The breeze rustled her loose hair, and it felt like a lover’s caress. She shivered. She was terrified of being intimate with him. Terrified because the mere idea produced a glow of desire low in her belly. And what did that say about her? She was a woman who desired a man who was not her husband. One who was willing to lie with him for morally questionable reasons.
She was already plagued by guilt about this proposal. It would be easier for her conscience if it was a duty, an unemotional task she had to perform to accomplish an end. But it wouldn’t be quite that simple withthisman. Her emotions were already too involved, and she feared by the time this was through, she would be irredeemably lost.
Her horse stomped its hoof, showing its impatience, reminding Hannah she had stood dithering for too long. She needed to take a stand... make up her mind. Find a way to protect herself and her heart.
While she was fairly sure it would be easy for her to fall in love with the earl, she did not harbor any illusions that he would reciprocate her feelings. The earl didn’t lack for female company. He was no rake, but she had heard flattering rumors about his liaisons. He was bound to feel only disdain for her after having had her in such a shameful manner.
She turned her restless mount and urged it into a gallop.
Oh, Harold. You cannot fathom what you have asked of me, what it will cost me. The price will be my dignity and my heart. And the worst part is that, even knowing that, I’m still willing to pay it.
CHAPTER 5
GABRIEL MADE HIS WAYdown to the library for his meeting with the duke five minutes before five o’clock. The house was impossibly large, and it would take him most of the five minutes to get there. He knew the way well, having visited several times over the past years, but always as part of a house party. The duke and duchess’s house parties were famous, and the invitations coveted.
But this time there was no house party. He was the only guest, which made him even more curious as to the purpose of this invitation. At the stroke of five, he reached the library door, which a footman opened.
The library was his favorite room in this already magnificent house. Ornate wood bookcases packed with wonderful volumes occupied three of the walls, including the one which contained the door through which he had entered. They accented the double height of the coffered and heavily decorated ceiling. A mezzanine accessed by a spiral staircase in one corner ran around the room about two-thirds of the way up. To his right, surrounded by the bookcases, an enormous fireplace anchored the sitting area composed of a sofa and two chairs. But the real pièce de résistance was the two-story window, which dominated the fourth wall opposite the door. It provided a spectacular view of the rear lawn, with its terraced gardens, and let in an abundance of light for reading. It balanced and brightened the heavy wood and made the room cheery and airy.
He would like to create a library like this in Brentwood Hall, for his own library was dark and dismal. Alas, there was not enough money for a project such as that. What little profit the estate was producing had to go back into it to make the necessary repairs and improvements or to pay debts. He sighed in resignation. It would be years, if ever, before his estate could afford a library as magnificent as this one.
Drawn as he always was to the impressive windows and the view, it took him a moment to notice the duke sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace. It was the first time he’s seen him in over two months, when they had last met during a parliamentary session, and the physical changes in the duke took him aback. He was gaunt and frail and seemed to have aged ten years in a few short months. Even his voice sounded weaker, although it carried the same tone of command.
“Brentworth. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
Gabriel bowed. “Your Grace, as always, it is a pleasure to enjoy your hospitality.”
“Yes, yes. We are pleased to have you. Have you seen Hannah?”
“I have not. Please convey my greetings to the duchess. And my gratitude for the splendid accommodations.”
The duke waved a shaky hand, as if it were of no consequence. “You will see her later and then you can tell her yourself.”
Gabriel studied the duke. Under his gruff demeanor lurked something that resembled nervousness. Surely not? Stanhope was one of the most confident men he had ever met.
“Brentworth, I have asked you to join me here because I have important matters to discuss with you. There’s no easy way to go about this, so I recommend you pour yourself a drink and have a seat.”
Feeling more intrigued and apprehensive by the moment, Gabriel went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of cognac as the duke had recommended, then took a seat on the sofa across from him. The duke’s somber gaze settled on him and in his eyes there was something akin to regret, melancholy, fear, or maybe a combination of all three.
“Your Grace?” he prodded gently when the older man still hesitated.
The duke sighed.
“I must have turned this around in my head about a hundred times, trying to come up with the perfect way to broach the subject, find the right words. And yet nothing seems appropriate.”
“Sir, whatever it is, you don’t have to mince words with me. Sometimes it is better to just have it out.”
“Yes, you may be right. I must apologize in advance for my clumsiness.” Stanhope took a deep breath, appearing to brace himself, and then met his gaze square on.
“I have invited you here today to talk about events of the past. Things I never thought to reveal, but as so often happens, the past has a way of affecting the present, and so these events have relevance today.”
Gabriel nodded encouraging, noting the older man was trying to ease his way into the matter.
“Thirty-five years ago, I had an affair with your mother.”
Gabriel sucked in a breath, shocked. He didn’t know what he had expected the duke to say, but this was not even a remote possibility. His mother had always been so morally upright, almost puritanical. It seemed almost impossible she would...but then something else caught his attention.
“Thirty-five years, you say?” he asked as something like a premonition slithered down his spine, chilling him to the bone.
