She kneaded her aching brow. She thought of the print she’d seen the day of the funeral. Of the little girl with her hands pressed in prayer.
“Octavia is Octavius’s heir.” Octavius’s only heir. The child he claimed.
“Simonis the admiral’s heir,” the captain replied. “Unless you bear a child.”
She frowned. “The Admiralty has decided the codicil is not valid then?”
The captain’s expression gave nothing away.
“But surely,” she insisted, “the Admiralty intends to honor Octavius’s wish and see to Octavia’s care.”
He looked out the window, crushing his hat in his left hand. “That will be up to Simon.”
“Octavia deserves the protection of her father’s family.”
“In this, I heartily agree. But I am not the Admiralty.” His icy gaze returned to her and he lowered his voice. “What of your child, Lady Stone? Does not your child have just as much right to Ashbey’s care?”
She placed her arms around her waist.
In her mind, she saw that coat. That outrageously expensive coat. The duke had used debt to lure her in, luxury to cast her off.
A man like that could sire a child, but he would never be a father.
“The duke has made his wishes clear.”
“Are you certain he would fail to provide for the child?”
She was sure of nothing where the duke was concerned.
He could allow the child to be recognized as a Stone. He could shrug and tell her to live by her wits. Or, he could do the thing she feared most. He could rob her of her child.
Cheverley spoke again, “Lady Stone, you must let him know.”
There was censure in his tone. But he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t wept through a long, cold ride home, hoping every horse that passed carried Ashbey, who’d come to tell her he’d changed his mind.
She hadn’t been as wretched since the night her father had died, and she lost the last soul on earth who cared if she survived.
“Must I?” She placed her hand over her stomach and vowed her child would never feel the like. “The duke did not want me, and he most certainly will not want this child.”
Chapter Thirteen
Thunder drifted like a malignant spirit over the London night, heightening Ash’s desolation. He’d thought absence of feeling was his lowest possible point, but this incessant torment was worse—a twenty-four-hour struggle against the basest part of his soul.
Daily, his wicked desires threatened to seize control. He even dreamed of breaking into Alicia’s home, carrying her off to his castle, and confining her to his bed. He countered his thoughts with phantom scent of charred flesh.
And everyone had thought his father mad.
He prepared for another night of wrestling without a hint of relief in sight. Then, his study door crashed open.Chev.
“Christ, Ash! I never thought you would play villain.” A shocking amount of venom laced Cheverley’s words.
Ash squinted. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Chev advanced with menace. “How dare you trouble Lady Stone?”
Cheverley had somehow discovered his secret. The doctor, perhaps? Dr. Wilton had sworn to be discreet. Anyway it had happened, he was sure to lose Chev as well.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Cheverley asked.
