Page 26 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

His daughter scooped up several forkfuls of ham and eggs, delicately sipped her tea, then fixed him with a look. “A woeful attempt at distraction. Hmmm. I suspect you have a lover.”

Edmund spluttered. Something he was doing entirely too often with her lately. “Beg pardon?”

“My dearest sire, I will remind you once again that I am eighteen. I read widely, from textbooks to scandal sheets. I also have married friends and widowed acquaintances, so I hear gossip in powder rooms that would turn your ears purple. But also…I’m not sure why you assume my disapproval if you did have a lover? You’ve been alone a very long time. Even before Mother passed.”

He blinked at both the calm tone and the reprimand. “I apologize,” Edmund said abruptly. “In sailing cadence…I am in uncharted waters and navigating on a moonless night with a blindfold. I don’t even know if this has a future.”

Cressida nodded thoughtfully, then ate several more bites of food. “But you want a future?”

“Yes,” said Edmund, before he could halt the word. “Er, I mean—”

“Do not dissemble, it doesn’t become you.”

“I dissemble because I don’t know,” he replied, irritable as a bear with a burr in its paw. “Rules have already been broken. Several times. I can have no expectations.”

This time it was Cressida blinking. “Oh. My. Word. The humming. The defensiveness. The uncharted waters. Ahoy! Father is experiencing tender feelings!”

Edmund drew back. The chit was indeed terrifying. “I most certainly am not.”

“You are!” she said gleefully, actually thumping her fist on the dining table. “Poor thing. Forty years old and love is hitting you like a runaway cart. Never mind, I know the perfect distraction. Shopping! You may buy me a new bonnet.”

“Wait, what?”

Cressida beamed as she leaped to her feet, almost knocking her chair over. “I’ll go change my gown and brush my hair. You have another cup of tea. Then we can have some quality father-daughter time. Back soon!”

As she dashed out the door, Edmund’s lips twitched. His protest had been token; after such a wonderful week he’d been planning to suggest an outing to town together. If his daughter was set on marrying the bloody reformer politician, then he needed to collect as many moments as possible before his Pirate Princess sailed away for good.

A half hour later, Cressida was escorting—some might say dragging—him into her favorite Mayfair milliner. The number of young ladies perusing the selection, eagerly followed by attendants, was rather overwhelming. As were the towering displays of ready-made bonnets, and the glass-topped cabinets full of trims like satin ribbon, cards of lace, dyed feathers, carved wooden miniature fruit, and dried flowers.

Fortunately, the smiling proprietor took pity on Edmund, guiding him to a chaise beside the front window so he could watch the world outside while waiting. It was abundantly clear from Cressida’s bright eyes and the fawning attention from two attendants that this would take a while.

He’d only been people-watching a short time when the uncomfortable realization hit that he was seeking out plump ebony-haired women and tall blond men. Gah. Wasn’t it enough that his dreams were consumed by Arabella and Nev, that he continually recalled the way it felt to orgasm like an erupting volcano? That his body wanted more discipline, more fucking, more being held and kissed and stroked?

Edmund exhaled slowly.

Buck up, man. Now that you know what you like, you can ask Madam Venus at Sanctuary to find you a new lover. Arabella and Nev will simply carry on as the happily married couple they are.

The thought only made him more irritable. Moving restlessly on the chaise, Edmund abruptly froze as a familiar figure strolled past. Sir Kenneth Lochore! He and Nev still hadn’t discussed the politician, being quite distracted by other far more personal matters.

Before he could even question the action, Edmund bolted from the milliner out onto the street and called his name.

Sir Kenneth halted and turned, then bowed deeply, looking rather stunned. “Your Grace. What an unexpected surprise. Are you out for a stroll as well?”

“Cressida is trying on bonnets,” Edmund replied, assessing the man in front of him like he was making a possible purchase at Tattersalls. The knight wasn’t overly tall, perhaps a head shorter than himself, but had the kind of wide shoulders and broad chest that many ton men attempted to create with padding. His neatly brushed hair was dark auburn, his eyes a vivid blue, and his clothing fairly typical for a man on the rise: well made without being ostentatious, a brown jacket, gray trousers, crisp cravat, and polished black shoes.

The politician beamed. “I’m sure she’ll find something marvelous—the lady has impeccable taste.”

Edmund folded his arms and glared. “Indeed. But if I gave you five minutes, no notes, no time to practice, to persuade me on the merit of your suit for her...what would you say?”

The young man’s eyes bulged, then he lifted his chin. “Five minutes is not nearly long enough to speak on Lady Cressida’s virtues, Your Grace.”

“We have time. Tell me…tell me your favorite things about her.”

“Her boldness. Her quick wit. Her blunt speech,” said Sir Kenneth, his gaze softening. “I do not seek a wife who says yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir, but someone who challenges me. If a man remains resolutely in his own circle, he thinks the entire world agrees with him. And that is simply not so. I am also enamored of Lady Cressida’s kind heart. The way she champions the less fortunate. The way she rocks on her heels when she laughs. I believe she will be a wonderful mother—”

“Oh?” Edmund scowled, about to launch a tirade, but he was temporarily thwarted as an older couple walked past. This really wasn’t a conversation for a public footpath, but such a prime opportunity to learn the true character of the man who dared to pursue Lady Cressida Vane could not be ignored. “So you seek to cage her? Leave a vibrant young lady trapped in the country birthing baby after baby while you rake about town?”

“No!” said Sir Kenneth, looking genuinely horrified. Then his expression smoothed into thoughtfulness. “I think I might understand why early motherhood concerns you, so allow me to ease your mind. At twenty-five years old, I don’t feel ready to be a father, and I certainly wouldn’t pressure my wife either. I love wading in the political mud to fight for change. To help others. But I also love to travel, to see what is possible. I hope my wife shares in this adventurous spirit. At the right time, we would grow our family to an agreed number, bringing them into a loving, caring home. I won’t be an absent or cold father like mine was, but one who toasts bread and cheese, plays games, and tells stories…oh dear, I am rambling on. Hazard of the job, I fear.”