“Look at me, Wife.” I wait until she reluctantly brings her gaze to mine. “Good lass,” I murmur, delighted by the flash of pleasure in her eyes. “Iama bastard,” I say without rancor. “There is no mistaking it, and truly, I am not ashamed. That was not true for many years—indeed, for most of my life. But it is true now. I cannot help my low birth, no more than the child you carry can determine its.”
Her eyes are shining with tears anew, and her lower lip trembles at my words. The tightness in her expression makes it plain she expects condemnation, but I have none to give.
“I would never shame a child for an action it bears no responsibility for,” I say slowly, hoping each word imparts my meaning. But it is no matter if I must say it once, or twenty times, or a hundred. I will ensure she knows I mean them, however long it takes.
“But…” Her lips twist, and I suspect she battles against more tears. “If that is the case, then why… why would you…”
“Foolish pride, I suppose.” I shrug a shoulder and give her an ironic smile. “I wished to hear that you desired me. But it was not in an effort to shame you, please believe me. You are mywife. I swore to protect you, and that means protecting your good name.”
As she gazes at me, a lone tear falls making a silvery path down her cheek. “You… you think my name is good? Even… even when you know…”
“We all have a past, my dear. Perhaps one day you might tell me of yours. Regardless, you are of Denham House. You are a duchess. No one questions your character—if that was the case, you would have heard them whispering of that, would you not?”
She considers this, and I can see emotions flicker over her face as she weighs my words. At last, she offers a small, tremulous smile. “I suppose so.”
“There, you see?” I move a hand from her waist to wipe her tears. It is my bare hand, and it is an utter delight to touch her without cloth between us. The way she grows taut and still on my knee makes me think she is entranced by it as well.
“You… you mean it? Truly? About my child, I mean?”
“Our child,” I correct her softly. “For that is what the world will see, so that is what he—or she—will be.”
“But…” She twists her hands in her lap. “What if I make you angry again? What if I am horrid, what if?—”
I can see now the game I attempted to play has caused her fear concerning her future, and I can scarcely forgive myself. But if I am to correct my great folly, I must have her speak all her fears aloud without holding even one back.
“—what if it is a boy? You shall want your own name to be carried down in the line, andthenallBeau Mondeshall know I… that I…”
“Say it,” I encourage, my tone soft. I do not wish her to speak anymore against herself— each fear twists like a knife in my gut, but I see now there must be no secret fears lurking in the corners of our union.
“There will be no explanation we can offer to make theTonunderstand why the son I bore would be passed over in favor of another, and my father willneverspeak to me again! For I have ruinedhisgood name and… and….” She has worked herself into a hysterical knot of questions and fears, but I think we have gotten to the end at last.
I hold her tightly against me. She has buried her face in my chest and sobs anew. Each cry claws at my heart and I fear my chest will be in shreds by the time she is done. Yet, I force myself to endure it. It is no worse than whatshehas been enduring, andIdeserve it.
When she at last settles on a softer cry, I speak. “Freya… Freya, my love… no more tears now, darling… it is not good for you. Think of the child, dearest.” I press soft kisses to her head with each appeal.
She looks up, her face streaked with evidence of her distress. “I… I am most sorry, my l-lord. I did not means to…” She sniffles. “I did not mean to forget myself.”
“Shush, poppet. You can forget yourself with your husband as often as you need to.” My arms tighten around her. “But I shall endeavor to do better so that you shan’t have need to.”
She offers a tremulous smile.
Her smile is such a tempting sight, I am nearly unable to refrain from accepting the invitation of those bewitching lips. “If it is a boy,” I say, forcing my mind to the most important matter, “he shall be next in line.”
Her brow furrows, then her eyes widen at my implication. “No, my lord. You… you cannot. This is your opportunity to?—”
I press my mouth to hers to silence her and regain her attention. The jolt that runs through my body makes it nearly impossible to release her. When I do, her face is a tempest of emotions. “This is my opportunity to have what I always wanted.” I am finishing her sentence, offering voice to the words she would have said if I gave her the chance. But I hope she hears it is not riches or even the title I crave.
I only yearn for her and the family we shall create. I am struck with a shocking certainty that when our union is finally made true, she will not simply fade into the background, a lust I have sated. The way this woman awakens the fire in my blood,the way she whispers me into being in a way I never knew was possible?
This is not a feeling I ever wish to be free of.
Which means Prince James is right about one thing more, damn it all.
Duchess Freya
The hour grows late. I can feel it without needing to look outside to study the sky. I feel it in the heaviness of my bones that precedes sleep. All the tears I shed has not helped matters, either. Yet, I feel the soft stirrings of something new—something exciting—beginning between His Grace and I, and I do not wish to sleep.
Perhaps it is merely all the commotion of the evening, perhaps I shall feel differently in the morning, but I find I believe him. I find him earnest in his speech, and I believe he means what he says. Only time will prove him true, of course, but if I am right, then I have stumbled onto one of the most respectable men in all theBeau Monde.
