d known in Scutari, but then neither was she the woman he’d held through the night.
She knew this was a forced marriage, even if her father was not standing behind Stephen holding a gun against the small of his back. It was his honor as a gentleman that had prodded him to ask her. But that didn’t mean that things between them couldn’t be good. She could foresee a few complications, but she would find a way to deal with them. For John’s sake. And hers. And Stephen’s.
“Lovely!” the duchess said now. She swept across the room and took Mercy into her arms. “Oh, my dear girl. I could not be more pleased to have you in the family.”
The duchess stepped away with a no-nonsense gleam in her eyes. “The ceremony will take place here in the estate chapel. The village vicar will do the honors. I think under the circumstances, a small, select number of guests. Family, close friends.”
“I have no family to speak of,” Mercy told her, “and a letter to my father announcing the marriage should suffice. He’s washed his hands of me.” Heat burned her cheeks. “If not for Stephen’s generous offer, John and I would be living on the streets, I’m sure.”
“Nonsense. I would have handled matters if Stephen hadn’t. But I’m terribly pleased that he did. It shows he’s a man of character.”
“Mother, I’m quite famished. Could we possibly discuss the details after dinner?” Stephen asked.
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 16