Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman (14 page)

He stumbled at her words, nearly tripped. Dammit.
Clod
. She reached out with one hand to steady him and he reached out with the other to ensure she didn’t drop the child. He stared into her eyes, trying to absorb more information without words. Had this happened when he was in danger of losing his arm? He’d insisted others go before him? Had he lost his mind? That sounded not at all like him. To put others ahead of himself? Had she confused him with someone else? Or during the war had he become a man who would be unrecognizable to him? It hardly signified.

“You’ve gone pale again. You should get off the leg,” she said.

She assumed it was pain that drained his face of blood. It was discomfiture, yes, not of the body, but of the soul. He nodded quickly. “Yes, of course.”

They shared not a single word as they made their way into the house. He, because he could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot. She? No doubt because she was worried he’d lost the ability to converse while walking, and therefore risked causing himself further injury with any sort of distraction.

Once inside, they left her cloak and his greatcoat with a servant. He ordered that tea and biscuits be brought to The Duchess’s Sitting Room. Then he led Mercy through the warren of hallways to the small room.

“How deliciously quaint,” she exclaimed softly with a thread of joy woven through her voice as they entered.

He realized he’d selected this particular room because he’d somehow known that it would please her. The beige walls were lined with portraits. A fire was already crackling in the hearth. A settee was before it, chairs on either side of it. But it was the bay window that he’d anticipated would draw her. The matching stuffed velvet armchairs were arranged so one could enjoy the room as well as the gardens. The draperies had been pulled back, providing light that the unlit crystal chandelier could not.

“I can quite understand why the first duchess appreciated this room,” she said as she wandered to the window and sat, tucking the boy into the crook of her arm. She glanced up at Stephen. “Is it a favorite of yours as well?”

“It is now.” He joined her.

Laughing lightly, she shook her head, then gazed around the room with obvious curiosity. “Are any of your ancestors in the portraits on these walls?”

“No. Mine are all at Lyons Place, which is Westcliffe’s estate. He and I share the same father. Ainsley and I don’t.”

“I’m not particularly intimate with the circles of the aristocracy, but I should think it is rare for one man to have two titled brothers.”

“My mother has always been one not to be outdone. Quite honestly, after Ainsley’s father died, I’m surprised she didn’t marry again and try for a third titled son. She was still young enough to have accomplished it.”

“Do you think she’ll marry Leo?”

“He may have . . . talents that she appreciates, but he is a commoner. I very much doubt she would settle for him.”

“Even if she loves him beyond all measure?”

He wasn’t certain his mother was capable of loving anyone other than her sons. “Do you believe someone should marry for love or gain?”

“I don’t believe one excludes the other,” she said.

“But if you could have only one?”

She turned her attention to the gardens. He wondered if she’d be here to see them in the spring.

“I think one must do what one must do to be happy,” she said finally.

“Can one be happy without love?”

“I think one can be happy without a good many things. If my time at the military hospital taught me anything at all, it was that.”

And what, he bloody well wondered, had his time in the Crimea taught him?

The gray sky chose that moment to lighten; the sun that had been hidden behind heavy clouds for most of the day broke free and sunlight poured in through the three windows to focus on her. If he were a religious man, he might have thought it was a sign. She possessed a calmness that appealed. Even at his worst, even when he’d forced her to give him a vow regarding his leg, she’d never wavered, never panicked. The light landed upon her cheeks, glowed in her eyes. Not for the first time, he thought it must have been her eyes that had drawn him to her. A man would be a fool not to notice them, not to wonder at the secrets they held.

“You’re doing it again,” she said softly, and he watched as pink tinged her cheeks.

“Whatever are you on about?”

“What you did that first night during dinner. Stare at me as though you were counting my freckles.”

“Have you freckles?” He’d been so distracted by her eyes that he’d not noticed.

“I’ve not spent much time in the sun of late, so they’ve faded. But they’re quite unbecoming when they have their way.”

“I can’t imagine anything about you being unbecoming.”

Her mouth quirked, the start of a smile, the beginning of a laugh. He knew not which. A time had existed when he’d been able to read women so easily. Was he simply out of practice, or was she unlike any woman he’d ever known?

The babe mewled, squirmed, then pressed his tiny balled fist to his mouth and began to suckle. Stephen had forgotten the lad was there. How could he not notice the child when he noticed everything about the mother? He had little interest in the boy. If he was indeed his son, shouldn’t he give a bloody damn? But still—

“Why John?” he heard himself ask.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, her brow furrowed as though he’d confounded her with his query.

“The boy. Why did you name him John? Why not Stephen or Lyons or something to brand him as mine?”

“Because he is to be his own person. I didn’t want him to feel he had to live up to his namesake—a war hero.”

“I’m hardly a hero.”

He’d surprised her with his words. It was written on her face in the widening of her eyes, and the parting of her lips, lips he desperately wanted to kiss again. Perhaps that was the reason he’d selected this room in a distant corner of the residence. It was seldom visited. He could flirt, seduce—

The boy’s sucking grew louder. Stephen had failed to take into account that they would have a miniature chaperone.

“I’d not expected you to be overly modest,” she said softly. “I heard tales of your exploits even in Paris.”

“I don’t want to discuss the war or my role in it,” he said more harshly than he’d intended. That too surprised her, but she recovered quickly enough.

“Yes, no, of course not. John. I named him John because . . .” He could see the desperation, the fear, as though he’d find fault with her reasons. “I don’t know. It seemed to suit. I simply looked at him and thought . . . John. His name is John.”

He tried to make up for his earlier blunder, his harsh tone. He forced a lightness into his voice. “A mother’s instinct perhaps.”

“Yes, quite.”

She’d forgiven him so easily. He saw it in her winsome smile. He’d been wrong. It hadn’t been her eyes that had drawn him to her. It had been her smile. When it was freely and joyfully given, it eclipsed everything else about her. He thought he might give his last breath to see her smile.

“You’ve hardly gotten to know John. Would you care to hold him?”

Again, the reminder of the boy. He shook his head. “What do I know of babes?”

“But he’s your son. At least come nearer.” Her invitation was accompanied by another smile that he scarcely could resist.

He wiped his hand across his suddenly dry mouth. Where was the bloody servant with the damned tea? He darted a quick glance toward the door.

“Searching for an escape or a rescuer?” she asked, and he heard the amusement in her voice. He glared at her. “How can you be afraid of a child?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he said, with an annoyance that belied his claim. “I simply have no interest in children. Whatsoever. At all.”

This time his words hurt her. He saw it in the darkening of her eyes, the unnatural blush in her cheeks. She’d given up so much—everything—to bring that child into the world and to keep him near. He acted as though he couldn’t be bothered.

Her gaze averted, she rose. “He’s getting hungry. I should find Jeanette.”

As she made to walk past him, he wrapped his fingers around her arm. “Don’t leave.”

She didn’t look at him. It was astounding how much that small act hurt.

“You don’t want him.” Her voice was thick with tears. “If you will please arrange for a carriage, I shall pack our things and we shall be gone from here.”

“Your father will not welcome you back unmarried.”

Angling her chin, she met his gaze and he saw determination that put him to shame. “I’m well aware of that. I’ll be off to London. I’m certain to find employment as a nurse. I can make my way. It was never my intent to bother you. I thought you were dead. I thought your family . . . that they would appreciate knowing you had a son, that a small part of you lived on. But John is too innocent, too precious to be made to feel unwanted. I will not abide it. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

For her sake and the boy’s, he should pry his fingers from her arm and let them leave. What did he truly have to offer her? He was no good to the army. Acceptable positions for second sons were limited to the military and the clergy. What sort of success could a non-religious man hope to find in a parish?

He should release her. Instead, his fingers closed ever so slightly, staking a claim. “You’re right. He terrifies me. I know nothing at all of children. The responsibility . . . I don’t know how you manage it. But I would very much like to be introduced to him again.”

Her smile came with hesitation, her eyes wary. Still, she nodded. “With your bad leg it would be best if you sat. Shall we move to the sofa?”

“Yes, of course.” He’d managed to sound interested, when in truth he saw it as a chore. He wanted more time with her, wanted to experience
her
. But he could not have her without the child. He couldn’t understand his sudden obsession with her, why he was willing to do anything to keep her near. But he wanted her, wanted her to cross the hallway to his bedchamber. He wanted to gaze down into whiskey eyes. He wanted to see them across a room. Obviously, he’d lost more than memories. He’d lost his mind.

Limping, he allowed her to precede him.

The settee, with its bright yellow brocade, was small, with room enough for only two. And the child. He couldn’t forget the child. She wouldn’t let him.

She held the babe toward him, not for him to take, but as a means to display him. “This is John. Your son.”

Her soft voice held conviction, no doubt. And more love than he thought it was possible for one person to possess. Her expression was earnest, her eyes pleading with him to recognize the miracle she held in her arms. He wanted only her. To be here with only her. But the child would intrude. Soon, he was fairly certain the babe would start to cry. And she would leave.

He didn’t want her to leave upset. Not after all she’d done for him . . . and for his son.

Lowering his gaze, he looked, truly looked, at his son for the first time. He had chubby cheeks that puckered as he sucked on his fist. He had no chin to speak of. His nose was more a dollop, with no real indication of the shape it might one day take as he grew into manhood. His eyebrows, as light as his curls, almost touched where his brow puckered in concentration. His long, dark lashes dominated his face. Stephen had never understood, as fair as he was, why his eyelashes had always been so dark. A bit of inherited rebelliousness, he supposed. But then most of him had rebelled. He’d taken very little from his father.

This boy, however, had taken almost everything.

As though acutely aware that he was being watched, he suddenly opened his eyes, and Stephen found himself staring into a sea of blue. Intelligence lurked there and inquisitiveness. Who would explain to this boy the joys—and more important, the pitfalls—of women?

“I wish he had your eyes,” he heard himself say.

“Sometimes a baby’s eyes change over time, but I suspect his color is here to stay. They are too much like yours. You can touch him, you know. He doesn’t bite.”

“His father does.”

Mercy turned scarlet, and he wondered if he’d nipped at her shoulder, her ear, her backside. Had he nibbled? Had she done the same to him? What had it been like with her? He couldn’t imagine that it had been anything other than wondrous. So why only one night?