Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman (34 page)

He carried John to his bedchamber and laid him on the bed. He tucked a pillow beside him and lavender wafted up. John paused mid-yell, his eyes wide and blinking.

“That’s what you were missing, isn’t it? That’s the reason I haven’t gone to bed yet. Because she’s still here.”

He nudged his finger against the boy’s hand and it fisted around his finger. Stephen caressed John’s soft hair with his other hand. “You don’t give a damn that she didn’t give birth to you, do you?”

John’s eyes closed, popped open.

“Did she steal you? That’s the question. Did she always plan to use you? Why wasn’t she honest with me from the beginning?”

He’d get no answers from John. The infant had drifted off to sleep.

Stephen pressed his lips to the boy’s head. “I miss her, too, lad,” he whispered. “I miss her, too.”

Chapter 25

Unfortunately, we are unable to visit at your residence. However, I thought it would interest you to know that John’s nursemaid will be taking him through Hyde Park at 2:00.

M
y son has lost all shred of decency,” the duchess said as she strolled into the gallery where Mercy was having her portrait painted by Leo.

She’d told Leo countless times that she was not in the mood to pose, but he’d insisted.

“What else do you have to do with your time?” he’d asked.

But time wasn’t the issue. She had far too much of it to fill with regrets and longing for what might have been. She’d told him honestly, “It will be a portrait of a woman whose heart is breaking.”

He didn’t seem to care, and quite honestly, neither did she any longer. So here she sat, gazing out on the dreary day while he stood behind his easel. She’d written three letters to Stephen trying to explain everything, but words on paper seemed so inadequate and she’d torn each one up before she’d completely finished it. Stephen had told her that he loved her, so what did it matter if it appeared she’d tricked him into marriage? At the base of it all was her love for him and for John. But as she’d feared, the foundation was not enough to weather the secret when it was uncovered.

Why hadn’t she simply told him the truth when Fancy had shown up in their lives? In allowing her fears to rule her good sense, she’d lost exactly what she’d feared she would: John and Stephen.

She was so accustomed to snuggling against Stephen through the night that she’d hardly slept since leaving Roseglenn. She’d slept in his arms in Scutari, after she’d been brutalized, when her mind, body, and spirit had been shattered. She’d never thought to want a man to touch her again, but he’d been different. One of London’s most notorious gentlemen had made no untoward advances. He’d provided her with a safe harbor from the storm. Now she felt as though he’d tossed her back onto the choppy seas—but he’d somehow managed to give her the knowledge to stay afloat. She’d not succumb to the loneliness or her fears. She would survive this banishment. She would emerge from it stronger, until nothing could ever hurt her again.

“I asked him to send John ’round for a visit with his grandmother”—the duchess continued, and Mercy perked up, straightened, her vows quickly forgotten at the thought of seeing John—“and he refused my request.”

Mercy slumped back down and gazed outside. The past three days had been interminable. She needed to find a purpose in her life. Perhaps she’d contact Miss Nightingale. Surely, she could recommend her to a hospital in London. If Mercy were near, there was always a chance that she might see John.

“However,” the duchess continued mysteriously, “the boy will be in Hyde Park at two with his nursemaid.”

Mercy sat up again, hope once more beating wildly in her chest. “Only his nursemaid?”

“Apparently.”

“Will you excuse me, Leo? I must prepare to go to the park.”

She didn’t wait for his permission, because it didn’t matter what he said. Nothing was going to prevent her from getting to the park to see John.

S
he sat on a bench alone. She’d arrived an hour early just in case the time in the letter had been a mistake or circumstances changed and required an earlier arrival at the park. She didn’t want to walk about because she feared that she and Jeanette would be like two ships passing in the night. Better to sit in one place and simply wait.

But dear Lord, the moments ticked by so slowly that she thought she might go insane. She also had to admit that as much as she longed to see John, she also wished she could catch a glimpse of Stephen. She wondered how he fared. She knew she should care nothing at all about him, but the heart was fickle and forgiving. It made excuses for his no longer trusting her, no longer wanting her. She
had
deceived him, and while it had all been with the best of intentions, it had led her down a wayward road.

She thought about writing her father, but she was fairly certain that he would be convinced that her true actions were as egregious as her implied behavior had been. While she could claim that she’d never lied, neither had she been completely honest.

No one stopped to speak with her, for which she was immensely grateful. She didn’t wish to be distracted from her purpose. She quickly scanned every person walking by, searching, searching, searching—

And then she spotted Jeanette and the black perambulator. Joy surged through her with such intensity as to bring her to her feet. Waving frantically to catch the nursemaid’s attention, she hurried forward, dodging around elegant couples. When she finally reached Jeanette, she gave her a warm hug.

“Whatever are you doing here?” Jeanette asked, clearly dumbfounded. “I wasn’t able to get a message to you.”

“Sir Stephen sent word to his mother that you would be in the park with John.” Reaching into the basket, she lifted out her son, hugged him tightly, held him up to inspect him, then held him close once more. With him nestled against her shoulder, she swayed back and forth, inhaling his sweet fragrance. “Oh, my dear, dear sweet boy. Mummy has missed you so terribly much.”

“He misses you as well,” Jeanette reassured her. “Sleeps with his father or not at all.”

“Truly?” Mercy asked. “Sir Stephen allows him to sleep in his bed?”

She couldn’t imagine that the man who had paid so little attention to John in the beginning was now providing a haven for him in his bedchamber. Was it because of his feelings toward the boy’s real mother?

“He does. And it is the strangest thing. He’ll not let anyone wash the bed linens.”

“Why ever not?”

“He doesn’t confide in the servants, of course, but I think it is because he’s not yet ready to lose your fragrance.”

Was he missing her then? If so, then why not come to visit with her?

“Is he well? Sir Stephen?”

Jeanette glanced around guardedly as though she feared someone might overhear her. “He’s turned into something of an ogre. The only time he isn’t grumbling is when he’s with John.”

“He should not be taking his anger at me out on others.”

“He doesn’t. It’s just that it’s abundantly clear that he isn’t content.”

She felt the now-familiar prickle of guilt. If only she’d trusted him. “I did him a disservice.”

“You defend his sending you away?”

“I understand his anger. He thought he had given me John.” She touched the curls on his head. “And what of . . . the other? Is she living there now?”

“No. She arrived for dinner last night. Sir Stephen brought her to the nursery, but she merely eyed John as though he were an odd creature she’d never seen before. She didn’t hold him. She looked terrified of him, if you want to know the truth.”

“How can anyone be frightened of my boy?” Mercy asked, kissing his head. “Jeanette, how long do you have in the park?”

“Only an hour.”

Smiling with joy, Mercy said, “It is an hour more than I ever thought to have again. Come along, I brought a blanket. It’s over by the bench. We shall simply sit and visit for a while. I want to know everything John’s done since I last saw him.”

And if she could find the strength she would not inquire further about his father, although Lord help her, she was desperate for news of him.

S
itting astride his horse on a small tree-covered rise, Stephen watched Mercy smiling and carrying on with his son. She appeared so joyously happy, so excited, so full of life. He thought he even heard her laughter on the breeze, although surely he was too far away for such a gift. She sat on a blanket with Jeanette, but it was obvious that all her attention was focused on John.

People stopped to talk with her, to smile, to share in her joy.

How different she was from Fancy.

Fancy had come to visit the evening before. John had cried whenever she’d tried to hold him. She quickly gave up trying. He didn’t blame her. It would take some time for the boy to get used to her.

He tried not to compare her to Mercy, but he couldn’t see his wife giving up as easily as Fancy had. She’d have cooed and cajoled and won him over. No matter how long it took.

When Jeanette had finally taken John away, Stephen and Fancy had gone in to dinner. It had been a ghastly affair. He’d asked her to tell him about her time in the East. He’d not revealed that his own memories were lacking. He’d simply indicated that he wanted to know what she’d been doing when he was no longer near the hospital, when he was back at the battlefield.

Complaining a lot, it appeared. Floors had to be scrubbed. Shirts were sewn so the men would have something to wear other than their bloody clothes. Bandages were rolled. Their living quarters were small and crowded, a dozen women sleeping in one cramped room. The food was not up to snuff. Comforts were few. It was horrendous.

Mercy had never complained about her own discomforts. She had been more concerned with the discomfort of the men, and harbored guilt because she’d been unable to eradicate their suffering completely. She still dreamed of them, of what she considered her failings.

Who held her now when the nightmares came? Leo, perhaps. The man was devoted to Stephen’s mother, but he had an artist’s gentle soul. Surely, he would hear her cries; he’d not leave her alone to face her demons.

Not as her bastard of a husband had done. No matter how justified he felt in his anger, the guilt ate at him.

Stephen had never intended to ever allow her to see John again. He was loath to admit it but he’d brought Jeanette all the way into London to stroll through the park for an hour when other parks were nearer to his residence for one reason and one reason alone: he wanted to see Mercy, even if only from a distance. He’d known if he sent a missive to his interfering mother alerting her to John’s visit, she’d share the news with Mercy, and damnation, but he’d needed to see her smile in order to erase the painful memory of her parting. He, who abhorred the loss of memories, wanted to forget the moment when she’d strode out of his life with such dignity and strength and poise. Dear God, not even a queen could have been so regal.

Yet gazing on her now only served to add more remorse to the tragedy of her being sent away. He damned his pride to perdition, because it wouldn’t allow him to invite her back into his life.

Tugging on the reins, he turned his horse about and began to gallop away. He’d seen enough. He’d seen too much. His foolish pride prevented him from going in the other direction, in going toward Mercy, in greeting her, in talking with her. He sought to punish her and all he accomplished with this silly farce today was to punish himself.

And Leo, it seemed, was intent on punishing him as well, damn the man. When Stephen returned home, he discovered a small package waiting for him on his desk. Inside was a miniature of Mercy—

And damn it all if she didn’t look like a woman whose heart had shattered. With his finger, he touched the face rendered in oils. It was a poor substitute for her warm skin.

Unfortunately, he no longer knew where to place the blame for this hideous life he now lived. Fancy, for following him to the East and getting herself with child? Mercy, for pretending she was the child’s mother? Himself, for allowing her deception to cut him to the core?

“M
y man had no luck in Paris,” Ainsley said. “He was unable to confirm whether the child was stolen or abandoned. Apparently, Fancy and Mercy were most discreet.”

Stephen stood at the window in the library. It seemed of late all he did was gaze out windows, as though he would spy Mercy strolling past, introducing John to the world around him. No joy greeted his days.

Fancy had visited again, but she had no interest in John. Instead she spoke of clothing styles and the upcoming Season and all the balls they would have to attend. And the theater. And dinners. They would be the talk of the town, she assured him.

Ah, yes, in the midst of scandal once more. Surrounded by speculation and gossip. Why did she crave what he abhorred?

He pulled the miniature of Mercy from his pocket where he always kept it now. He thought of the dinners he’d shared with her, the lively conversations, the quiet moments. He thought of waking up in the morning with her nestled in his arms. He reminisced about their lovemaking. Always different. Always breathtaking. Always touching—on so many levels. She caressed his body, embraced his soul, reached deep within his heart. When he was with her, it was almost as though the past no longer mattered.