If she intended to continue her lies, this would go badly for her.
He would show her the same mercy which had been bestowed upon him.
None.
“There is no pretense. Are you not Robin Carstairs, the nephew to the Duke of Longleigh?”
“I was never his nephew,” Adrian allowed, clinging to the rage within him, swelling like a rising tide.
Her brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”
It would seem Longleigh, the despicable old monster, had not told her the truth. But that particular discovery did not shock him. “I am the bastard he sired and abandoned some thirty years ago.”
She gasped, and for a moment, he swore she was going to swoon again. The color drained from her once more. He had planned his return with great care, making certain to take her by surprise for just this reason. If she had not time to prepare herself, she was more likely to be honest with him.
And for reasons he did not want to examine, Adrian very badly wished to know how much of the plan had been her idea. How much had been Longleigh’s.
“You are Longleigh’s by-blow,” she said, sounding dazed.
She pushed away from him suddenly. In her heap of silken skirts, she looked ridiculous. The beautiful duchess, jewels at her throat, her gem-encrusted mask still in place, her blonde curls styled to perfection, in a sea of fabric and confusion. She moved backward, trying to escape him, to arrange her cumbersome skirts so she might rise to her feet once more. But her gown was unwieldy, and she remained mired to the carpets like a ship wrecked on rocky shoals.
He wanted to laugh at her.
He wanted to hate her.
But none of this was happening as he had supposed it would.
And instead, there was a strange sensation piercing his chest. Sympathy. Or was it pity? He summoned all the rage which had been his constant companion, chasing the weakness.
“That’s right, Duchess. Or shall I call you Stepmama? You fucked your husband’s bastard son.”
He wished his words were not accompanied by the painful memories of the time they’d spent together. Of the way her lips had felt against his, her arms around his neck, her supple softness pliant and delicious beneath him. Of the way she had felt—her legs around his waist—of his cock buried deep inside her.
But he could not change the past.
All he could control was the future.
And that had been the sole reason for his return.
Part II
The Past
Chapter 1
Coddington Hall, Derbyshire 1884
As your deceased mother’s sanity is very much in question, along with her virtue, not a ha’penny has been settled upon you. It is unfortunate indeed that Miss Hastings was not sound of mind. However, I am willing to offer you a business proposition which you may find appealing. You will certainly find none more lucrative…
~letter from the Duke of Longleigh to Mr. Adrian Hastings
Tilly and her husband, the Duke of Longleigh, had finally found a subject upon which they could concur, beyond their shared enmity toward each other.
Tilly wanted to become a mother.
Longleigh required an heir.
The means of securing those mutual needs, however, was decidedly not.
