She suppressed that unwanted emotion, tamping it down inside her, for it would do her no good in this moment. And likely not in any that came after, either.
“It is doubtful there will be a child,” she told him. “As of now, there is none. I thank you for the offer, but once again, I must gratefully decline.”
“You must gratefully decline,” he repeated, a new emotion edging his baritone.
Bitterness? Anger? Could it be he was offended by her refusal, even though he had not wished to make her the offer in the first place?
“Yes, I must.” She leaned closer to him and pressed a firm, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. “Thank you for the honor you pay me. Some other woman, a fine lady, born and bred for the role, will make you a fine duchess one day. But that woman is not, and can never be, me.”
“There will be no other woman.” He shook his head slowly, his jaw as tense as the rest of him. “I will never marry nor have children if I can help it. I made the offer to you, because of my own lack of control. I will not allow you, or a child, to suffer because of me. I suffered enough at the hands of my own mother.”
His admission he did not want to marry her was hardly a surprise, but even so, it should have stung. Instead, all she could feel was an ache in her heart for him. He was still hurting from what had happened, however many years ago. He had said he was a lad. She tried to imagine the Duke of Arden as a young man. Would he have been tall and forbidding even then, with a head full of dark, wavy locks? Or would he have been different, his heart unmarred by pain? Would he have been quicker to smile, to laugh, to love?
“I am sorry for the pain she caused you.” As she spoke, she held his cheek in one hand and moved to stroke his hair with the other. She had noted how he seemed to like her to touch him there. Nothing carnal or sensual about it; the mere stroke of her hand over his head, a wordless way of showing him she cared.
“She was selfish and weak, and she left my sister and me behind, without thinking of the agony she would leave us in,” he bit out. “Knowing she did not love us enough to live, that she chose to die. It is a pain I would not wish upon my mortal enemy. But she was also mad, Hazel. I have vowed I will never visit such suffering upon any progeny of my own.” He stopped, sucking in a shuddering breath.
The hurt in his voice touched something deep inside her. She took him into her arms then, as naturally as if she had always done so. As naturally as if she would always have the right, even though she knew she would not. Her assignment here would end, and they would part. Perhaps even before then.
But for now…for now, she could hold this strong, handsome man in her arms. And she could comfort him. She ran her hands up and down the planes of his back, gliding over his well-muscled flesh, absorbing his heat. “I understand, Lucien. My mother abandoned me too, and I have spent many days railing against her. Other days, I feel sad. Still other days, I feel thankful. I feel that perhaps she gave me the best life she could have, that leaving me—whether right or wrong, for good or for ill—was, to her, the best decision she could make.”
His arms banded around her then, crushing her into him. It was another rare show of vulnerability from a man she had come to believe was mostly impervious. His hot breath ruffled her hair, and his lips moved against her scalp as he spoke.
“I am sorry, Hazel,” he choked out. “I have never lost myself and done something so bloody foolish. If I could take it back, I would. The best I can do is to offer you the protection of my name.”
“It will be well, Lucien,” she promised, because even if she could not be certain of the outcome, she knew she would make it right, however she must. She had been mostly alone in the world for all her life, and she had come to depend upon herself. She alone knew what she was capable of, and she alone had the power to accomplish it. “You need not worry on my account. I have been taking care of myself for a very long time.”
“Promise me, if there should be issue from what happened between us tonight, you will tell me,” he insisted, still holding her tight.
She wanted to say the words, to give him the promise and the benediction he required, yet, her lips would not move. If she became with child, she would not force him into marriage. And neither would she subject herself to a loveless union with a man who felt trapped. A man who had just confessed he never wished to wed or sire children of his own. She did not belong here in his glittering world. She belonged elsewhere, traveling, moving with the wind.
Perhaps not New York. Perhaps somewhere else. Paris beckoned, in fact, and she had never been to France. Wistfully, she imagined herself living there, only to wonder how she would earn her bread if she were to bear a child. She had saved funds, of course, and one of her reasons for taking on the position in the Special League had been the lucrative offer made to her by the Home Office. She had been able to take a leave from her position as a Pinkerton agent. She had always imagined she would return, take up where she had left off, but now, for the first time, the lure of something else called her.
“Hazel,” he repeated, for he was not a fool, and he knew what her silence meant. “Promise me you will not leave if there is a child. Promise me you will marry me so the child can bear my name.”
But she could not make such a promise. “Lucien, I cannot be a duchess. I do not belong here in your world.”
“Hazel.”
His voice was uncompromising. But she had not risen to the ranks of the most esteemed Pinkerton agents because she folded easily, like a gambler with a bad hand of cards. She was steely when she needed to be, which had been just about every day of her life thus far.
Still, she had no wish to argue with him. “Lucien, you cannot change the truth. I would make an abysmal duchess. I wear trousers, I am a Pinkerton agent, and I have no desire to be a debutante.”
“That is just as well,” he said, his body pressing more intimately against hers, so she felt the heavy thickness of his shaft rising against her. “Because I have never desired a debutante. But I do desireyou.”
Heaven help her, he wanted her again. The knowledge lit an answering fire of need within her. This was where she could meet him. The physical connection between them: they were electric together. It was uncontrollable, undeniable. And she could not resist even if she wanted.
Because she could not give him the promise he desired, she tipped her head back, her gaze meeting his. She could never become his wife, but neither could she deny herself the opportunity to know him. To run her hands over his body, to kiss him, to welcome him inside her. Joining with him fulfilled her in a way she had never previously imagined possible.
“Good,” she said, running her nails over the blades of his shoulders, up his neck. “Because I desire you as well, and I fear we have already wasted too much time this evening in worrying over something that will never even come to pass.”
“If it should—”
She pressed her mouth to his, ending their discussion in the best possible manner. She would never promise to become Arden’s wife, because he did not want a wife, and she did not want a husband. No matter how much she wanted him, and no matter how deeply knowing Lucien had changed her, she could never marry him. She would not chain them both to a life of regrets.
To her relief, he kissed her back, forgetting—at least, for now—the promises he had demanded from her. They moved together to the center of his bed, mouths fused, bodies straining, ready for each other again. This time, when he entered her, they both sighed. It was not just a joining, but a homecoming. She clasped him to her, riding the waves of ecstasy as they pounded through her in time to his thrusts, and they reached their release simultaneously. He withdrew in enough time, spending himself all over her belly. She shook beneath him as the spasms of her own pleasure overtook her.
Afterward, he settled alongside her and drew the coverlets over them both, settling her back against his chest.
