Donning her cloak, she left her simple rooms at Musgrave House to search for the duke, whom she found waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase.
Goodness, he was handsome.And once again she found herself not believing that she had experienced the most sinfully wicked night with him. A night that changed her for eternity. He was even more beautiful than she recalled: the candlelight bouncing off his dark-golden hair, deep gray eyes piercing her in wonderment, and Winnie knew he was trying to remember her, comparing her to Victoria.
When she first entered his study she had thought he would’ve known immediately after her near swoon, but he had not, and for that she was grateful. Winnie wasn’t ready for the turmoil that was sure to follow once the truth was revealed.
He was dressed similar to the way he had been on the night they met: a black tailcoat, breeches, and a black silk waistcoat.
“You look very lovely.” The deep timbre of his voice rolled through Winnie’ traitorous body, causing her to respond like she did that night.
“Thank you, Your Grace—”
“Richard. You may call me Richard.” It was a simple request, but it disarmed Winnie completely.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her lips trembled, her entire person tight with tension. Winnie knew that saying his name aloud could be the one thing that would reveal her to him. She needed more time, time to compose herself so that she could tell him.
Closing her mouth, Winnie nodded her agreement, not knowing if she actually could say his name. It would be too much for her, knowing that they would never be intimate in that way again once he knew the truth. “Then you must call me Winnie. Everyone else does.” It was true, no one ever called her “Winifred” except her aunt, who used it more as a weapon.
“Shall we, Winnie?” Her first name on his lips sounded even better than her middle name did. He offered her his hand, and Winnie couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips as she entwined her arm around his.
“Enjoy the charity, my lady,” Barrington the kind butler called out as she and Richard exited the townhome.
Beside her the duke let out a huff of annoyance that had Winnie looking from him to the butler who ignored his employer. She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she remembered what he had said at Kitty’s ball about his impertinent servants.
“Thank you, Barrington. You are so very kind.”
Before the butler could reply, Richard pulled her out into the evening air, his powerful arms guiding her to the waiting carriage, his colossal body shadowing hers protectively. Winnie knew she belonged by his side, but how could she be with a man who would evict three helpless widows?
Well, perhaps not completely helpless, but still.
Richard escorted her into the waiting carriage, and she allowed him to lead her. Once alone with him, she looked around at the extravagance, knowing that the Richmore dukedom did not need a shilling.
“How have you been feeling today? I am sorry I could not speak to you this week. I am often at Parliament or working on something for Parliament.” He sat on the other side of her, looking sinful. Unlike her, he was not wearing additional layers. Though it was the beginning of May, it was still cool out.
Winnie was well aware of his parliamentary career; he was famous for his work against the slave trade and his constant work with other abolitionists. Her aunt often kept Winnie and her mother abreast of slavery, being deeply invested in the outcome.
Uriana had married a former enslaved person, and Winnie’s uncle Odo had been kind, playful man. One would never have imagined the horrors he had gone through had they known him. He had never spoken to Winnie about what he suffered, but her aunt had provided many details to Winnie and her mother in the years since his passing.
“The morning was difficult, but by midday I am usually much improved and can continue with my work.” She had spent the week primarily in her rooms, sewing a blanket for the baby and trying to gather the strength to tell Richard he was the father. Winnie thought the longer she avoided him he would not remember her, but she wanted him to hear the truth from her own lips before he figured it out himself. She was sure would happen at any moment if they continued to be in each other’s presence.
They had dinner together every night and a conversation after dinner until she was yawning and ready for bed. He wasn’t a big drinker like most men. Often, he would have one drink, then would be done for the evening.
“Work? What sort of work?” he asked her, his tailcoat stretching with the size of his bulk as he leaned forward.
“I sew, mostly dresses for my mother and aunt some for the servants. My friend Kit—” She stopped herself, not really wanting him to know about her connection to Kitty in case he figured out that it was she who spent that one glorious night with him.
“You’re a seamstress? Why would a lady take up such a hobby?”
“I enjoy it. I’ve always loved having a piece of fabric that was nothing and making it into something beautiful.” Before she could even control it, a smile spread across her lips. It was like that every time she thought about sewing.
“That is rather fascinating. I can tell that you enjoy it from the way your face lights up when you speak.” He sat back against the fine leather, his gray gaze inspecting her.
Shifting uncomfortably, Winnie avoided eye contact, afraid of discovery. Goodness, she needed to tell him because there was no way that she could continue to live in such fear. The last sennight had been nothing but her wondering if she had been discovered at last.
Her sickness had not disappeared, and her courses did not make an appearance. After three weeks, Winnie concluded it was indeed time to tell him.
“I love it. I started a blanket for the baby—” She stopped speaking again, not wanting to reveal too much.
Winnie had sewn a beautiful pale-yellow blanket before she arrived at Musgrave Manor. After realizing that she was going to be a mother, she couldn’t help but make things for the baby. She had always wanted a child but never could realize that desire with Graham. Not with his hatred toward her and his obsession with Esther.
