Likely one of the servants, or a handful of them, from Eden’s Court. This brief interlude must come to an end.
A warm hand rested on her belly. Her backside and legs pressed against solid warmth.
Nothing could come of the two of them.
Could it? She was old, a widow, past her prime.
Men were not considered old until well into their seventies. And this man.
This man had risen himself to become a wealthy industrialist. She believed he’d been born a butcher’s son.
She’d been raised to live among the aristocracy. She’d married a duke.
Nothing could come of the two of them.
And she’d told him about Harold.
“That’s a heavy sigh for so early in the morning.” His voice rumbled behind her.
She wondered what to say to him. She wished she knew what she wanted. She wasn’t even certain she had a choice.
“I imagine you’ve done this sort of thing before.” She settled upon her statement that wasn’t really a statement but more of a question.
“Slept?” he teased. But she wished to know.
“Had…interludes…”
“Ah.” This time it was he who released a deep sigh. “Not as much as you’d think. You forget that I raised a daughter on my own. I’ve met a few women on my travels,” he admitted. “But once I’d made my fortune, I learned I couldn’t trust the affections of most.”
Loretta twisted around to meet his stare. “Did you ever fall in love?” Such a silly question for her to ask him. But she wondered. How had she given this man her body when she knew so little about him? And she’d shared more than just her body.
His eyes crinkled as he pondered his answer.
“I loved Cecily’s mother. I believe we were in love. But those early days were rough. I don’t know if her devotion to me would have survived so many cold and hungry nights.”
“But you did. And Cecily did.”
“We did. What about you, Duchess? Have you ever been in love?”
Ah, such foolishness. She turned away from him again but covered his hand with one of hers. “I’d thought I was in love with Prescott. I was in awe of him. I respected him immensely. And I thought we loved. But no, I don’t believe we were everin love.” She’d never admitted this aloud before. Not even to Millie, who of course knew everything.
Almost everything.
Thomas nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. Was he wondering if she believed herself to have fallen in love with him? Because they’d shared intimacies? Did he think that was why she’d revealed her darkest secrets to him?
“I don’t know that I believe in love, not for myself anyhow.” She’d disabuse him of the notion before he began to worry.
Before he could respond, however, the sounds of horses and men broke through the peaceful silence of the snow outside.
“Findlay!”
Someone was shouting for them. Good Lord! The voice sounded like Dev’s! Her nephew!
“Findlay! Aunt!” The voice grew louder.
Thomas was out of the bed and pulling on his breeches. “It’s Prescott, damnit.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. He paused, taking only enough time to steal one last kiss, and then shoved his feet into his boots and then his arms into his shirt.
With shirttails hanging out, he opened the door and stepped outside to greet Dev, who might have barreled inside without knocking given the chance.
