“You look like a woman well-pleasured.”
“Do I?”
He nodded.
She reached up, her arms wrapping around him. “Now I must pleasure you.”
He pressed another kiss to her lips. “No, Sarah. Not tonight.”
A frown furrowed her brows. “Why not?”
“Because tonight was for you.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to pleasure you? Isn’t that what women do?”
He chuckled softly. “What do you know of what men want and what women do?”
“Mistresses please their men. That is what they’re compensated for.”
“Do you wish to be compensated?” he asked, bemused.
Her eyes went wide. “No!”
“Because I’d be happy to.” He pressed a light kiss to her nose. “Whatever your heart desires.” Although he knew she wasn’t much of one for material possessions.
“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “It’s not like that between us, is it?”
“You know it isn’t.”
He didn’t like comparing her to a mistress. Although, he realized, with a sick feeling twisting in his gut, that was essentially what she’d become.
“Simon,” she murmured. “Let me try. I probably will be inept and stupid, but I want to try…”
“Not tonight,” he told her gently. “This is enough for tonight. I like to see a woman pleasured. I like to see you pleasured.”
“But I want to…”
“What? What is it you wish to do?”
Her gaze wandered low, in the direction of his cock.
She bit her lip and looked back up into his face. “I want to please you,” she whispered.
“You already have, love.”
Whore.
Sarah lay in bed the next morning, thinking of that word. Of how, if all the people in London had known how she’d behaved last night and the night before, they’d label her with that awful word.
And yet, she did not feel like a whore. No bolt of lightning had struck her down where she slept. No pang of conscience had overtaken her. She was still Sarah Osborne. Her feelings about the world hadn’t changed. Only her feelings about Simon had grown stronger.
No regrets. She’d told Simon she’d have none, and she didn’t.
She’d lain in his arms in the darkest hours of morning. He’d held her through her grief about Binnie, made her feel comforted. Protected. Even cherished.
No one had ever cherished her before.
She’d fallen into a deep sleep with the weight of his arm over her. Just before dawn had begun to lighten the sky, he’d shifted away from her, then his lips had nuzzled into her hair.
“I must go,” he’d murmured. “Sleep, love.”
And she’d slept again. Deep and comfortable, warm, the languor from his lovemaking infusing her bones even hours later. Now, she could tell by the level of light in the bedchamber that she’d slept far past the hour at which she normally rose. But that didn’t matter. She slipped out of bed, feeling warm and content.
Simon would be long gone, so she wouldn’t be able to take her usual pleasure from breakfasting with him. She sat at her dressing table and gazed at herself. Her blue eyes were bright in the mirror, but there were dark smudges beneath that would tell the world that she’d been crying.
Poor Binnie.
She combed her hair with shaky hands, remembering the solidity of Simon’s arms around her as she’d wept. Today would be a difficult day. She’d have to tell Esme and the household, and they’d have to write to Mrs. Hope and to Binnie’s family.
But she’d get through it. The memory of Simon’s embrace would sustain her.
Chapter Twelve
Simon sat alone in his drawing room, awaiting the arrival of Lord Stanley. The ladies were out shopping – they had no idea that Simon was here, because he rarely showed his face at home in the early afternoon hours. However, at Almack’s last week after Simon had finished his second dance with Miss Stanley, her father had asked for a private meeting. Simon had accepted, though he’d no doubt as to what Stanley intended to ask him.
He wanted Simon to marry his daughter.
Simon had agreed to the meeting out of politeness, and because he wanted to clarify to Stanley that while Simon found his daughter lovely and an excellent dancer and dinner companion, he had no intention of taking things further than that.
Another time, another year, Simon might have given Miss Stanley serious consideration. She’d make a more than adequate wife for a duke; it was as if she’d been groomed to play the role. She probably had, come to think of it. But after a few days of visiting Sarah’s bed, Simon’s plans had changed. Simon had no intention of shackling himself to anyone – at least not this Season. He was enjoying this time he had with Sarah too much to put an end to it.
A knock sounded on the door and Tremaine informed him that Baron Stanley had arrived.
He rose to greet Stanley and offered him a drink. When they were both seated in the royal-blue upholstered chairs with brandy glasses in hand, he got straight to the point. “What is it you wished to see me about?”
Stanley took his time before answering, taking a slow sip of brandy, holding it in his mouth as if savoring its fine taste. When he swallowed, he gazed at the contents of his glass and said, “Thought you were against French spirits.”
“Only those obtained illegally. This brandy is from the stores owned by my father before the war.”
“Ah. I wasn’t aware the old duke possessed such a keen sense of forethought.”
Simon didn’t answer. There was a full minute of silence. Then, Stanley carefully set down his glass on the round mahogany table beside his chair.
“I’m here regarding my daughter, Georgina.”
Simon tilted his head in question and pasted a subtly concerned look on his face. “Oh?”
Stanley’s gaze sharpened, his hawk’s eyes keen as he studied Simon. “Despite your paltry attendance at the events every Season before this one, when you are present, you have always given my daughter a significant fraction of your attentions.”
Simon sipped his drink. “Miss Stanley always seemed to be in attendance at whatever function at which I chose to make an appearance. It is encouraging to see a familiar face in the crowd.”
“Encouraging, eh?” Stanley gave a humorless laugh, and those narrow eyes glinted a steely blue. “No doubt. A familiar beautiful face, too. Do you fancy my daughter?”
Simon chose his words carefully. “She possesses a fair countenance, and she is a pleasant conversationalist. You have done a fine job with her, Stanley. She should make some gentleman an excellent match someday.”
Stanley sat back in his chair. “So you make your intentions clear.”
Simon raised a brow. “I assure you, I have no intentions regarding Miss Stanley. None at all, beyond neighborly friendship, of course.”
“I see.” Stanley studied him for a long moment, then spoke softly. “Georgina would benefit – indeed, our entire family would benefit – from an alliance with you, Trent.”
Simon didn’t say anything, because they both knew Stanley’s words were very true. Stanley was a landed and moneyed baron, but the position Simon occupied was wedged into the very highest echelon of society, and Stanley’s barony only permitted him partial admittance to that select bit of humanity that had the power to sway kings. Stanley had always wanted it, Simon knew this well. Hell, anyone would know it, just from looking at the man. His ambition was written all over his face. And if his daughter married Simon, that would give him – and his heir – greater access to all that power and privilege.
“But I think you would benefit from an alliance with us as well.”
Simon didn’t ask how. There was no point. Whatever “benefit” Stanley might see in it for him had no bearing, because Simon had no intention of marrying his daughter regardless. “That might be true,” he said instead. “Believe me, I am honored that you’d consider me fo
r your daughter. I know how fond you are of her.” He didn’t know that at all, but he assumed most fathers were fond of their daughters. “As I said before, she will make someone a fine wife. I am sure she will ultimately make a very good match that will benefit all parties involved.”
Stanley heaved out a sigh. “That is unfortunate.”
Simon gave the other man a tight smile. “I am sure the opposite is true. In the interests of her happiness, a match with me would not be ideal.”
Stanley’s brows arched into brown peaks. “Oh? Are you saying you’d make my daughter unhappy?”
“Not deliberately,” Simon said, “but she doesn’t care for me, Stanley. Surely you can see that.”
“Not at all. When you are together, I see just the opposite. She is utterly taken with you.”
Simon frowned. No. She was attentive and flirtatious – sometimes overly so. But Simon had always viewed that as an act, one that he’d seen duplicated by countless young ladies of her caliber. Surely Stanley couldn’t believe that that behavior represented true affection.
Simon knew what it felt like to be really cared for – Sarah had shown him that.
Something in his gut clenched tight as thoughts and images of Sarah barreled through him in the midst of this talk of marrying Georgina Stanley.
Stanley leaned slightly forward, his hands clasped over his flat stomach. “Tell me true, Trent. Can I harbor some hope that your feelings might change? Must I return home to my daughter and dash all her dreams?”
Dash her dreams? Good God, had it really come to that?
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Stanley.” He meant it.
“As am I.” Stanley reached over to his glass and took a long drink of his brandy, his lids lowered. When he set down his glass and raised his eyes to Simon again, Simon didn’t at all like the look on his face. “I am sorry for what I must do now.”
“What do you mean?” Simon asked.
“I simply refuse to dash my daughter’s dreams. Therefore, I fear I must take extreme measures.”
Simon’s hands tightened over the armrests of his chair. His cravat suddenly felt very tight. “Are you threatening me, Stanley? In my own home?” His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
“Not exactly threatening,” Stanley said. “However, I fear I’m preparing to tell you something you’ll not at all enjoy hearing.”
For a second, Simon’s thoughts seemed to scramble. Could Stanley know what had happened to Simon’s mother? Was he about to confirm her death? But what did any of that have to do with Georgina Stanley and the reason Stanley had come to see him today?
Simon waited, his knuckles whitening over the chair arms.
“It has to do with your family. Your brothers, in particular.” Stanley hesitated, then cocked his head, his eyes narrowing, both his hands clasped around his now-empty glass. “You see, I know the truth.”
Simon waited for him to elaborate, but when several seconds had passed and he hadn’t, he asked, “What truth?”
“About your brothers.”
If it was possible to grow any tenser, Simon did at that moment. “What about them?”
Stanley’s head tilted farther to the side. His lips parted, a light breath whooshed out, and then he said in a very low voice, “You don’t know.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Stanley drew back, his steely eyes slowly widening in true shock. “You don’t know. My God. She kept it from you, all these years. Astonishing.”
“Kept what from me?” Simon rose to his feet.
Stanley just stared up at him as Simon stepped closer.
“Tell me what the hell you’re talking about, Stanley.”
“I should have known. Ever so wily were the Duke and Duchess of Trent. Of course they wouldn’t tell you. They knew better.”
“Tell me what?”
Stanley still gazed at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “The prodigal son,” he murmured. “So different from his parents.”
Simon clenched his hands at his sides. If this man didn’t get to the point soon, he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from throttling him.
Stanley raised his glass. “Another?”
His jaw working, Simon took the glass from him and stalked to the sideboard to replenish the brandy. He took the time with his back to Stanley to inhale several deep breaths and to calm himself. When he returned, handing the glass to the other man, he remained standing. “What I’d like to know, Stanley, is if you intend to ever inform me what this is about.”
Stanley took a deep drink, and when he lowered the glass from his lips, it was already half empty. “Since you clearly have no idea, I suppose I should start from the beginning. Sit down, Trent. You’ll need to be seated for this.”
Without a word, Simon resumed his seat.
“Your older brother, Samson, is a bastard,” Stanley announced. “It is widely known that he is the illegitimate son of your mother and some unknown man.”
Simon crossed his arms over his chest. He generally didn’t tolerate people calling Sam a bastard – usually, no one dared use that word in his presence. Sam was his older brother by two years, and he was a man Simon admired and respected. Their mother had never stood for anyone speaking ill of Sam, either.
“It was surprising to most of England at the time, but your father still wanted your mother, even after her well-known indiscretion. Before you were born, they were touted as the wild duke and his whore.”
Simon stared coldly at the older man. He knew all this, of course. He had spent most of his life attempting to clear the Hawkins family name of all that scandal his mother and father had thrived on.
“Shortly after you were born, the duke grew bored of your mother,” Stanley continued. “He took a mistress in Town.” He paused to take another sip of brandy.
Simon’s lips tightened. His mother and father’s relationship had been extremely complicated and difficult for his youthful self to understand. By the time Theo was born, however, they had seemed to come to some sort of arrangement that allowed them to live in peace – not as husband and wife, per se, but at least they could reside in the same country and even the same house at times – without the screaming and violent arguments he remembered from when he was younger.
“I know all this,” he growled out. “Get to the point.”
“Patience, boy.” Stanley lowered his glass. “Your mother was distraught by your father’s inattention. She turned elsewhere for comfort.”
Simon didn’t like the way Stanley placed emphasis on the word “comfort.”
“She turned to me,” Stanley announced. He gave time for Simon to absorb that, then continued, “I was young and unmarried at that time. A neighbor. A friend. We had a brief, torrid affair that consisted of many furtive, sweaty encounters in the pastures bordering Ironwood Park and my lands.” He paused for a moment, then he added, “Alas, Trent, your brother, Lord Lukas Hawkins, isn’t really a Hawkins at all. He is a Stanley.”
Every word Stanley spoke seemed to compress Simon’s lungs more. “You’re lying,” he choked out.
“Oh, I assure you, I am not.”
“Then I don’t believe you.”
“You should.” Now Stanley’s voice was low and dangerous. The balance of power had switched to his side, and he knew it. “I’ve proof.”
“Where?” Simon asked.
“Written documents,” Stanley said. “An agreement witnessed by the Trent solicitor wherein I agreed that I would make no claim on the boy for as long as the old Duke of Trent was alive.”
Simon’s lip curled. “That makes no sense. Why would my mother ever allow proof of her infidelity, not to mention an illegitimate child, to exist?”
Stanley gave a sly smile. “I plan ahead, Trent. I was prepared to reveal my link to the child then, but her position with the duke was precarious. He found out about our liaison and had threatened her with divorce. She convinced him otherwise, but she knew if I brought her dalliance to
society’s attention, he’d go through with it. So I demanded that we create this document, knowing that at some point in the future I might be able to use my paternity of Lukas to my advantage.”
Simon’s head was spinning. Luke couldn’t know – if he did, he would have let the truth out during one of his many drunken rages in which he’d railed at Simon over the years.
If this was the truth, it would eviscerate him. Luke was already on the verge of complete failure. This news would push him over the edge.
“Don’t you see me in him?” Stanley asked, and there was a dark shadow of humor in his voice. “I do. He takes after me, that is for certain.” He gestured to his own face. “It’s in the eyes.”
Simon stared at Stanley’s eyes. The resemblance, now that Stanley pointed it out, was absolutely undeniable. Luke’s eyes were exact replicas of Stanley’s, from their shape down to their shade. But it was more than that. The construction of their faces was nearly identical. Even their hair held the same blond shade.
“You look horrified, Trent.” Stanley had relaxed again. The bastard had begun to enjoy himself, took pleasure from seeing Simon in distress. “But my story is only in its infancy. There’s much more.”
Simon’s gut had twisted into a knot. “What do you mean? How can there be more?” Surely this was enough life-altering news for one day.
Stanley gave him a grim smile. “Regarding the agreement I made with your parents, know that I have no desire to claim Lukas as my own. I’ve no need of a bastard son, especially not one as depraved as that boy.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
Stanley didn’t answer. He simply continued. “A few years passed, and your mother traveled to the Continent and was absent for quite a long time. Perhaps you remember – as I recall she left you and your two half brothers with your governess at Ironwood Park. Our affair had long since ended. When she returned, she was in possession of yet another ‘legitimate’ infant son.”
“Mark,” Simon said.
“Yes. Markus. And then, two years later, Theodore appeared.”
Simon looked at him, waiting.
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