The Puzzle of a Bastard

by Sande, Linda Rae

“Wait another moment, or you’ll frighten him,” Gabe said, pulling her back down with a heavy arm.

  “What?”

  Gabe sighed. “Your heart. It’s still beating fast. He’ll feel it and think you are in distress.”

  Frances furrowed her dark brows and stared at him. “How is it you know this?” She jerked, as if she intended to sit up even with most of him now holding her down and his lips having attached themselves to the side of her breast.

  A sudden thought had her gasping. “Do you...? Have you a—?”

  “I have only a younger brother and sister,” he assured her, realizing why she might have thought him already a father. “But I was old enough when my brother was born to understand I wasn’t to hold him unless I was calm.” He pushed her back down onto the bed and once again lowered his lips to her breast, this time her left.

  He held them there a moment. “And now you are,” he murmured. He rolled off of her, but left an arm sprawled over her thighs as she sat up and took the babe back in her arms.

  Her heart rate might have returned to normal, but her body certainly hadn’t. She wondered what it might be like if she allowed Gabe to bed her this way every morning.

  Wouldn’t he grow tired of her, though? He was a young man—far too young to be considering matrimony.

  Wasn’t he?

  If she agreed to marry him, how long would it be before he took a mistress? Before he lost interest in her, or found another woman with a babe to save from their worldly woes?

  “I will honor my marriage vows,” Gabe whispered “I promise you that.”

  Frances gave a start, wondering if he could read her mind. She didn’t dare look at him, though. If she did that, she would give in. She would agree to anything he asked—he had just tumbled her, leaving her unable to think straight. Or think at all.

  Much like he had managed to do in the middle of the night. Slowly. Without a word. His hands smoothing over her heated body until every nerve ending awakened in bliss.

  Had that been a dream?

  “Your son will want for nothing,” Gabe continued. “He’ll be educated, and he will go to university, just as our other boys will, and they will be raised as I was. In a good home.”

  He heard her make a sound of disbelief, and he imagined she had probably rolled her eyes at hearing his words. “Our girls will have the very best governess. Beautiful clothes. Their pick of handsome men to marry, although...”

  Frances moved David to her shoulder and began patting him on his back. “Although?” she prompted, finally warming to his vision for their future.

  “I shall be very choosy as to whom they can take as husbands.”

  She couldn’t help the moment of amusement she allowed to show before she once again sobered. Sobered and then sobbed. Could she trust this man? She barely knew him! “And you expect to do all this on the salary of an archivist?”

  Even before he lifted his head, Gabe knew she was weeping. “At first. But when I am five-and-twenty, I shall come into some money. There will be enough for a generous settlement for you and our children.”

  Our children. He spoke the words so easily.

  “You’re too young to be thinking of marriage,” she whispered, sure he was younger than she was.

  “As are you, but I will have you,” he vowed. He glanced over at the nightstand beyond where she lounged, David asleep on her shoulder. The ring from his father’s mother, a gold band topped with an emerald, lay where he had left it earlier that morning. Next to it was one from another grandmother, a sapphire mounted on a gold band and surrounded by diamonds.

  On his way back from the nursery with David, he had stopped in his bedchamber and rifled through his jewel box. His grandmother, Charity Fitzsimmons Wellingham, might have been the youngest daughter of a viscount, but she had made a proud and cunning countess for the cruel and philandering Graydon Wellingham.

  When she had offered the emerald ring to Gabe, she had done so with the words, Worry not, for it was not a gift from your grandfather but rather a purchase I made for myself during my first month as a widow. One of many, for I decided I should possess at least as many pieces as he gave his doxies. But know this, young man. Quit your mistresses before you wed, and never return to them, or your marriage shall be as fraught with pain and sorrow as mine was.

  Gabe could imagine the Countess of Trenton scandalizing the jeweler in Wolverhampton—and the late earl’s man of business—for indeed, the emerald ring was not the only piece of jewelry she had acquired that day. Upon her death, which he imagined wouldn’t come for another decade or more, there would be an entire collection of necklaces, bracelets, earbobs and brooches Gabe could bestow on whomever he wished.

  As long as it wasn’t a mistress. His grandmother had made that provision quite clear.

  As for the sapphire ring, he only knew of its intent—to be used as a betrothal ring. Surely giving both to Frances would ensure a positive response.

  Instead of crawling over Frances to get at the rings, he rolled off the bed and walked around to the other side of it.

  Frances watched as he did so, cursing her body’s reaction at seeing him, naked, in the brighter light of morning. She was about to ask if he was leaving when he moved to sit next to her. She placed the dozing David on the bed. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, she turned to regard him, nearly pulling the bed linens up to cover her own nakedness.

  He lifted the rings from the nightstand and held them each between a thumb and forefinger. “I want you to be my wife. I want your son to be mine,” he said in a quiet voice. He took her right hand in his and slid the sapphire ring onto her finger. Then he took her left hand and slid the emerald ring onto it. “If you cannot give me an answer now, I understand. I can be patient. But I will not let you go back to that awful woman’s house. You will live here as long as it takes for you to—”

  He couldn’t finish. Frances’ lips covered his as her hands went to the back of his head. When she pulled away, she said, “You’re a very stubborn man.”

  “So sayeth the prickly woman,” he said as he arched a brow, wondering how she would react.

  Despite her attempt to hide her reaction, Frances couldn’t help the wince that crossed her face. “Prickly?” she repeated as she blinked several times.

  “And proud and perfect,” he replied quickly. “None of those are traits for which you should apologize, Frances.”

  “Pride? I do not—”

  “I meant you are a proud woman,” he argued. “Although, yes, you take great pride in your work, which is to be commended.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Always in the pursuit of perfection. I cannot help but love you for it.”

  This time, Frances did flinch. “Thank you for noticing.”

  He inhaled and then sighed, a grin finally touching his lips. “I should go get dressed. I’ll send a lady’s maid—”

  “You said you would bathe me,” she reminded him, deciding she could display a bit of her prickliness just then.

  He displayed a brilliant smile. “So I did,” he agreed.

  It was another hour before he summoned a lady’s maid.

  Chapter 27

  The Wonders of a Morning

  Meanwhile, at Woodscastle

  Despite the dark drapes covering the windows of the guest bedchamber, a sudden sliver of gray light had Emily rolling over and into James’ hold.

  “I don’t want it to be morning,” she whispered.

  “It’s not yet. Not really,” James murmured, his eyes closed. They opened suddenly when Emily’s hand slid down the front of his body and met his manhood, which most definitely knew it was morning.

  “Is it all right if I touch it?” she asked in a whisper.

  A sort of growling groan was his initial response. “Only if you are prepared for what will happen.”

  Her eyes widened in wonder. “Oh! What might that be?”

  James did his best to suppress a chuckle. “I’ll make you climb on top of me and demonstrate you
r riding skills,” he warned.

  “With this as the pommel?” she asked as her hand wrapped around his morning tumescence.

  At first, James thought she was teasing and was about to admonish her, but her expression of wonder was too real. “Perhaps for a start,” he murmured. When her eyes rounded, he knew she understood what she would be expected to do. “Have you... done it like that before?”

  She swallowed and shook her head. “No, but I’ve read all the books about sexual congress that we have in the library.”

  “Oh. Have you now?” he muttered. “I suppose you looked at all the color plates in them, too?”

  “Oh, I did that first,” she admitted.

  James couldn’t help but grin. “What makes you think I’ll be able to teach you anything new?” The hand holding his manhood slid up and gripped a bit harder, and he inhaled sharply.

  “Reading about something isn’t the same as doing it,” Emily argued. Her hand slid back down, but only after her thumb had caressed the sensitive skin at the very tip of his rod.

  James stiffened both in body and cock, and he said, “I do believe it is in this case.” He took another labored breath. “Time to ride,” he whispered, “but not sidesaddle.”

  “I’ve never ridden astride,” she replied as she climbed over him, her long hair tickling him as it dragged over his chest.

  He jerked beneath her, and she paused a moment before settling into place. “Now what do I do?”

  Aroused and ready, James was on the verge of simply rolling her over on the bed and repeating what he had done the night before, but he took a moment to gaze at her.

  “Allow me to just look at you a moment,” he whispered, quickly taking her hands into his so she couldn’t cover anything.

  Embarrassed, Emily glanced away, her gaze taking in the dressing table and then the nightstand and finally James as he stared up at her. “Am I... lacking anything? Compared to your mistress, I mean?” she asked.

  He shook his head in the pillow. “Not a thing, my sweet. Besides, you have made me forget her completely, and I thank you for that.” In the gray light, her erect nipples were partially hidden by locks of her dark blonde hair. The shadows revealed more than they hid, for her breasts were rounder than James had first thought.

  Emily was about to argue, but she saw how his gaze raked her body, how his chest rose and fell with his quick breaths. Felt how his cock lengthened in her hold.

  Would this happen if he didn’t find her desirable? “You’re welcome,” she whispered. “Now tell me what to do.”

  “Lift your hips and take me into you.” His hands moved to grip her hips, though, to prevent her from coming down onto him. “Wait. Are you... are you ready?” he asked. He slid a hand between her thighs, gratified when he felt the slickness along her feminine folds.

  “I wouldn’t have woken you up if I wasn’t,” she whispered. “I’ve been wanting you the entire night.”

  James thrilled at hearing her words. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Her eyes darted to the side. “Well, I didn’t want to seem wanton.”

  His body vibrated beneath her as a guffaw escaped, and she took the opportunity to lift her hips and impale herself on his sword—all the way to the hilt in one swift downward thrust.

  James growled in both relief and shock. “My lady. When we are together like this, you can be as wanton as you wish,” he assured her, one of his hands holding her hip while the other slid up her body to cup a breast and tease the nipple. He half expected she would ask what to do next, but she lifted off of him slightly and lowered herself back down as he murmured something in a language he hadn’t spoken since university.

  She repeated what she had done while she said, “Why, I think I should be offended, but perhaps the way you said it suggests you do not mean for me to take offense.”

  “Oh, I meant no offense,” he assured her, his breaths short and growing shorter as her motions increased in speed and his hips thrust up to meet hers.

  When he pressed a thumb against her swollen womanhood as she was separating her body from his, he watched as her back arched and her head fell back.

  The sight of her in her ecstasy was enough to send him into his own, his seed spilling into her as her body slowly fell down atop his.

  His arms fell over her back as a sea of stars passed before his eyes and he passed out.

  Boneless, Emily had known James would break her fall, or at least slow it with his powerful arms. Now he, too, seemed to have lost his strength, his body as limp as hers as she settled her head onto his chest and listened as his heart beat a quick tattoo.

  After a time, his breaths settled into a regular pattern, and she finally fell asleep.

  “After that, I’m left wondering if we might marry on the morrow,” James murmured.

  Emily purred as she used a finger to trace a whorl of hair on his chest. “I’m certainly old enough,” she replied. “But isn’t a special license required for a quick wedding?”

  “It is. And I really should bring up the matter with your father,” he whispered. “Or Tom.” Despite her protests, James slid her from his body and settled her on his side. He then lifted himself onto an elbow and regarded her a moment. “You have done this before, I know, but...” He paused, wondering at his need to be compared to his brother.

  “It was nothing like this, James. Nothing like it has been between us,” Emily said with a shake of her head.

  “Nothing?”

  She sighed. “From what little of what my sisters have told me, I knew to expect pleasure at some point, but I never experienced it with your brother,” she said quietly.

  James felt a surge of pride, but at the same time, he wondered why his brother wouldn’t have seen to Emily’s pleasure before taking his own. “Perhaps I am just the better lover.”

  “Oh, there is no doubt of that,” Emily agreed. “But then, you are both so different. Which is to be expected, I suppose.”

  His brows furrowing, James asked, “Why do you say that?”

  Emily turned onto her side to face him, one hand pressed onto his chest. “With only your mother in common, it’s only logical you two would have different bodies. Different ways of doing the same thing.”

  James blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  Emily stared at him, and her grin disappeared. “Henry’s father—”

  “My father,” James interrupted. And then his brows furrowed. “Are you saying Henry’s father was not my father?”

  Her eyes widening, Emily wondered how to respond. “I thought you knew.”

  James sat up and struggled to control his breathing. “I didn’t. If my father, Lord Andrew, wasn’t his father, then... then who was?”

  Emily sat up alongside him. “He told me his mother had been violated by a rake, Lord Brougham, after a night at the theatre.”

  James winced and sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Go on.”

  “Well, despite your father’s age at the time—Henry said he was only eighteen—he married your mother knowing she carried another’s baby. Henry said he often wondered if it was because Lord Craven had bribed Lord Andrew with a huge dowry, or if his father truly felt affection for his mother.”

  “He felt affection for her,” James insisted. “Father told me that many times after she died of pneumonia.” He winced, not having thought of that awful day in 1810 in a very long time. Elizabeth Smith-Jones Burroughs had been a beautiful woman and a wonderful mother to her three children. The thought that she had been forced into a marriage she might not have wanted didn’t seem possible.

  “How did Henry find out?” James asked in a whisper.

  “Just before your mother died, she told him because she said—”

  “My father would never tell him,” James finished for her.

  She nodded. “Something like that.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew all of this.”

  James shook his head on a sigh. “It explain
s much,” he whispered. “Henry was so much like Mother. He was always so sickly, just like her, and he looked almost nothing like me and certainly not like any of our cousins on the Burroughs side,” he recalled.

  Emily leaned her head against his shoulder. “But in knowing he didn’t share you and Sophia’s father, I think Henry no longer felt as if he belonged quite as much. Especially when he returned from university to discover his father had remarried.”

  “He was surprised by that,” James agreed.

  “But you were not.”

  James settled back onto the pillows and urged her to join him. He wrapped an arm behind her shoulders and pulled her so she was half atop him. When she lowered her head into the small of his shoulder, he kissed the top of her head.

  “Before I left for university, my father and I were deep in our cups one night, and he told me how much he loved Jane Vandermeer. Since I’d never met her, I had no idea who he was talking about.”

  Emily angled her head. “I cannot imagine you—or your father—foxed,” she whispered.

  “It is rare,” he said just before he yawned. “Makes me wonder if he would have told me about Henry if we’d kept drinking that night.”

  “Perhaps he did, and you just didn’t remember,” she suggested.

  James inhaled slowly and let the breath out in a whoosh. “Possibly,” he murmured. “I cannot believe everything that has happened today.”

  “It has been a day full of shocks,” Emily agreed. “Mostly for you, unfortunately.”

  James almost considered telling her about the rings, but decided the topic could wait for another day.

  “May I stay?” she asked. She doubted she could move if she wanted to, every limb so relaxed, she felt limp all over.

  He gave a start. “I’m not letting you out of this bed,” he replied as he moved to take her into his arms. He had her turned over on her side and bent so her back was against his chest and his knees were tucked in behind hers. “Besides, when you finally do have to get out of this bed, I want it to be light enough so I can see your lovely bum as you walk away.”