“And how, pray tell, did you meet the esteemed Sir Andrew Harington?”
“Harold ran up to him in Hyde Park this morning. I had told him of Cole and he thought Sir Andrew’s steed looked alike.”
Anna nodded, no doubt remembering the horse from their childhood. “Dusk indeed looks like Cole, though he is far grander. I do believe Sir Andrew paid a pretty penny for his hide.”
Hannah did not doubt it, and noted how her friend knew Sir Andrew’s steed’s name. She must indeed know him quite well. That made her nervous. “He then allowed Harold to ride the stallion and escorted us home after.”
The corners of Anna’s lips lifted higher in amusement. “What are you leaving out, my dear?”
“Nothing,” she said, rather too quickly.
“Quite so,” Anna murmured, looking hardly convinced.
Hannah sighed. “He looked at me…unlike the late duke used to. I know he is a rake,” she felt compelled to add.
“Actually, he is not.”
Hannah met her friend’s eye. “Pardon?”
“He is not a rake. Well, not really.”
“What do you mean?”
Anna rested her head back against the settee and paused as Morris and a footman entered with the tea and sweet cakes. When they were alone again, Anna motioned to the tea with a wave of her hand. “Shall we sup before the tea goes cold, my dear?”
Hannah frowned at her friend’s teasing but did as she was told. “Do you know him through…your club?”
“Club? Please, Hannah, you know very well what it is called.”
“Fine. Is he a member of Goodrich Hall?”
Anna and her husband Dicky were the founders of a society of the elite that met once a month for fornication. The mere thought of it caused Hannah to blush. Anna had tried to encourage her to attend once her husband had passed, but Hannah could not bring herself to visit. She had never understood how anyone could see sex as something pleasurable. Pain and humiliation were not pleasurable, to her mind. Far from it.
“He is.”
Hannah’s spirits sank at her friend’s words. “Oh.”
“Hannah, he is not like that, nor is he a rake. He is a gentleman, albeit a gentleman with sexual tastes and desires. There is nothing wrong with that.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Anna sighed. “Hannah, I know of your past of pain, but Sir Andrew would not seek to hurt you.”
“It is not me for whom I hold concern.” Well, not entirely—but she would not admit that to her friend. “It is Harold. Sir Andrew promised to come by tomorrow and take him riding. Harold is so very excited and I worry for his little heart. He looks up at the man with such longing, and I will not see him disillusioned. After what he lived through with his father, he should not have to suffer it again.”
Anna sat forward and took Hannah’s hand in her own. “I know, and of course I agree. If he has shown an interest in Harold then trust it as it is given. He is one of Dicky’s closest friends and I know he thinks highly of his sister’s children. Perhaps he genuinely likes him? Harold is an easy boy to love, after all.”
His father had not thought so.
Anna squeezed her hand. “He is a good man and would make a good lover—maybe even a good husband, one day.”
Hannah removed her hand from her friend’s grasp and resumed pouring the tea. She was not looking for a husband. She had been subjected to that horrid life once, and would never do so again. Nothing could ever tempt her to re-enter such hell. Nothing.
Chapter Two
“Oh, do sit down. You are acting dicked in the nob, you fool! Did you not say she has gone to visit a friend?”
Andrew’s best friend since Oxford slumped in his chair, before he picked up his glass of brandy from the desk. “Indeed, she has.”
“Then let it rest.” Andrew sighed. He had come here to seek information and his friend had paid him little attention. Instead, Dicky worried about his wife. He need not have bothered himself—the woman could hold her own.
“When you marry and your wife is days away from delivering your child, I will remind you of this conversation,” Dicky snarled.
Andrew rolled his eyes. If that day ever comes. Yet the thought of marriage flashed up a vision of the Duchess of Holsworthy in his mind. He barely knew her, but seeing the love she held for her child, well… It made him long for a family of his own. Let alone to bed her. That would certainly be no hardship. Andrew’s cock stirred in his breeches. He shifted in his seat.
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“Why, I appreciate the warm welcome,” Andrew drawled, unoffended, while he shifted again. “I had come to enquire of the Duke of Holsworthy. Do you know of him?”
Dicky—or Lord Richard, as he was known to the general ton—paused as he lifted his drink. For a moment he studied Andrew over the crystal. “The duke is dead.”
“Really? He seemed quite alive when I met him this morning,” Andrew stated, understanding what his friend meant, but he could not resist teasing Dicky at his inaccuracies.
“Are you not referring to the late Duke of Holsworthy’s son? Though I suppose he is now the duke in his own right,” he mused.
“Indeed. Harold is the boy’s name.”
Dicky frowned at Andrew for a moment before he took a sip of his brandy, then nursed the glass in thought. “Yes, I know of him. Is it him you truly enquire about, or the boy’s mother?”
Balls. His friend knew him too well. “Both, in truth. I met them in Hyde Park and the lad took a fancy to Dusk. Apparently, he has never ridden before.”
“No, the late duke hated horseflesh,” Dicky said absently.
Andrew nodded. The duchess had implied as much, but it was how his friend’s voice carried a hint of loathing in it that intrigued him.
“You did not think kindly of the late duke?”
“I never much cared for him, no. My wife even less so.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
As if on cue, the library doors opened and Anna walked into the room—‘waddled’ would be a more apt description. If Andrew had been a betting man, he would have laid money down on her birthing twins in the coming days.
Dicky jumped up and fussed, plumping pillows and such, much to Andrew’s amusement and Anna’s annoyance, settling her down on couches in the centre of the room. Andrew rose and joined them there.
Anna eyed him oddly. “Your ears must be burning.”
“Pardon?” he asked, bewildered.
“I have been in discussions regarding you all morning. In fact, I am rather weary of it,” she said tiredly, and reclined lengthwise, placing her feet in her husband’s lap, where he removed her shoes and started to rub them. She groaned loudly.
“Ahh, I wondered if she would mention him,” Dicky said. “Andrew was just enquiring about Hannah and her son.”
Her name is Hannah? Oddly, Andrew thought it suited her. Sweet, yet regal.
“The Duchess of Holsworthy was the friend you were just visiting?”
Anna nodded and laid an arm over her eyes while the other rested over her swollen middle.
“And she asked about me?” Andrew hated how eager his voice sounded.
Anna peeked out at him from under her hand. “Indeed she did. She was concerned that you were trifling with her son’s affections. His father never showed him any attention and his sudden fascination with you is concerning for her.”
“He is a good lad,” Andrew said. “I would not seek to use the boy to get to his mother, if that is what concerns you.” And he wouldn’t. He generally liked the boy, but that did not mean he could not lust after the boy’s mother too, though, did it? He shifted on the settee, his breeches again growing tight at the thought of bedding the duchess.
Anna’s lips twitched as if she knew of the discomfort in his breeches, but he refused to look down to confirm the sight of his desire.
“I know, and told her as much.”
“Did you?” he asked, pleased, a
nd at Anna’s nod he added, “Did she say anything else?”
“I would not betray her by telling you anything, even if she had, Andrew.”
He glared at her, though Anna did not look concerned by it.
“Fair warning, though—she asked if you attend Goodrich Hall.”
He pondered that. “Has she attended?” He was sure he would remember her if she had. Though the thought of her in the throes of passion with another man set his jaw tight—an odd reaction for a man with no calls to claim over her, or any other woman, for that matter.
“Hardly,” Dicky snorted, earning a fierce look from his wife.
“Hannah is not like us, Andrew. She does not see sex in the same light,” Anna said rather sadly, and rubbed her belly. “But then again, after this child I may never let you near me again, husband.”
Dicky looked unconcerned. Andrew, too, thought little could turn Anna from the act. The woman was a siren and craved pleasure more than air—or had done, until she’d grown so large with this child that she could barely move.
Andrew frowned at her comment about the duchess not liking sex, though.
“How do you mean?”
“The late duke only sought her out to sire his heir and, once that was achieved, he never went to her again. From what little she has said, he never prepared her for the beddings and the whole experience was rather painful for her. I could never convince her to attend Goodrich Hall so she could learn otherwise. She doubts my words at how wondrous it can be.”
Andrew felt his short nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. Whether his anger stemmed from the pain the duchess had suffered, or the thought of another man bedding her, he wasn’t sure, but regardless, it was a foreign emotion in this circumstance. Never before had he felt protective over a woman, but he felt the pang of it now. He wasn’t certain he liked it, either.
* * * *
“May I, sir?”
Andrew nodded to Smith, the Goodrich Hall butler, as he shrugged out of his coat. The droplets of rain from the light shower outside glistened in the soft candlelight of the Hall’s entrance. He also handed the man his gloves and top hat, then ran his fingers through his still dry hair.
“Much of interest this evening, Smith?” he asked the man. Smith had been at Goodrich Hall prior to the club’s commencement several years ago. Andrew could not imagine the place without this servant. He was as wicked as the rest of them—the only difference was his birthright.
“I am sure you will find something to your liking this evening, sir.”
Andrew nodded with amusement. He generally did.
Moving through the lobby, Andrew came to the table stationed in the centre of the room. A large bouquet of flowers had been positioned in its middle, and was surrounded by glass jars, each containing strings of beads in a different colour. He paused by the blue beads, the set he normally sported.
Goodrich Hall was a place that few had stepped inside, but that many of the ton had heard about. It was a place where nobility—those few whom Anna and Dicky had inducted into the secret society—could fornicate without judgement or fear of their association becoming known. It was a place where desires and pleasures ran free. It was a place Andrew knew well.
He dipped his fingers into the jar and retrieved a sting of the blue beads, yet he felt a reluctance to sport them this evening.
The beads symbolised what the wearer wished to participate in. Blue beads signalled willingness for every activity except anal penetration of the one who wore them. He was no keener to experience it tonight than he had been on any other, but in truth, he did not feel like fornicating at all this evening. His mindset was contradictory to the arousal that he had sported inside his breeches all day.
He sighed loudly and dropped the beads back into the jar, then shifted two jars down to reach for a set of yellow. He placed them about his neck somewhat reluctantly before he moved for the door.
The chime of music reached his ears as the footmen opened the large wooden doors beyond. The ballroom was full of familiar faces, most looking upon him when he entered. He nodded towards a few and accepted a brandy from a footman who came forward with his usual drink. They knew his tastes well, servants and guests alike.
“Yellow? I feel the loss deeply, Sir Andrew. Are you ill?”
Perhaps. He certainly felt out of sorts. Andrew smiled down at Lady Ashley, who pushed her small-framed, naked body into his side, her breasts pillowing against his arm. Odd—a sight that normally had him salivating, his heart racing, tonight offered him nothing. His cock did not even stir in interest. “I am sorry I will not be of assistance to you this evening, my dear.”
“You are truly just going to watch us have all the fun and not participate at all?” she asked, doubt clear in her voice.
He offered a defeatist nod. “It is the case, I am afraid. I simply desire to watch all you lovely ladies go about your pleasure.” Though he wasn’t sure even that was the truth.
She sighed loudly before giving a playful pout. “Such a pity. I will simply have to ensure you receive a good show, that is all,” she said wantonly, skimming her fingers down his body and rubbing them up against his flaccid cock.
Andrew watched her rounded rear as she moved across the room to where several other ladies sat on cushions, roaming their hands over one another while they conversed and kissed. Men stood idly around, some naked, some clothed, watching, stroking their stiff cocks and waiting for an invitation to join. It would come soon—it always did.
As he leant back against a marble pillar and tried to admire Lady Ashley’s retreating figure, it puzzled Andrew that the vantage did not arouse him, not even slightly. Generally, he was hard with anticipation upon entering Goodrich Hall, yet this evening…nothing, not even the slightest rise of interest. How odd.
It struck him for a moment that perhaps he should hold concern, but his thoughts quickly moved to the duchess—her ample bust line, lush lips and wounded but captivating blue eyes. It was then that he felt his cock twitch with awareness. He frowned into his glass as he took a sip.
* * * *
Harold’s had been pressing his eager face up to the glass windows lining the street all morning. Whether his vantage point had been the nursery, dining room or parlour, it had not seemed to diminish the boy’s excitement for Sir Andrew’s arrival. Hannah, however, felt nothing but trepidation at the prospect.
At ten, as Hannah tried in vain to focus on her Lady’s Monthly Museum magazine, which had arrived in the morning post, Harold let out a cry of glee and fled from the room, her calls to him seemingly going unheard as he dashed down the hall. She tossed her reading material aside and hastily moved after her son, finding him scrambling out of the townhouse, almost tripping up a footman in the process.
Harold ran up to Sir Andrew and his stallion as the man dismounted, but it was the other horse standing by his side that brought Hannah to a halt as she came outside.
“Good morning, your Grace, Harold,” Sir Andrew said with an affectionate ruffle of her son’s hair. “Ah, your Grace, I can see you recognise your mount.”
Her gaze snapped back to him. “My mount?”
“Indeed,” he said, with a devilish smile. “Lady Anna was kind enough to lend her to me. She said, since she could not ride, it seemed only fitting to send her mare over for your pleasure. I think she was rather surprised she had not thought of it earlier,” he added amused.
“And when did you see her, Sir Andrew?”
“Why, yesterday, as she returned home from calling on you,” he said easily, then chuckled as his steed playfully nuzzled Harold’s hair.
“She called on you after me?” Hannah almost screeched.
He glanced up and frowned, the crease of his brow dipping ever so slightly. “No, I was calling on her husband and she mentioned she had called on you that morning when she returned. I was commenting on how I planned to hire a steed for you to ride on our outing, and Anna suggested her mare. It was nothing untoward, I assur
e you.”
Hannah felt shame at her hasty assumption at his reply, and by the innocent expression he was now sporting. Indeed, Anna would never betray her, and she was ashamed for having quickly jumped to the wrong idea.
She looked back to the horse. “I have not ridden in some years…” she murmured.
“Lady Anna felt assured you could handle the mare,” Sir Andrew said with worry, and he too gazed at the horse, which was held by a groom Hannah recognised from her friend’s household.
“And she is likely right,” she admitted on a sigh. It had simply been a very long time, that was all.
The late duke had feared horses, and upon their marriage had forbidden her from riding again. His determination for his wife to be as far away from horses as possible had only increased when she’d discovered herself with child. He had not allowed her out of the house, even to ride in a carriage, but it was not as if she had done much calling on her friends before. It had been an unexpected and rather disappointing discovery that she had been relegated to life inside her home. Few had ever been allowed to call, as the late duke had preferred a solitary life. For Hannah, it had simply been a lonely one.
“I need to change,” she said and eyed her son, who was still fussing over the large, black stallion.
“I will watch over him, your Grace,” Sir Andrew said with a smile, but Hannah hardly felt reassured. There was something about this man that sent her heart racing, her blood pumping and her breathing erratic. It was unpredictable and she did not like it, not one bit.
* * * *
A smile had graced her features for the last half an hour, and to be truthful, Hannah did not care in the slightest.
As a widow drawing to the end of her mourning period, but regardless still in it, she needed to act respectfully at a loss over her husband’s death, but for the first time in a long time, she was in high spirits. How she had missed riding, being at one with the powerful animal beneath her.
The winding forest path moved into a clearing and Sir Andrew slowed his steed—which carried himself and Harold—before her. Hannah could hear the boy’s disappointment as the horses slowed. It mirrored her own.
Trusting the Rogue Page 2