by Diana Quincy
Sebastian froze. “Edgemont?”
“Quite.”
“You are Tabby’s betrothed?”
“Monty is a diminutive of Edgemont. It doesn’t require a particular genius to parse that out.”
Stunned, Sebastian finally saw the truth. What he didn’t see was Monty’s fist coming from the left, until it struck him hard in the temple, rattling his brain. His teeth chattered in his head and flicks of light danced in his vision before everything clouded and faded to black.
…
“Do you plan to ignore me forever?”
His head still aching from Monty’s knockout blow, Sebastian glanced up from his desk to find his wife standing in the doorway with one shoulder propped against the frame, arms crossed under her chest. Her countenance suggested she wouldn’t allow him to put her off any longer. Resigned, he dismissed his secretary with a nod.
Closing the door after Perkins, she turned to him. “Well?”
For a moment, he just took her in, the features he knew so well by both sight and touch. “I defy any man to ignore you.”
A particular radiance shone off her today and her golden-brown eyes held an impish quality quite at odds with the quiet elegance of her beauty. “You’ve done a remarkable imitation of it.”
“I’ve had many matters to attend to.”
“Apparently. Considering you haven’t come to my bed in nearly a week.” A delicate brow arched up. “Perhaps you’ve already tired of me.”
“No.” Never that. “But I am weary. I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove myself worthy, first to my father and now to you. I find I no longer have the stomach for it.”
“We both know you are far more worthy than I.” The fervent tone in her voice surprised him. “Can we cry peace?”
“We are not at war.”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“What would that be?”
“I agree to absolve you of all guilt—for marrying me as a child and deserting me as a wife.” Mischief glittered in her sun-shot almond eyes. “But mostly for denying me the extraordinary pleasures of the marriage bed for far too long.”
He bit back a smile. “That last characterization is a bit extreme, but very well, what do you receive in return?”
She sobered. “Your forgiveness, a willingness to truly make a go of it.” She approached him and took his hand in both of hers and brought it to her cheek. “I want it all with you Sebastian—a loving marriage, a family.”
He couldn’t resist stroking the petal-like skin of her cheek. “Ten children.”
She smiled that luminous smile of hers. “For a start.”
“That kind of marriage requires full trust.”
“I promise to show complete faith in you,” she said urgently. “Please tell me I’m forgiven, that it isn’t too late. I couldn’t bear to make a complete hash of things.”
Joyous relief pounded through him. As if he could deny her anything. “There is nothing I want more than to make a life with you.”
She launched herself into his arms with a cry of delight. He gathered up the soft, feminine warmth of her body and held it close. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, punctuating each word with quick kisses all over his face. On the last one, he caught her exquisite face with one hand and brought his lips down on hers. She opened beneath him and his tongue delved inside, delighting in her spicy sweet taste.
His body throbbing, he was just about to lay her across his desk when she broke the kiss. “I realize now you are the sole reason Traherne is flush in the pockets.” Framed in the window, the sunlight bathed the curly wisps of her hair in an ethereal light. “Why did you never tell me His Grace’s gambling almost forced the duchy into ruin?”
“I didn’t see the point. It would only serve to lessen your opinion of your father. The truth was that you were an heiress with a fortune.”
“A paltry fortune that you made great. And all of this time, you allowed me to mistake you for a fortune hunter.” She glanced around the room, her gaze halted when she finally took notice of the large rosewood desk before the window. “Why do you have another desk?”
“It is for you.” He smiled with great satisfaction. “A duchess in her own right should have a proper place to conduct business.”
She turned a questioning gaze on him. “I don’t need to check up on you.”
“It is past time you took a role in estate affairs,” he said. “You’ve already demonstrated a keen understanding of Traherne concerns.”
“No, this isn’t necessary.” She shook her head emphatically. “I trust you to make those decisions.”
“This isn’t about that. You’ll soon be a peeress in your own right and this is your duchy. I do have my own business concerns to look after.”
Incredulity tinged her hopeful gaze. “You expect me to attend to estate matters?”
“I assumed we could make decisions jointly.”
“You and I. Working together.” She cast a longing look at her desk and he could see her turning the concept over in her mind. “It is most unusual.”
“As is a duchess in her own right.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am. It will be a relief to discuss decisions with someone with a vested interest in the outcome.”
Wonder filled her expression. “I never thought any man would willingly give a female power over estate matters.”
“It is your birthright. You should take an active role in it.”
“I’ve always wanted to be of real value to Traherne.” The radiance of her smile made his heart flip over. “How can I thank you?”
“There is no need.” He took a seat behind his desk, needing to put a barrier between them. Otherwise, nothing would keep him from easing his dazzling wife down on the carpet and having his way with her. “Shall we get down to business? There are several matters you might wish to hear about.”
Instead of coming over, she turned and strode to the door to turn the lock. Spinning to face him, she fell back against the door with a smile so laden with wicked intent that even the devil would squirm. “I insist on showing my gratitude.”
The blood rushed from his head to the place between his legs. He swallowed. Hard. “What do you have in mind?”
She sashayed toward him with a naughty glint in her eye. “Something that will leave no doubt as to how grateful I am to be forgiven.”
Already completely and painfully aroused, he shifted in his chair. “You’re going to kill me.”
She came around and scooted to stand between his legs, trapping herself between him and the desk. Resting her luscious bottom against the desk, she braced her hands on either side of her hips. Her eyes widened when they flicked down to his groin. “It seems you have a very large problem.”
He glanced toward his aching lap, where his masculinity strained under his breeches. “Which I have you to thank for, Duchess.”
“Duchess, is it? Very well. I command you to show me the problem in its entirety.”
His breath quickened. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
He was already close to losing all control. How had he ever contained himself all of those years without her? He reached for the placket of his breeches and unfastened them, keeping his eyes on her while he did so. She bit her lush lower lip as her eyes followed the movements of his fingers.
“Well?” he asked, once he’d freed his anxious flesh, his voice rough. “What now?”
“Very impressive.”
He reached for her but she stopped him.
“No, don’t touch me.”
He ached to run his fingers along the smooth slide of her silken skin. “I cannot bear not to.” With her so close, he swam in her scent, becoming momentarily distracted. “A new fragrance?”
She leaned toward him, her luscious mounds near his face. “Yes, I’ve finally settled on one I like. What do you think?” The scent of lilies of the valley, laced with subtle notes of cloves, encased her
womanly curves in a perfect balance of sensual and spicy. He inhaled, falling deeper in thrall, and pressed his lips against her deep cleavage. “It suits you.”
She eased back. “No touching. I’m the duchess here. Do as I command.”
God, she was magnificent. He gripped the arms of his chair to restrain himself. “I am all obedience.”
She slipped off her slipper, bringing her stocking-clad foot to his anxious flesh. The sight of her slender, pale foot—so small and delicate—against his rampant erection almost made him lose all control right there. She taunted him with her foot, achingly deft and light. Her toes explored him, sliding up one exquisitely sensitive side and down the other, the whisper of her silk stocking heightening the sensation. “Perhaps we should move your desk,” he said.
“Why?” she murmured, her foot caressing him.
He gritted his teeth against the building pleasure. “I begin to think we won’t get much work done if we’re together in this chamber.”
Her breathing quickened, the rasping sounds filling the silence of the room. “All work and no play makes Sebastian a dull boy.”
Catching her slender foot, he lightly massaged her instep. “We wouldn’t want that.”
Her eyes sparked in response, but she relaxed her foot into his hold, allowing his hands to do a slow slide up the smooth silk of her stockings until they touched her bared pale thigh. He knelt forward, forcing her thighs to part, and kissed that tempting expanse of flesh. She gave a sharp inhale when his lips touched her bare skin so close to the core of her most feminine place. He licked and suckled that tender little spot of thigh. The musky scent of her arousal swirled in his head, dazzling his senses until he could think of nothing else but spreading her thighs wide right there upon his desk and tasting her fully.
A soft sound at the door knocked him out of his insanity.
Bella startled at the sound, clasping her legs together. She covered her mouth and giggled, her shoulders hunched like a child who’d been caught being very naughty. “Oh, no.”
Sebastian groaned and threw his head back against his chair. “Yes, what is it?” he called, not bothering to mask his impatience.
“Sir,” Davison’s muffled voice sounded through the door. “There is someone to see you. A Spanish solicitor. He says it is a matter of extreme urgency.”
Sebastian frowned and looked at Bella. “You were in Spain, were you not?”
Her cheeks glowed with the radiant flush of sensual agitation. “Yes, but I cannot imagine what business he could have with me.”
He pushed to his feet, stuffing his aching privates back into his breeches, making himself presentable again. Leaning over, he planted a hard kiss on Bella’s mouth. “You undo me.”
She gave a shuddering exhale. “What unfortunate timing the Spaniards have. I had such plans for you.”
His body pulsed for her, the raging blood in his veins still clamoring to be satiated. “Keep talking like that and I will take you right here with Davison outside that door.”
“Proper Sebastian?” She darted away from him toward the door to release the lock.
A bespectacled older man with a high forehead and more gray than black in his hair, entered carrying a satchel. “Gracias, my lord,” he said, his thin slight form curving into a bow. “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”
“Please state your business, sir.” Sebastian gestured for him to come forward. “And I am not titled, just Mr. Stanhope, if you please.”
He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “That is why I have come, my lord. To inform you that you do indeed have sangre azul.”
Sebastian cast a questioning look at Bella.
“Blue blood,” she translated for him.
Impatient, he turned his attention to the solicitor. “Yes, I’m the nephew and brother of a marquess. How does that signify, Mr.—”
“Of course, allow me to explain. I am Juan Trevino. For thirty years, I served at the pleasure of Francisco Valdez Marcos, Conde de Vallado, a most noble and fair gentleman. Unfortunately, his lordship passed to the heavens a fortnight ago.”
Sebastian sat and gestured for the solicitor to do the same in one of two chairs opposite his desk. Bella slipped into the other seat and turned toward the solicitor, her eyes alight with interest.
“I am sorry for your loss, Señor Trevino,” Sebastian said, “but I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”
Señor Trevino sat. “It has everything to do with you. You are his lordship’s heir.”
His first reaction was to snort at the absurdity of it. Trevino clearly had the wrong man. Then his heart lost its beat, shrinking into a sharp-edged icicle in his chest. What if this Conde de Vallado was his natural father, the man with whom his faithless mother had shared her favors?
Francisco Valdez Marcos.
Now the reason Cyrus Stanhope had detested him had a name. “I see.” He stood, his cool outward composure at odds with the choking sensation bearing down on his insides. “I am not interested in the man’s money. Please distribute it to people in need in your country. Good day, sir.”
Señor Trevino pushed to his feet with effort, the pull of age apparent. “I’m afraid you do not understand, my lord. You have inherited your sire’s title.”
Bella bolted out of her chair. “Is this someone’s idea of a joke? We may be English, sir, but we are aware that even the Spanish nobility does not allow bastards to inherit titles.”
Sebastian’s heart jolted at how she jumped to his defense. “Please do leave, Señor,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even, “before I have you forcibly removed.”
Beads of perspiration sprouted on Señor Trevino’s upper lip. “The lady is correct.” The words tumbled out. “Bastards cannot inherit. You are the legitimate son born to Francisco Valdez Marcos, Conde de Vallado and his late wife, Maria Teresa Alvarez, Condesa de Vallado.”
None of this made any sense. “You think I was born to Count Vallado’s lady wife?”
“Your mother died in childbirth. The count took another wife. It was a long and happy union, but unfortunately, he was not blessed with any more children.”
Tension contracted every line of his body. “You are mistaken, Señor Trevino. I am the natural-born son of Mrs. Matilda Stanhope of Yorkshire in her marriage to the Honorable Cyrus Stanhope. I was born in Yorkshire, not in a foreign country, and most assuredly, not to a Spanish noblewoman.”
“I think, my lord”— Señor Trevino licked his lips, his nervousness apparent— “if you consult Señora Stanhope, she will confirm the truth of what I say.”
Sebastian’s composure stretched to the breaking point. “You think my mother will know of this?”
“I was present when you were handed into the care of Señora Stanhope.” The solicitor swallowed hard. “She will confirm she is not the mother of your birth. You, sir, are a count.”
Bella frowned, a thoughtful look on her face. “A count? That’s the Spanish equivalent of an English earl, is it not?”
The solicitor looked hopeful he’d won at least one of them over. “Si, Señora.”
Sebastian fought an impulse to throw the man against the wall, to demolish his desk, to lay waste to everything in the room. “Please take yourself out of my presence, Señor,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what folly this is, but I intend to find out.”
The solicitor straightened up. “Very well. I shall go. However, you remain the Count of Vallado. I will see myself out.”
Sebastian continued to gaze at the closed door long after the solicitor had quit the chamber. Releasing a long, shuddered breath, he said, “It’s pure folly, of course.”
“Maybe not.”
He scowled, redirecting his icy fury at her. “Are you so anxious to be married to a title that you’d believe a Banbury tale like that?”
“I understand you are angry,” she said carefully, “but you should at least investigate this business for yourself.”
<
br /> “You want me to inform my mother that her lover is dead?”
“Isn’t it well past time the two of you had this conversation?”
Closing his eyes, he struggled to settle his churning insides. “Very well. I shall go and speak to my mother.”
…
“Sebastian, what a lovely surprise!” His mother hurried toward him, her face radiant at the sight of him. He never called on Matilda unexpectedly. He mostly visited when courtesy dictated it.
He bent over and automatically kissed her cheek. As usual, just a scant skim of his lips against her cool skin. “Madam.”
She moved toward the sofa in the family sitting room. “Come, do sit. I’ll ring for mineral water with lemon, just as you like it.”
“No, don’t bother, I won’t be staying long.” The joy of seeing him melted away, replaced instead with a wary watchfulness. Perhaps she’d already heard of her lover’s death. “The Count of Vallado is dead.”
All color left her face. “I see.” She released a breath. “How did you learn this?”
“His solicitor came to see me. My sympathies, madam, for your loss.”
“My loss?” She frowned. “I’m afraid I never had the pleasure of meeting the count.”
Impatience brimmed. “Please, madam, let us dispense with untruths.”
“It is the truth. I never laid eyes on the man.”
“How can that be, madam?”
“I think you know, dearest.” Her soft voice was full of sorrow. “He was your mother’s husband.”
The air in the room flattened against him. “Are you saying, madam, that I was adopted?” Pressure pounded in his head at the possibility he belonged to no one, not even this woman.
“Oh, no.” Love infused her voice. “Stanhope blood most assuredly runs through your veins.”
Something in his head snapped. “How is that possible?”
“You are Cyrus’s natural son.”
“No. No.” He turned away from her, shaking, eyes closed, his hands covering his ears, trying to stop the roar of the truth in them. “That’s not possible.”
She materialized at his side, her arm on his elbow. “Dearest, please don’t be so distressed. Come and sit.”
He let her lead him to a seat. He went unseeing, unaware of anything but the fact that this woman’s blood didn’t run through his veins. A tide of grief and disbelief surged, threatening to drown him. How was it that only now—after he had lost her—that he realized the depth of his feelings for this woman who was no longer his mother? A part of him had never stopped adoring the woman who had embraced a confused boy and cloaked him in maternal love and protection. Only it was all a lie. “You are not my mother.”