STOLEN BY THE DUKE OF STONE

A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

STOLEN BY THE DUKE

BOOK XIII

HARRIET CAVES

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About the Book

“This mouth is constantly begging for trouble, wife… Yet I am more than happy to give it to you.”

Lady Jessamine has vowed to raise her late best friend’s baby. She won’t let anyone stand in her way, least of all the stone-hearted Duke of Knightford.

Hardened by the war and guilt, Duke Andrew returns to London, only to find his cousin’s baby in the care of a beautiful stranger. So, he steals her and the child away… and makes Jessamine his Duchess.

Now raising the infant together, Andrew realizes that Jessamine is far more than he bargained for. And one kiss is enough to shatter his precious control… and make him crave nothing but her total surrender.

Before You Start Reading…

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Chapter One

“Rebecca?” Jessamine asked softly. She pushed slowly at the thick wooden door, the bottom whispering across the carpet.

Inside, Rebecca Dunston, the Dowager Countess of Cartwell, lay propped up against pillows, a soft bundle in her arms. To one side, a physician washed his hands in a bowl of steaming water.

Jessamine ignored him, paying attention only to her friend. Rebecca’s face was pale—paler than Jessamine had ever seen it—with eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and a gentle, contented smile on her face.

“It’s all right,” she said, turning that smile to Jessamine. “You may come in.”

Jessamine crossed the room to her side in an instant. “How do you feel?”

She couldn’t forget the echoing sounds of the screams. The entire Minerva Club had been listening, all the ladies sitting downstairs and doing their best to calm themselves through the inevitable worry that attended childbirth.

“Well,” Rebecca said. “Tired, but well.”

She tilted the blankets in her arms, revealing a small, red face. Jessamine’s heart pinched at the sight of his tiny, closed eyes and pinched lips. He slept peacefully, untroubled by the world he now found himself in, held by his mother.

“He’s beautiful,” Jessamine breathed.

“I hope he resembles his mother more than his father.” For an instant, Rebecca bit her lip.

Jessamine rested her hand over Rebecca’s. “He will. After all, his father… My father…” she added, for the baby in Rebecca’s arm was her half-sibling, “is no longer here. And he will have the very best of mothers to take care of him.”

“And the very best of godmothers.” Rebecca sat up a little further, her mouth in a firm line now. “Say you will be his godmother, Jessie.”

Jessamine’s heart squeezed so violently she thought she might crack a rib. Her nose stung. “Are you quite certain?”

“You accepted me when I told you the very worst thing I had done. What else can I do but want you in my son’s life forever?”

“A little boy,” Jessamine said in wonder.

“He is that,” Rebecca confirmed with a proud smile. “I’ve decided to call him William.”

“It’s a fine name.” Jessamine reached out, brushing just one fingertip across William’s wrinkled forehead.

He was truly the most precious, wondrous of beings, and even though he was not technically hers, she felt as though she had been loving him long before he was born, and now that love finally had somewhere to be.

“Of course I will be his godmother,” she answered at last. “I would be honored.”

“Thank you.” The sternness on Rebecca’s face fell away, and she looked back down at the bundle in her arms. “He’s so tiny and so precious. And the world can be so cruel. What if—” Her lip trembled.

“Nothing will happen to him,” Jessamine said, more forcefully this time. “You are a countess. And my brother-in-law is a duke. We’ll help you through everything.”

“Thank you… Thank you, my friend.” Rebecca tucked her finger through the baby’s minuscule hand, an expression of adoration crossing her face as William held on. “I love him so, Jessie. More than anything I’ve ever loved in my life.”

“Yes, I know.” Jessamine leaned forward and kissed her friend on the forehead. “Just enjoy being with him.”

“Yes, but—” Rebecca coughed, the motion shaking her frame, and her skin paled even further.

Red dampened the sheets by her legs.

The physician moved from where he had been keeping watch at the side of the room. “Lady Jessamine,” he said with the cultured yet urgent voice of a man who required immediate obedience. “Please leave the room.” He took the child from Rebecca, handing her to a nearby maid, and drew the covers up. “Be still, Lady Cartwell,” he said with far more gentleness. “It will be all right.”

Rebecca let out a wail of desperation, as though she had communed with the gods and knew something Jessamine did not.

Jessamine hesitated in the doorway, torn between a desire to obey the physician and her need to be there for her friend.

The physician looked up at her, his face tight with strain. “Now, Lady Jessamine.”

Jessamine fled the room, and the door slammed behind her.

An hour later

Jessamine pressed her fingers into her eyes so forcefully they ached, but nothing prevented the flow of tears.

This grief felt as though it came from some place far beyond her, opening a cavernous hole in her heart and letting her bleed out.

She rocked back and forth on the uncomfortable wooden bench, attempting to hold the full force of her pain inside. The physician stood before her, blood on his perfectly white shirt, his sleeves still rolled to reveal his lightly haired arms.

“Dead,” Jessamine repeated, the ugly word resonating through her body.

Surely Rebecca could not be dead. Not her lovely, lively friend who had so much—so very much—love to give. Beautiful, vivacious Rebecca with a laugh that could light any room, and a smile that put the sun to shame.

Surely Rebecca could not be dead.

It simply did not make sense with the world as Jessamine knew it.

“I’m very sorry,” the physician said. “I did everything I could.”

This was just like Percy, the baby brother she’d lost. Jessamine could remember the day like it was yesterday, the scar it left on her memory now tearing open all over again. She recalled how it had felt to hold the tiny body in her arms—and how different such things had felt as a child rather than now as an adult—and to know that he was her brother, before her mother had gone into spasms.

The same thing, almost, had happened here. Jessamine had entered, and the mother had died.

“Did I…” She cleared her throat. “Was I the cause of⁠—”

“No,” the physician said, almost too quickly. “Not in the slightest, Lady Jessamine. I’m sure Lady Cartwell was relieved to see you. She said often that she was glad William would have a godmother who would protect him. I’ve seen the condition before, I’m afraid. Sometimes, the strain of giving birth is too great, and tensions within the body rise too high. In cases such as these, there is nothing anyone can do about it.”

Jessamine’s throat felt thick and painful, as though she had swallowed broken glass. “I see.”

“The ladies downstairs are waiting to hear. I will send William down when I have finished examining him.” He nodded briskly, rose from his knees, and left, calling to his assistants as he did.

A kind man, but a busy one, and not one prepared to take on the task of assigning care to an infant.

Jessamine rose. She felt as though she had nails in all her joints. How strange that grief could do this, make her feel as tired and achy as if she were an old woman long before her time.

She took the stairs slowly, making her way through the townhouse to where the other ladies were gathered.

The Minerva Club was a collection of ladies of the more radical bluestocking variety, most of whom believed there was more to life than merely marrying and siring a dozen babies for one’s husband. Though they were not, in general, opposed to marriage itself, if one could find a gentleman worthy enough. The Dowager Marchioness of Marwich, for instance, had been married before her husband died, and she was the patroness of the club.

Jessamine had only joined because of Rebecca, and she had not been a member for very long; she had not been in London very long. And now, Rebecca was dead, and somehow, she had to find a way to explain how this could possibly have happened to all Rebecca’s closest friends.

She stepped into the room, and all eyes turned to her, ladies freezing in their variety of activities. Some had books in their lap, some embroidery, one lady was writing letters, and several were pacing, but none, Jessamine was sure, were focused on their tasks.

“Well?” Lady Marwich demanded.

She had half risen, one hand on her stick, but her expression indicated she already knew the answer.

Jessamine shook her head, her eyes burning all over again. No matter what she needed to do, she could not stop crying. “She is…” Her voice failed her.

Temperance Sutton, one of Jessamine’s friends and one of the youngest members at twenty, came forward with her hands outstretched. “I’m so sorry, dearest. Rebecca is—was… She was one of the best of us.”

Jessamine drew in a deep breath, squeezing her friend’s hands. “She named her son William.”

“The child survived?” Lady Marwich said, eyes narrowed. “Then the Dunston name lives on.”

Considering Rebecca had, against her will, married an earl many, many years her senior, Jessamine doubted she cared in the slightest whether the Dunston name lived on. What was important was that her son lived on.

“We must decide what to do with the child,” Miss Evelyn Walters said, shaking her head slightly. “That is our first priority. Once he has a home, we may grieve Rebecca as she deserves to be grieved.”

“Quite right,” Lady Marwich said. “The poor boy.”

“He has no mother or father,” Temperance mused, a frown drawn between her brows. “Who will take him?”

Jessamine rubbed her temples. A headache loomed, but she did not have time for that right now. There were more important things to think about.

And only one solution that she could see.

She stepped forward. “I will take him.”

Silence greeted her. Lady Marwich’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You?”

“Rebecca named me William’s godmother.”

“But you are a child,” Lady Marwich said.

“I am one-and-twenty,” Jessamine said, folding her arms. “Above the age of majority. Besides, I have no guardian who would deny me.”

“You have us,” Lady Marwich said.

Temperance winked. “Are you not fortunate?”

“Quite, Lady Temperance.” Lady Marwich leaned both hands against her cane. “Have you thought this through, Jessamine? You are unwed and living with your sister and brother-in-law. This could ruin your reputation. And affect theirs.”

“If I think it will harm Irene,” Jessamine said, “then of course I will act. But consider, my dear Lady Marwich: I am accustomed to the wilds of Scotland. What care I for the harsh words of the ton?”

“You will care when they bite you,” Lady Marwich said.

“People can be extraordinarily harsh,” Evelyn said.

Jessamine waved the concerns aside. “Rebecca is…” She paused, fighting the urge to do something unladylike.

She wanted to scream in anguish. Throw a table at the window. Go back, somehow, and save Rebecca from the marriage that had destroyed her. William was alive; he was what mattered now.

“Rebecca was my dearest friend,” she continued, “and I will not abandon her son. Who else will look after him? Rebecca’s father sold her to Lord Cartwell, so it’s clear he cares nothing for her. The current Earl of Cartwell won’t take the child in, you know that as well as I do. I will care for William.”

She met the gazes of the assembled ladies defiantly, waiting for them to tell her that such a thing was impractical.

And indeed, she knew it would be. But she had achieved the impractical before, and she would do it again.

“I don’t care about London, about the ton or the marriage mart,” she repeated, in case there should be any doubt on the matter. “I like all of you, of course, but I care nothing for them.” She gestured at the window. “If I must leave for the country to raise William myself, then I will do it without hesitation.”

To her surprise, Lady Marwich was the first to smile. “Well said,” she said approvingly. “It will not be an easy task, but Rebecca was counting on you, and it is warming to see you are determined to do what is right, not what is easy.”

“We will help, if we can,” Evelyn said, then glanced nervously about the room. “Will we not?”

“We will,” Temperance said determinedly. “Although I do not see precisely what we can do.”

“You must contact Rebecca’s solicitor to arrange the funeral and any necessary legal matters. Someone ought to write to her cousin, the Duke of Knightford, too, so he knows about the situation.”

The door opened, and a maid entered with a basket in her arms. A small bundle inside moved slightly, carefully swaddled.

“He has been fed,” the maid said, “but he will need feeding again in a couple of hours.”

“I’ll make provisions,” Jessamine said, accepting the basket.

Everything else—Rebecca, the practical side of contacting solicitors and banks and any of this other business—could wait. The other ladies could do it.

Jessamine had to take William home and arrange care for him as soon as possible.

“Call the carriage,” she said, holding William tight. “I will inform my sister of this evening’s events.”

Irene was pacing the drawing room when Jessamine entered, William still in his basket by Jessamine’s side. She rushed across the room to Jessamine, and Henry entered from an adjoining room, hurrying to stand beside his wife.

Irene, Jessamine’s elder sister, had married Henry, the Duke of Setton, recently, and once she had done so, she had invited Jessamine to stay with them. Their father had made them grow up apart, sending Irene away to an aunt before Jessamine was born. After their mother’s death, Jessamine herself had been sent away to another aunt in Scotland. Their father never cared to rejoin the family. But now that their father was in prison and Irene was married, they were reunited.

Now, Jessamine couldn’t imagine her life without Irene in it.

Irene leaned over to peer into the basket, and she gasped, her hand going to her stomach. It was still flat, with no signs of the child she carried, but Jessamine knew it would begin to show any week.

“Why,” Irene asked, her voice constricted, “do you have a baby in that basket, Jessie?”

“We got your note that Rebecca went into labor at the club,” Henry said, his brows coming together. He was handsome in a way that struck Jessamine a little like Adonis, all golden hair and muscles. “But…”

“Oh no,” Irene whispered. Her other hand went to her belly, stroking slowly.

Jessamine shook her head, her voice failing her. She knew she ought to explain everything in a calm, collected manner, and that although Irene was not far along, stress could not be good for the baby. She ought to be minimizing that as much as possible.

And yet she could not find the words to explain that she had seen Rebecca, and then Rebecca had died.

“There was nothing the physician could do,” Jessamine said at last, her voice cracking. “He tried, and I believe him.”

Henry looked down at the basket and the babe within. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said, “but what are you doing with the infant?”

“I am his godmother.” Jessamine raised her chin. This was the hardest part, and the part she had been dreading telling them the most, but she had to. Rebecca had intended to tell them, and Jessamine would not fail in her duty. “And he is also our half-brother.”

Silence followed this proclamation. Henry’s forehead wrinkled.

“Surely not,” Irene said.

“Our father… he approached Rebecca and seduced her. That was before I’d met her. And well… you know what he was like.” Jessamine shook her head bitterly.

The few memories she had of her father were less than favorable; he had been the one to send her mother to her death, and he had also sent Jessamine away from home. Scotland, as it happened, had agreed with Jessamine, but losing her mother had not.

“I doubt he was,” Jessamine said. “Rebecca briefly thought herself in love with him before he was arrested for his crimes and she saw the light.”

“But why did she never tell us?” Irene asked, chewing on her lower lip. “Why did you never tell us?”

“Rebecca told me in the strictest confidence,” Jessamine said. “After all, I am indirectly connected. I swore never to tell a soul, but she intended to tell you after the baby was born, so I’m doing that now.” She looked between them. “I must explain why it is so important for me to keep the baby.”

Any remaining anger drained from Irene’s face. “Oh, Rebecca,” she sighed. “The poor woman…”

“If Irene were further along, perhaps we could have pretended William belonged to us, but we can’t,” Henry said. “Still, we will find a solution.”

Irene nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “We will.”

“But we must begin to think in practical terms.” Henry pointed at the baby in the basket. “He is quiet now, but what happens later when all the servants are up, and he’s screaming? We must bring in someone to nurse him, too, which will cause talk among the servants.”

“Oh.” Jessamine hadn’t even considered the practical ramifications of having a baby in their home; she had only known that she needed to take him away. “Then what can we do?”

“We need a more discreet arrangement,” Henry said.

“I will not be separated from him,” Jessamine said immediately.

“Then it’s fortunate I’m not suggesting you ought to be. We will put around that you are ill—for now—and I will put you and William in one of my apartments near Covent Garden. Not a solution forever, but it gives us time to think of something. We’ll hire a nursemaid and a select group of staff until we find a permanent solution.”

“We won’t allow you to compromise your reputation, dearest,” Irene said, taking one of Jessamine’s hands and pressing it firmly. “That is for certain. Rebecca would not have wanted anything to happen to you.”

“I will make the arrangements,” Henry said. “We will remove you to the apartments tonight.”

He left the room at a brisk stride, and the two ladies bent over the basket, staring down at the tiny sleeping baby.

He looked so innocent, lying there. So fragile.

Jessamine’s heart swelled, both with Rebecca’s last words and her own newfound love for the babe.

No matter what happened, she would protect him.

One week later

Jessamine sat by the window, a crochety William in her arms. The nursemaid had fed him not half an hour ago; he was perfectly clean, and he ought to be sleeping. The lateness of the hour told Jessamine that. She rocked him slowly, singing a lullaby under her breath. She remembered only a few from her mother, and she cycled through those few until she was sick of them.

William’s tiny face creased as he screamed.

The funeral had gone smoothly, as far as such things could. Jessamine had left William with the nursemaid just for the duration, attending in a hooded cloak to see Rebecca’s coffin lowered into the ground.

Even now, her heart ached at the thought of it.

She rocked William gently in her arms, attempting to soothe him into something approaching sleep.

A knock sounded on the door. “Excuse me, miss,” her maid. “The Duchess of Setton is here to see you.”

“Irene?” Jessamine slipped off the window seat. “Show her in.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then Irene appeared, out of breath and with flyaway hair. She looked flustered.

“What has happened?” Jessamine asked, starting forward.

“I’m so sorry,” Irene said. “I did my best to stop him, but he insisted on coming.”

“Who insisted on coming?”

More footsteps sounded on the stairs, heavier and slower than Irene’s had been, and before Irene could answer, two gentlemen entered the room.

One was Henry in all his blond-haired glory, and the other was a man who appeared even taller.

The stranger stood tall and broad, his clothes surely having been tailored to fit him so perfectly, and his sharp, hard face was turned directly to Jessamine. She had a shock of blue eyes so filled with ice, she thought of long, cold winters, and the candlelight playing across his hair revealed red tints.

A handsome man. A terrifying man. One look into his face told Jessamine that he almost always got his own way.

The stranger’s eyes moved from William in Jessamine’s arms to her face.

“I am here for my second cousin,” he said.

Chapter Two

“Who are you?”

Andrew stared at the woman before him, who clutched the baby even more tightly against her chest, as though she alone were defending it against a pack of ravenous wolves. Her mahogany hair tumbled loose down her back in messy curls, and her eyes were an odd shade of brown, almost orange. Like amber.

“Andrew Kinley. Duke of Knightford,” he said, the new title sounding sour in his mouth.

This was one of the first times he had had occasion to use it. He had only been in possession of the title a few days, and he cared little for its associations.

“You?” the woman demanded, and stepped back. “But the Duke of Knightford is…”

She glanced from him to the babe as though trying to piece everything together.

“The former Duke of Knightford died, Jessie,” the Duchess of Setton said quietly.

“I am his successor. Thus, I am now assuming the responsibilities of my title, and they include my second cousin. I have come to collect him. The real question is, who are you?”

She drew herself up, holding the baby still tighter, rocking him slightly in an absent movement that suggested she had spent a great deal of her time doing just that. “My name is Jessamine Farbridge.”

“Farbridge,” he repeated, the name familiar, and its connotations unpleasant. “Daughter of Lord Debley?”

She pressed her lips together. “What if I am? I knew Rebecca, and she named me godmother. I made a promise to take care of him, and I will not break that promise. You cannot simply walk in here and take him.”

Andrew tapped his fingers against his arm.

Daughter of the Earl of Debley. Unfortunate connection, but in terms of temperament, they seemed nothing alike, and he could hardly judge her for the sins of her father.

He could judge her for her own sins, however, and shortsightedness was most certainly one of them. The lady had thought none of this through. It was all very well that an unmarried lady could claim the rights to a babe not her own, but how was she going to house and finance the lad? He would grow, require more than a pair of arms in which to sleep and a breast from which to feed.

“You are, of course, welcome to remain William’s godmother,” Andrew said. “But I am his uncle and rightful guardian, and I am perfectly within my rights to take him away.”

Her shoulders tensed, and her chin raised. “You can’t have him.”

“William belongs with me,” Andrew said icily. “I have not come here to negotiate, Lady Jessamine.”

“What do you know about raising an infant, Your Grace? He has no mother. He deserves someone who will love him.”

The words struck Andrew between the ribs, though he had no intention of letting her see the damage. Yes, he knew perfectly well that Rebecca was dead; in every respect, he had failed her. He had failed to oppose the marriage to Cartwell when his father insisted on it, and he had not been there to bargain with Death himself to insist she live.

The least he could do—the only thing he could do—was provide for Rebecca’s son, the way she would have done if she were alive.

“You may have your opinions about my suitability as a guardian,” he said, unable to keep the bite of anger from his voice, “but they will not stand up in a court of law. I will not allow my second cousin to grow up hidden away like this.”

The Duke of Setton stepped forward. “Such secrecy was necessary, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps it was before I arrived, but I am here now, and the secrecy is no longer necessary. Taking him in as my ward is perfectly proper, and frankly I am astonished you did not immediately summon me for that.” He returned his glare to Lady Jessamine, who did not quail underneath it. Interesting. “I will be taking William home with me now.”

Lady Jessamine looked wildly at the Duchess of Setton. “How did he find me?”

“Given you neglected to inform me of your whereabouts, I had to do a little investigation.” Now he made no attempt to hide the anger in his voice. “I learned Rebecca had died at a property Lady Marwich owned. After speaking with her, I learned of Lady Jessamine, and the Duke and Duchess of Setton brought me here.”

Lady Jessamine stared at the duchess as though the other lady had betrayed her. “How could you, Irene?” she whispered.

“He has a right to know, Jessie. He is the boy’s uncle, and we cannot keep you here indefinitely. We all agreed this was to be a temporary solution until something more permanent can be found.”

“Knightford is his family too,” Setton said gently.

“If that is true,” Lady Jessamine said, swinging back to him with accusation in her eyes, “then why was he not there to help Rebecca when she needed it the most? Why did he only show up now?”

Andrew ignored the stab of guilt, familiar as it was. He would not allow her to see any of the emotions that roiled underneath. As far as the world was concerned, he was stone-faced and stone-hearted; that had been the only way to survive his father, and it was the only way he would survive this now.

“I have been in the army,” he explained coldly. “And not allowed to leave my post until news of my father and brother’s deaths released me from my obligations.”

And provided him with an assortment of new ones, but at least it meant he could do his best for Rebecca’s child, even if he was too late to do anything for Rebecca herself.

The failure stung once more. Eternally.

“William will be raised by my side, and he will be educated, protected, and provided for,” he continued. “You have my word that he will want for nothing. And, moreover, I intend to legitimize him and make him my heir. With me, William will have a title, a future, and every opportunity the world can provide. What can you offer him as your ward, Lady Jessamine?”

Lady Jessamine raised her chin defiantly. “He is my half-brother, Your Grace.”

“I know of that connection, and I know the baby’s father,” he revealed.

Rebecca had written to him to make him aware. On the one hand, fortunately, her husband had died before her pregnancy had shown, otherwise, he might have had something to say about the impossibility of the child being his. On the other hand, Rebecca fell pregnant a year after her late husband’s death, and she hadn’t married anyone.

Which made William a child out of wedlock.

But Andrew had an extensive family, and he could easily find a married cousin, close enough in blood, who had died and left the child in Andrew’s care. Close enough to make William his closest male relative, and future heir.

“A man may appreciate those things you have to offer,” Lady Jessamine said, “but he is my kin just as much as yours, and I can provide for a baby. He knows nothing of your generosity now, but he knows my arms. I’m as much of a mother to him as Rebecca.”

“You are being ridiculous. A nursemaid can do what you can.”

“A nursemaid will never love him the way I do.” She glared at Andrew defiantly. “And you will not take him from me, Your Grace. You will not.”

As though responding to the anger in her voice, William began to cry. Lady Jessamine immediately hushed him, rocking him gently in her arms and singing under her breath, the lullabies familiar and nostalgic.

In a matter of moments, William settled and went back to sleep.

Second cousin.

This made Andrew halt.

Rebecca had never had the family she deserved. How could he deny her son someone who truly loved him?

Perhaps he did indeed pretend to be stone-hearted, but when it came to his family, to those whom he loved…

He would do anything for them.

Anything including…

The idea was ridiculous. Foolish. But once it had taken root in his mind, he found it impossible to remove.

A nursemaid might feed and care for the boy until he reached the age for a governess. But no one had cared for Rebecca, and Andrew did not intend to leave her child to the mercies of hired help. The boy needed someone bound to the family, someone who would not leave him for a better opportunity.

And Andrew would need someone to care for William and provide him with the gentleness and love that Andrew would not be able to provide completely. He was not entirely certain he could provide it at all.

Here and now, he could kill two birds with the one metaphorical stone.

She was the daughter of an earl. A disreputable earl on trial for murder, admittedly, but she was still gently bred.

“Very well,” he said, looking directly at her. “You may keep the boy.” A line appeared between her brows in confusion, but she said nothing, merely staring at him. “Because,” he continued, “I shall take you both.”

Jessamine’s mouth opened. “You will… what?”

“Marry me, Lady Jessamine. Then you may go wherever William does.”

Chapter Three

“Marry you?” she repeated, hoping hearing the words would have him recoiling in horror at the prospect.

Jessamine stared at the Duke of Knightford as though he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps she had, which would explain why she had hallucinated this duke asking her to marry him as though it were the most reasonable solution in the world.

But he merely nodded. “Yes, Lady Jessamine. I believe it solves both our predicaments.”

“I will not marry you! I hardly know you. And moreover, I don’t trust you.”

If she had expected him to be offended by this pronouncement, she was disappointed. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face; it was as if he cared nothing for her opinion, and that only infuriated her more.

How dare he ask for her hand in marriage when he clearly had so little regard for her?

“I understand this was not part of your original plan,” he said calmly. “However, I do think it is for the best. Regardless of your agreement, William needs a home where he is protected and legitimate. I can provide that. You wish to be part of his life, and this facilitates that. I could, I suppose, hire you to be his nursemaid, but that would be an insult to both of us.”

“Perhaps, then, you could just give me your blessing,” Jessamine said, but she already knew she was fighting a losing battle.

If he had intended to give William up, he would already have done so. The fact he had offered her marriage proved he was taking the situation seriously.

“I have explained why I cannot do that,” the duke said with a hint of irritation. “You cannot protect him from scandal as an unmarried lady, and you would destroy your reputation along with it. Rebecca, I know, would not have wanted her child’s guardian to be ruined.” His lips thinned. “Fear not, Lady Jessamine; this is no sentimental suggestion. I am aware that now I’m duke, marriage is an expected inevitability, and with William to care for now, a practical necessity. Your wish to care for him makes you an ideal candidate. This is the only clean solution.”

Her brows knitted together as she took in his words.

The Duke’s face hardened. “If you force my hand, I will wrench the child from you and carry him away from here. I’m reluctant to stoop so low, but if the situation calls for it, then I will.”

“Surely, you must see how absurd this is,” Jessamine said, although an uneasy feeling erupted in her gut.

He meant every word he said: he would prize William from her arms if she refused him.

“It’s highly irregular,” Henry said, “but the Duke’s argument is not without sense, Jessamine. It would be prudent to consider it.”

Jessamine looked at her sister, but Irene merely nodded her head, though she looked uneasy. “I agree. Marriage is a drastic solution, but… but if you wish to stay with William, Jessie, I see no other way of doing so. The duke has a higher claim.”

Jessamine looked down at the baby in her arms, still sleeping. He cared nothing for law or reputation or whose claim was greater. He cared only for safety and love, and he was safe here with her.

For now.

“There is also the advantage to you,” the Duke of Knightford continued calmly. “You would have a title, status, protection. You would want for nothing. And in return, William would have everything he is entitled to as my heir.”

Jessamine glanced around at everyone in the room, but Henry and Irene studiously avoided her gaze. She was alone in this. Only the duke met her eyes, steady and sure, calm as the ocean on a clear day. The ice in his eyes had not melted, but it seemed smoother now. Clearer. Something that a careful woman might navigate.

“Tell me,” she said, “what sort of marriage you’re offering.”

“I need a woman who will care for William and be the mother he clearly requires. If not you, then I will need to find someone else for the role. However, I can see how much you care for him already, which is why I offer to make this union happen. For William’s sake. The marriage is for my second cousin and for him alone.”

A marriage of convenience where her husband had no designs on her. A large house and a safe place where she could raise William.

The offer could certainly be worse.

William’s tiny hand curled instinctively around her finger as he slept. If she refused, she would not be allowed to keep him, and even if she did, she risked bringing Henry and Irene into this mess.

There was nothing else for it.

She drew herself up as tall as she could go. “In that case, thank you, Your Grace. I accept. For William’s sake,” she added, in case that was not already clear.

“Very good,” Andrew said with a small nod. Almost immediately, he moved to the practical considerations. “We must make the arrangement properly. I will make an announcement in the paper to declare our engagement, and we will be married as soon as I can arrange it. I’ll speak with my solicitor and ensure that William is named directly as my heir and given my name.” He looked her and William over. “You may… keep the boy until we are married. Since he’s grown so accustomed to you,” he said, with the air of making a difficult concession.

“Oh.” Jessamine had not expected this at all. “Thank you.”

“Once we are married, you and William will be moved into my house, and the boy will be raised there. But until then, I will send a nursemaid I’ve personally approved and some of my own personal staff to keep an eye on you both.”

Jessamine bristled at this high-handed management. “There is already a nursemaid installed here,” she said tightly. “And she is doing perfectly well. What is more, the larger the household, the more people will attract attention to the house.”

“Then you may dismiss all your previous staff, if you’re worried about drawing too much attention,” the duke said with that same arrogant authority in his voice. “I am allowing you to keep William, but I will not compromise his safety.”

Jessamine looked at Henry, who, in the process of this discussion been heartily insulted about the trustworthiness of his staff, but he only nodded.

“I’ll bring my people out,” he said. “Once yours arrive, Knightford.”

The Duke nodded. “I will begin the legal work at once to ensure everything is done properly and quickly. Expect an announcement tomorrow morning. As for the wedding, I expect it to take place within the week.”

So soon.

Then again, given the situation, this ought to be what she hoped for.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jessamine forced herself to say, though she did not think herself particularly thankful at all.

This was better than some alternatives, but she had been forced into a corner, and she did not appreciate it in the slightest.

The duke’s gaze dropped to William in her arms. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the sleeping child.

Jessamine hesitated.

Irene nodded at her. “Let him see his second cousin, dearest.”

Her legs moved before her mind gave them permission to, and before she knew what she was doing, she was standing before the Duke. He gazed down at the baby, the harsh lines of his face softening. What had started as austere handsomeness turned into something entirely more… human.

Almost beguiling. The way his eyes softened, the soft part of his lips. His hand reached out, as though he longed to touch William’s downy head, but after a moment, he stepped back. All softness left his expression, and his ducal personality returned.

“I will reach out once I have acquired the special license,” he said. “And we will begin the wedding preparations.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Jessamine didn’t drop into a curtsy, and hoped that holding William was enough of an excuse.

If he thought anything of it, he said nothing as he left, bidding a quick goodbye to Henry and Irene.

As soon as he was gone, Jessamine’s shoulder slumped.

Irene’s face twisted with contrition. “You know there was no other solution, Jessie. What was he supposed to do? You know you cannot raise William here like this forever.”

“Being Knightford’s ward is the best solution for William,” Henry said. “And you make a far better mother for the lad than any other lady Knightford would marry out of a sense of duty.”

Jessamine knew they were right. She knew this was the best for the baby.

But marriage… She wanted to protest.

This was no small thing, marrying a man such as that. A man new to his title, seeking to establish himself in the world, and with a new ward he intended to make his heir.

At least he did intend to make William his heir.

“You will learn to be happy,” Irene said, pulling her into a sideways hug. “Marrying Knightford may not be such a bad experience, after all.”

“Do you truly believe that, sister?” Jessamine asked mournfully.

“He is not so bad, I fancy,” Henry said bracingly. “And besides, he said it was a marriage of convenience, and he will make William his heir. What more could you ask for, Jessamine?”

What she wanted was the freedom to choose—the freedom to choose no one at all, if no one met her standards—not have the choice forced upon her by some high-handed man who thought he knew better.

What she had always wanted was a family of her own. One done right—not the way her father had created a family, with idle carelessness, discarding his wives as he so chose. Poor Percy. Her heart contracted at the thought. And her life with Irene had been denied her.

Given the choice, she would marry for love—something her father never truly did—and raise a family the way she chose. So they might be happy and together.

The moment she’d taken William into her care, she knew her dreams had grown to encompass him, too. They had just not grown to encompass a stern, brooding, autocratic duke.

Still, she could keep William. That would have to be enough, and it was better than she had ever thought she could get.

“I will keep you safe,” she said as she cradled the infant and her friends prepared to leave. “No matter what, you will be safe with me.”

And perhaps even safe with the duke.

She had not thought so at first, but she could not shake the softness in his eyes when he’d looked at the infant. He did not seem a man naturally given to kindness, but he could perhaps know love eventually, given time. When it came to William, he seemed to have an inclination toward it.

Jessamine would do everything in her power to foster that affection and make it grow until the duke became the father William deserved.

Chapter Four

“Ihad a devil of a time, Your Grace,” Mr. Pritchard, his solicitor, said with a thin-lipped smile.

Andrew lowered himself into the chair in his study, his solicitor already lifting a briefcase onto the desk. The spare man looked as though he had altogether too many things to do and too little to eat.

“What have you found, Mr. Pritchard?” Andrew rubbed at his temples.

Mr. Pritchard pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Walter Kinley, your cousin on your father’s side. He is recently deceased, and his wife passed from childbirth a handful of weeks ago. I think, given the circumstances, it seems perfectly reasonable that you might have claimed the boy as your ward.”

“Walter,” Andrew mused. The man was a few years older, and they had never been close, but he had always had the importance of family hammered into his head from the day of his own birth. The world expected such things from him. “I assume you can handle the paperwork?”

“Oh yes, Your Grace. I shall get on that at once.” He retrieved the paper with Walter’s details written across it.

Andrew had barely scanned them; he recalled enough about Walter that he could be certain the man would stand up to scrutiny as William’s deceased father.

Once William’s legitimacy could be settled, nothing else mattered. The boy would soon have his name, and he would take him in, making him his heir. That was the least he could do for Rebecca.

His solicitor shut the briefcase with a click. “Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?”

“That is everything.” Andrew leaned back in his seat, eyeing the other man. “I presume you understand the importance of discretion.”

“Not a word about this matter shall leave my lips, and once I have completed the task, I will personally burn all documents relating to it.”

“Good.” Andrew rang for his butler.

A new thing, this. As a child, of course, he had grown up in a house full of servants, but they had all answered to his father and mother. Now, this house of servants all answered to him and him alone, their loyalty to him as their new lord and master.

A duke. He would soon have to accustom himself to this new position. All the ways he would protect the family name and interests as his father had not. He would protect what was his, the way he had failed to protect Rebecca.

Still, he knew how things were done, which was why he had invited his solicitor to his house rather than visiting the solicitor’s office. A duke would never take such things upon himself when he could compel the obedience of others.

His father had taught him that.

Foxwell, his butler, opened the door. “Your Grace.”

“Allow Foxwell to take you out,” Andrew said to Pritchard, “and he will ensure you receive the full payment.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Pritchard rose and left the room, the butler in tow.

Andrew linked his fingers together, hoping by God that he had done the right thing by the child.

“Lady Temperance Sutton and Lady Marwich to see you, miss,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy.

Then, she allowed the two ladies to enter the small drawing room where Jessamine currently sat, doing her best to occupy herself with a book. William had just gone down for a nap, and she had been enjoying—or trying to enjoy—a little solitude before he inevitably woke and began crying again.

“Jessamine,” Lady Marwich said, sweeping in with more than a little pomp and grandeur. “How are you faring?”

“Yes,” Temperance said, smiling slightly as she entered the room slightly after Lady Marwich. “I hope you’re not too tired.”

“Oh, she’ll be tired if I know anything about newborns,” Lady Marwich said sagely.

Jessamine rose to greet them. “I’m not so bad. Do you have any news?”

“As it happens, we do.” Lady Marwich sat. “The duke’s father.”

“Knightford?”

“As was, yes. He died rather suddenly, which necessitated the current duke to return home, because he had a commission in the army. He is the second-born son, not the heir. Carriage accident.” Lady Marwich pronounced the words with deliberation. “Father and son together.”

“Foul play?” Jessamine asked, eyes wide.

“Not that we can establish, though I have my eyes and ears out. But the one most likely to have a motive is the one least likely to have orchestrated such a thing. From what I understand, he was a lieutenant in the army, and distinguished himself well. He did not have time to gallivant about the country orchestrating accidents. No, it was merely a stroke of…well, shall I say good fortune?”

“Lady Marwich!” Temperance chided, hiding a smile.

“Things would have been markedly different if the older man had been alive, that’s for sure.” Lady Marwich fixed Jessamine with a stern look. “And you would not have the good fortune of shortly becoming a duchess.”

Jessamine grimaced. “I hardly had much choice in the matter.”

“It’s an excellent solution to a rather ugly problem. This allows you to care for William just as Rebecca would like.”

“And,” Temperance added, “he’s handsome.”

Jessamine scoffed before she could help herself. “As though that is of any importance. But how did you meet him?”

“He came by the Minerva House the other day to ask after Rebecca and her son,” Temperance said. “How he discovered she attended is beyond me! But I suppose some secrets slip through the net. He has a great deal of influence to throw around.”

“It’s odd, really,” Jessamine said contemplatively. “Rebecca and I spoke about our childhoods, but although she said she and her cousin were close as children, they were less so as they grew older.”

“That’s the way of many children,” Lady Marwich said knowingly. “Particularly when ladies marry and establish their own households, and young men are left free to do as they choose. Of course, the duke was hardly free to do as he chose, sold into the army as he was. And at such a young age.” She tutted. “A bad business, that. A younger son, I suppose, has less need for an education, but to deliver him into the less-than-loving hands of the army when he is still but a boy. That is not the act of a loving father.”

“Presumably,” Temperance said, “his father never expected him to inherit.”

“One must never rely on the constitution or general good luck of one’s eldest son.” Lady Marwich clacked her cane against the floor. “That’s a recipe for disaster. And shows lamentable lack of foresight.”

“So now I’m trapped with a man who has no experience running an estate or being a duke?” Jessamine demanded.

Lady Marwich waved a dismissive hand. “And you will be new to being a duchess. Do you expect him to snarl and complain about it? We must all deal with the hand we’ve been given. And, where possible, ask God to shuffle better cards.”

Jessamine and Temperance laughed, and Jessamine felt her spirits lift a little. No matter what she endured, she would always have her friends with her to catch her before she fell too far. And while Lady Marwich could occasionally be gruff, she was always kind, and having seen so much of the world, it was impossible not to be guided by her.

“Thank you both for coming,” she said, but before she could continue, there was a knock at the door.

The butler entered, stern and disapproving—he disapproved of everything Jessamine was, she suspected—and cleared his throat.

“The Duke of Knightford to see you, miss.”

Before Jessamine could command he be shown in, if she had even intended to do so, there were sounds of footsteps, and the duke himself appeared on the threshold. His brows came together upon seeing Lady Marwich and Temperance.

“Ladies,” he said, and bowed. “I wish to speak with Lady Jessamine privately, if I may.”

“Would you like me to remain as chaperone?” Lady Marwich asked, and Jessamine almost laughed.

Chaperone. As though the situation was somehow salvageable.

She would be marrying the duke no matter what anyone saw or thought. And there was no one here to cause a scandal at her being left alone with him, though she hardly feared a scandal much at all. That was why she had offered to take William; she did not fear the condemnation of the ton.

“It’s all right,” she said to her friend, attempting a smile. “I rather suspect the situation has gone beyond societal conventions.”

“Then we will take our leave.” Lady Marwich rose, eyeing the duke with curiosity but not disfavor. “And we will be sure to visit again. Temperance.”

Temperance also rose. “Good luck,” she whispered as the two ladies left the room.

The duke turned his narrowed eyes on Jessamine. “You have been spreading your location about your friends.”

“Not in the slightest. Lady Marwich and Temperance are my dearest friends, and I expect Irene—that is, the Duchess of Setton—told them.”

“No one should know your whereabouts,” he snapped.

“They will not spread it more widely. But it suits me to have friends who may visit to lift my spirits.”

He stared at her as though she had said something utterly incomprehensible. “Your spirits?”

“Yes, my spirits. This is hardly the situation I had expected myself to be in, and although I am grateful for Your Grace’s offer, it was not the marriage I had anticipated for myself.”

“Did you have some other aspiration?” he asked, his voice icy.

“I had not expected a grand title at all,” she retorted. “Nor a husband whom I don’t know and who has no real interest in me as a wife. But that is neither here nor there, because it is done, and we can hardly back out now. I merely…”

Heavens, she merely wished he were someone else. Someone rather less forbidding, who looked as though he could cast her into the ground with a single blow, though she had no expectation of him raising a hand against her.

She raised her chin. “I had not expected this, either.”

He took a single step toward her, covering most of the distance between them. Now, her tilted chin was a necessity to look up into his face.

“Do you suppose this was what I had expected for myself?” he asked.

“Not in the slightest. But you at least have some freedom.”

“Freedom?” He snorted. “I have not had freedom since I was in leading strings, and that freedom does not come now.”

“You are a duke.”

“And you think that means I can do whatever I please?” He leaned in closer still, boxing her against the sofa.

The scent of soap and cotton, of whatever musky scent he used, surrounded her. Her heart thudded in her chest, both at his proximity and the anger she saw simmering in his eyes. Not specifically at her, but certainly at his circumstances.

Oh no, he did not want to be here, sparring with her, or engaged to be married to her, or wanting anything to do with her.

Perhaps he had not even wanted the title at all.

“If you think that of the world,” he murmured, his gaze skimming across her eyes, her nose, her mouth, “then no wonder you thought it possible to care for William yourself.”

“Are you calling me naïve, sir?”

“Of course I am.” His gaze, hot now, dragged back up to hers, and she felt something loosen in the pit of her stomach. “Your ignorance has meant we are now bound together.”

“Not yet. I have yet to marry you.”

“Oh, and you’ll go back on your word?” His voice was low and dangerous.

No. There was no way she could refuse now, not if she wanted to keep William.

“No, Your Grace,” she said, raising her chin a little more, determined not to let his proximity, and his heat, shake her. “But I will accept this burden so long as I am able to care for William.”

“Burden,” he repeated. “To be a duchess.”

“To be married to you.” She reached up and planted both hands on his chest, pushing him back. “When you are overbearing, arrogant, and⁠—”

A small, thin cry interrupted her flurry of insults. She paused, her hands still braced against the duke’s chest, as she listened. A second wail followed the first, and she dropped her hands, argument forgotten.

William had awoken.

She hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber, not even considering the fact that the duke was right on her heels. William lay in his crib, swaddled in white, his face red and screwed up with displeasure. The nursemaid had emerged from the small room adjoining this one, but at the sight of Jessamine, she stepped back.

Jessamine scooped the small boy into her arms and cradled him close. “There now,” she soothed, swaying gently. “There now, my beautiful boy. Are you upset? I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

The duke watched her, offering nothing, but also without criticism. There could be worse things, she realized. For all her anger, he had not yet attempted to change how she approached William’s care.

Eventually, the boy settled, and Jessamine called for the nursemaid to nurse him in case he was hungry.

“It has been a few hours since his last feed, I think,” she said, glancing at the clock.

“Of course, miss.” The nursemaid held out her arms, and Jessamine placed a now-quiet William into them.

She beckoned for the duke to follow her back down the stairs and into the drawing room.

He pursed his lips. “I still dislike the fact that more people know you’re here. You must be careful, Lady Jessamine. If not for your sake, then for William’s. I am crafting a story to assure his legitimacy in the eyes of the ton, but if anyone discovers him to be here with you, then it will call everything into question.”

Jessamine’s temper quietened a little. “I understand. I can be discreet, you know. I have had to be most of my life, thanks to my father.”

At the mention of her father, the duke’s frown grew more pronounced. “Would that I had nothing to do with him,” he muttered, and shook his head. “You may not wish to obey me, but as my wife, you will be expected to adhere to a certain level of behavior, and I will hold you accountable.”

“You may not order me around, Your Grace!”

“That is precisely what I can do.” He loomed over her, eyes piercing. “I hope not to have to, and I hope you will have more sense than to open us both up to public ridicule, but should you make the attempt for any misguided reason, then I will use my authority. Do you understand? I will not trifle with William’s future.”

His gaze bored into hers, but there was the spark of something hot that grew when she returned his glare and folded her arms.

“I do not operate well under misplaced authority, sir.” She raised her chin, and for a frightening, giddy, almost desperate moment, she thought he might kiss her. Her pulse beat suddenly, traitorously, and she drew a deep breath to control it. “You would do well to remember it.”

He snarled something that felt more like a furious growl than anything involving words, and stalked from the room.

Andrew scowled at Nicholas, sitting opposite him with five cards neatly splayed in his hands. “You are not helping.”

“On the contrary, my dear fellow, I think I am doing admirably.” Nicholas Green, the Marquess of Mirthby, played a jack. “You have chosen a bride. I am merely suggesting what to do with her.”

“I am not going to do anything with her. She will be the mother of my ward.”

“Yes, yes, how very honorable. But this is the first time you have been back in Society since…” Nicholas raised a brow. “Tell me, dear friend, how long has it been?”

Andrew grunted.

Years.

His father had ensured that he would not easily escape the shackles he’d been placed in, and in many ways, he didn’t mind. The army was not an easy place to live, but it was also rewarding, and he had done well for himself. If he had not left, he would have become captain, and he had spent some time in small villages and the like where he’d been stationed. Only London, and the Society that came with it, had been utterly out of his reach.

“Years of nothing but camp followers,” Nicholas said pointedly, referring to the women who followed army regiments, offering services both domestic and otherwise.

Andrew had found one particular woman and decided to pay for her exclusivity, as he wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t contract a disease from a woman who took on a few too many clients. Maria had been her name, but their nights were purely transactional. Nothing more.

“Now you will have a wife,” Nicholas continued. “And, having seen her, I can confirm she is a beauty.”

Andrew’s scowl grew even more pronounced. Jessamine was pretty, or more correctly, beautiful, but it was not her beauty that would make it harder for him to keep his distance. No, it was the stubbornness in the set of her mouth—and the flash of challenge in her eyes—that refused to leave his mind. Which would perhaps make it harder for him to keep his distance.

“No matter Lady Jessamine’s physical appeal or lack of it, that is not the purpose of my marriage.”

“That is rarely the purpose of marriage for people like us, but that does not prevent it from being a rather definite positive. You may as well take the advantages where they fall. Unless you are on the hunt for a mistress instead?” His friend grinned. “You have been out of London for some time, but I can furnish you with some recommendations if you⁠—”

“No.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Completely.” Andrew glared at his friend. “And I’m rethinking your invitation to the wedding.”

“Can’t do that, old chap. You’re stuck with me. Besides, I imagine the new duke taking a bride will be the object of some speculation. Unless, of course, you happened to have someone actively turning away the curious.” Nicholas brushed invisible lint from his sleeves. “A good friend might be tempted to do you such a favor, if you were to ask.”

And that was why Andrew and Nicholas had remained friends for so long. Although Nicholas liked the finer things in life—wine, women, and cards—he somehow knew exactly what people needed, and he offered his services to do it, in a roundabout way.

If it were not for Nicholas, Andrew knew the church would be full of curious faces staring at them. But with Nicholas present, the church would only have the people Andrew could not avoid inviting. Namely, his bride-to-be’s family.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly.

“Say nothing of it. Another round, then? Let us drink until the sun comes up and toast to your future.” He poured another glass and raised it to Andrew. “To your wedding, and all that may come after.” He waggled his brows.

Andrew rolled his eyes, but he raised his glass to Nicholas and tapped it with a definitive clink, wondering just what his marriage would entail.

Chapter Five

“You look wonderful,” Irene assured her.

Jessamine had imagined, perhaps hopefully, that something would occur between her unconventional proposal and the wedding day to cancel the entire event. But to her dismay, she found herself dressed in wedding clothes and making her way to the small church where they were to hold the ceremony.

She touched the golden silk of her skirts. As she’d had no time to go looking for wedding clothes, Irene had taken it upon herself to furnish Jessamine’s wardrobe, including this rather spectacular yellow silk dress which she was to walk down the aisle with.

“And some unmentionables,” she’d added with a wink when explaining what she’d purchased. “For after.”

Jessamine only had a vague idea what after might entail in an ordinary marriage, but she suspected that Irene didn’t understand the true nature of this union. This was not a love match, such as the marriage her sister shared with Henry. Nor was it a marriage in which they were eager to create an heir as soon as possible. The duke already had his heir in William; there was no need for any more at present.

Which meant he would not be visiting her bed. She was fairly sure that would be the arrangement.

At least, so she hoped.

Henry smiled at her reassuringly from the other side of the carriage. Both he and Irene seemed to think her quietness stemmed from nerves, rather than from a distaste for the entire arrangement. And she had left William behind. Though she had been looking after him for barely more than a week, she felt as though she had never been without a baby, and the thought of spending almost the full day without him made her feel queasy inside.

The carriage came to a smooth stop.

“We’re here,” Irene said, and as the door opened, she climbed stiffly down. “I had better check on Kate and ensure Button hasn’t destroyed anything.”

Henry sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who had been pushed beyond his endurance. “That dog,” he muttered under his breath.

Button, a male English Mastiff, had been found on Henry’s estate as a puppy, and Katherine, his eleven-year-old sister, had immediately fallen in love with him. Instead of being used for hunting, as intended, he had become a somewhat unruly pet, and never left Kate’s side.

Frankly, Jessamine was astonished he had even been allowed into the church.

“He will be keeping her company,” she said with a small, private smile.

“He will be causing mayhem, that’s what. But she knows she is a duke’s sister and can get away with anything.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and looked at Jessamine again. “How do you feel?”

“Oh no.” Jessamine held up a hand. “I’ve already had this conversation with Irene, and I will not have it with you, too. I am getting married because I have no choice in the matter, and I am resigned to my fate.”

“I’ve been making investigations, and he’s not a bad man. Stern, perhaps, but honorable. The fact he offered for you at all proves that he’s honorable.”

Jessamine nodded, allowing Henry to hand her from the carriage. The church door, an otherwise unassuming object, seemed to loom before her.

“He might be honorable,” she agreed, “but he is also disagreeable. And more to the point, he’s a stranger, and I must now live my life with him.”

“There are worse things,” Henry said seriously. “A good man makes for a good husband, and a woman could do much worse for herself than to marry an honorable duke.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

“Anything for family.” He smiled at her.

Then, Henry offered her his arm, and they entered the church.

The organ played, and faces turned toward her. Mostly her dear ones—Irene and Kate, with Button sitting lazily beside her, then Temperance and Lady Marwich, and a tall gentleman she didn’t know.

And at the end of the aisle, the Duke of Knightford stood in all his formidable glory. His coat was impeccably tailored to the wide set of his shoulders, and the sheer height of him sent a shiver through her.

He was a strong man. Powerful. And it sent a new thrill through her body.

If he were a trifle less handsome, Jessamine felt as though she could bear this match more. The fact was, he was one of the most sternly handsome gentlemen she had ever met, and when he rested his sharp, blue eyes on her, she shivered a little.

He watched her approach calmly, and she felt a little as though she had stepped out of her skin and watched herself from above. The slow, definite progress of her feet down the aisle.

When she reached the end, the duke reached down to tuck her veil back over her head, and he came into even better focus.

This was the beginning of something irreversible. She wanted to turn and run away, to scream at herself that if she went through with this, she could never turn back.

When this was over, she would be his wife.

A light shone in his eyes as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, but he merely gestured for the ceremony to go ahead.

The wedding breakfast took place at the duke’s townhouse, a grand affair with a dining room larger than the entire apartment Jessamine had been staying in this whole time. The table groaned with far too much food for the few guests to eat, and Jessamine stood to one side, feeling out of place in this grand affair.

To be sure, in her silk, she looked as though she belonged. But she was a duchess now, and nothing about that fact felt as though it could be true.

A duchess. A duchess.

If she kept repeating it to herself, perhaps she would come to believe it.

Across the room, the duke spoke quietly with the butler, no doubt conferring about the arrangements.

“What is it?” Irene asked, sipping at her fruit punch. “You are standing in the corner, frowning.”

“Do you suppose William is all right?”

Irene raised her brows. “William will be fine, dearest. He has the nursemaid, and you know she is perfectly capable.”

“I’ve not left him for this long before. What if he is stressed without me?”

“Well, he’ll be with you soon. And then you can spend all your time with him, if you so desire.”

“I do so desire,” Jessamine said. “That was the entire purpose of marrying the duke.”

Kate approached, Button in tow. The enormous Mastiff licked Jessamine’s hand in greeting, and she fondled his ears.

“The groom didn’t kiss the bride,” Kate informed Jessamine, looking as though this fact was very remiss. “When Henry married Irene, he kissed the bride.”

“Well, that’s because they were in love,” Jessamine said, but before she could explain any more, the duke approached with a dark-haired man by his side.

The stranger was the only man Jessamine didn’t already know.

“Jessamine,” he said crisply, thankfully having done away with his Lady Jessamine. “This is my good friend Nicholas Green, the Marquess of Mirthby.”

Jessamine dipped into a curtsy. “Lord Mirthby.”

“Do call me Nicholas. We are all friends here, are we not? And if we aren’t, I think perhaps we should be.”

His eyes twinkled at her as he offered her a roguish, charming grin. Very different from the stoic duke behind him. Jessamine wondered how two such different men could have come to be such good friends.

“You are twice as beautiful as I was led to believe, duchess,” Nicholas added. “My congratulations on your marriage.”

The duke sighed. “Must you, Nicholas?”

“This is Lady Katherine Punton, my sister-in-law,” Jessamine said, gesturing at Kate, who stared up at the duke in clear mistrust.

Jessamine prayed she would not bring up the lack of kissing. Kissing the duke was the very last thing she wanted to think about. Yet she suspected it would not be all that bad, which was yet another reason to avoid the prospect altogether.

“Kate,” the girl corrected, evidently deciding the duke was worthy of her favor. “You must be good to Aunt Jessie, Your Grace. Don’t hurt her, or I will set Button on you.”

Button, obligingly, let out a deep bark.

The duke stared at Kate, then at the dog, and Jessamine closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable cruel set-down.

Instead, the duke crouched, looking seriously up at Kate. “Will you now?”

“Oh yes. Button has a mean bite,” Kate assured him.

“Kate!” Irene scolded.

“No, no, ma’am, it’s quite all right.” The duke told Irene before turning back to Kate. “It’s important I understand the possible consequences. But you have my word that I will do everything in my power to ensure that I do not hurt Jessamine. Does that suffice, my lady?”

Openly delighted at being addressed in such a way, Kate pretended to think about it for a moment, then nodded. “It shall suffice, Your Grace. Thank you.”

“Capital,” he said, just as gravely. Jessamine found that the way he had spoken to Kate, rather unexpectedly, made her chest warm a little.

“Thank you,” she said quietly to him as Irene led Kate away to the buffet table. “She and I have gotten close since I moved to London, and I know she only wants the best for her.”

Andrew nodded, the movement crisp, offering no explanation or commentary. All the gentleness and ease he had adopted for Kate’s sake evaporated, and all Jessamine could think was that they were married, and everyone in the room expected certain things from them.

Things she had no intention of giving.

All too soon, the wedding breakfast came to an end, and the guests began to leave. Temperance pulled Jessamine into a hug, and Lady Marwich rested a hand on her shoulder. “Remember,” she said, her gaze drilling into Jessamine. “You are a duchess now. Don’t forget it.”

Button barked his farewell, and the butler shut the door on the remainder of the guests.

They were alone, in a house full of servants Jessamine didn’t know. Fortunately, at that moment, the nursemaid arrived with William in his little basket. Relief flooded through Jessamine, and she scooped him into his arms, holding him close. The duke’s gaze was on her, but she did her best to ignore him.

“I ought to officially introduce you to the staff now the boy is here,” he said, and rang the bellpull.

It took a few moments for the staff to assemble themselves along the wall, but they did so, and Andrew stood before them with his hands behind his back.

“This is my wife and your new mistress,” he said, nodding at Jessamine. “You will treat her with the deference and respect her position deserves.”

There was a low murmur of agreement, and the housekeeper, a plump woman with a hooked nose and kind eyes, gave Jessamine a reassuring smile.

“As of today,” Andrew continued, “I have taken my cousin’s son as my ward. As of now, this boy is the heir to the duchy. Both his father and mother are deceased, and the duchess and I will be caring for him as our own. I expect you to treat him as you would treat my blood heir. His name is William Kinley.”

Kinley. Jessamine stared at Andrew. So he had given William his name as well? That was probably safer; once he bore Andrew’s name, no one would bother to look any further, and any questions about his heritage would be answered with that alone. But it proved he was serious about caring for William as his own.

The butler, a stern man named Foxwell, introduced the staff in slow, ponderous terms. Jessamine forgot almost all their names save for Mrs. Bragg, the housekeeper. Lucy, the nursemaid, was to be integrated as a member of the permanent staff, at least until William no longer needed nursing.

“Now then, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bragg said, coming forward with another of her smiles. “Foxwell informs me you don’t have a lady’s maid of your own? Now that you’re a duchess, we’ll find one for you, but until then I will appoint Locke as your maid. She’s a willing worker and has an eye for the aesthetic. Shall we take that young boy upstairs? I’ll show you where everything is.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jessamine said, relieved. “I should very much like to get along.”

“That we will, Your Grace; you need not worry about that. It’s been far too long since this house has had a woman in charge, and let me tell you, I have felt the deprivation sorely.” She climbed the stairs and led Jessamine to what she called the west wing, in which the duke and duchess’s suites were located.

“You have a bedchamber, a dressing room, and the duke instructed the nursery be moved right next door, here,” she explained, opening the door to the nursery in question, with a small crib, a bed for the nursemaid, and everything they might need.

And the duke had requested it be brought here, so she might access it more easily from her room.

“Thank you,” Jessamine said.

“We want to do everything we can to ensure both you and the young master are comfortable here,” Mrs. Bragg said. “If there’s anything else you need, all you should do is tell us.”

“I will, thank you.”

The remainder of the house tour took some time and revealed very little. Like many other townhouses, there were several floors, and the house contained a parlor, a drawing room, a dining room, a library, a small study, a ballroom and several bedrooms.

Jessamine’s bedchamber opened into the duke’s; theirs was, after all, the duke and duchess’s suite. She eyed the door with disfavor. She’d given up certain expectations of privacy when she agreed to this marriage, and she could only hope the duke would keep his word and not… require anything of her.

Locke, the head housemaid who would also be functioning as Jessamine’s lady’s maid, was unpacking Jessamine’s clothes, and smiled in a friendly way. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Jessamine, who had just put William down for a feed and a nap, slumped in the large armchair before the fire. She would have, she estimated, around an hour or so before William awoke again, which would be just enough time for a small nap.

“His Grace has requested you join him for dinner,” Locke said, sliding a gown into the wardrobe. “Do you have a particular dress you would like to wear?”

“Dinner?” Jessamine stared at Locke in horror. “What do you mean? I should be staying here, with William.”

“But it’s your…” Locke trailed off, obviously unsure. “I’m afraid His Grace did not frame this as a request, Your Grace.”

In other words, Jessamine had no choice. So this was what her life with the duke would be like: filled with his commands and everyone’s assumption that she would obey them.

She considered disobeying him and remaining up in her rooms with William, which was where she belonged. She had not married Andrew so they could sit and eat dinner awkwardly together.

Locke looked at her, a trace of anxiety in the other woman’s face, and Jessamine realized it would reflect badly on Locke if she chose not to attend. No doubt the maid would be punished, and that would be on Jessamine’s conscience as well.

“Very well,” she said stiffly. “I will attend. But I have no particular preference as to my gown.”

Locke beamed. “I will make you look the part, ma’am. You will dazzle His Grace, no mistake.”

Jessamine sincerely hoped she wouldn’t.

Chapter Six

Andrew checked his pocket watch as he sat at the head of the table.

Dinner was at eight, and he had sent a reminder up to Jessamine at seven, in case she should get carried away in her duties toward the child. There were certain expectations that they both, as duke and duchess, ought to uphold, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that happened. No matter his bride’s reluctance.

They would, on occasion, eat together. The staff expected it, and servants gossiped. Always. He had certain expectations, and he would always adhere to them.

And she was late.

Punctuality was the most basic demonstration of respect, and he felt irritation grow in his chest as he stared at the door and waited for Jessamine to appear.

Finally, ten minutes after dinner was supposed to start, she appeared in the doorway.

Andrew stood out of habit, but his mind was entirely occupied by her appearance. Her maid must have forcibly sat her down in order to curl her hair into a flurry of perfect ringlets, and her chosen gown, a soft pink, clung to her curves.

His new wife was generously apportioned. The delectable curve of her breasts showed just above the neckline of her dress, and the flare of her hips meant that her thighs pressed against the thin material of her dress.

Of course he knew she wore at least a chemise underneath. Yet his imagination still plagued him with thoughts of that soft silk sliding against soft, bare skin.

He cleared his throat. “You are late.”

“I did not want to be here at all.” She swept in a swirl of perfume to the other set place on the table. Far away from him. Good. They ought to speak about the future, and he needed his wits about him, not distracted by just how appealing his new wife was.

Damn it, Nicholas was right.

But he was not an animal.

“We are husband and wife, and dinner is a convenient time to discuss everything that must be discussed. That way, we can ensure we are always in accord when it comes to making decisions.”

She raised a brow at him, but the footmen served them, and she leaned back in her chair, falling silent again. It was only when the servants left that Andrew felt the full extent of the silence. It draped about them like a shroud.

Still, there was much to be discussed.

“Rebecca said you were close when you were both young,” she ventured.

The mention of Rebecca was a knife slicing through him, and he gripped his knife more firmly than necessary. “Indeed. How are you finding the arrangements for William?”

“Perfectly well, thank you.” Her nostrils flared, and he had the impression she was fighting herself for something before she said, “Mrs. Bragg said you had asked for the nursery to be placed beside my bedchamber. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” That had been a practical arrangement that had just made sense to establish. “It will be easier for you to establish a meaningful routine with him if you are closer.”

“A meaningful routine?” Jessamine paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and stared at him. “He is a baby. His needs dictate the routine.”

“Perhaps now, but that will change over the coming weeks and months.” Andrew laced his fingers together. “I expect we shall have many conversations about the best practices to raise a child as we learn more, but while you may have anything you desire, William will receive what he needs here. This household is one of order. I like things to happen according to a schedule, and I will teach my second cousin these things. That schedule begins now, with a strict routine of feeding and napping. At six months of age, his lessons will begin. At first, we will focus on talking, and when he can hold a pen, handwriting and arithmetic will follow. I have an itemized list.”

“Naturally.” Her mouth twitched down. “And where in that list is ‘fun?’ Or ‘freedom?’”

“Fun and freedom do not teach a boy the things he needs to know.”

“I disagree. What he needs more than anything, now and in the future, is love and freedom. Do you not want him to be happy?”

Now it was Andrew’s turn to stare at her in frustration. Freedom did not broker happiness; his brother was a perfect illustration of that. George had been a wild boy, hardly handled by his father, given all the freedom to make the mistakes he would, and he had made vast collections of them.

As the younger son, Andrew had been given far less leave to make mistakes, and he was grateful for that. It allowed his character to be built, and George had just stepped from one misery of his own creation to another.

Of course, George was his father’s golden child, capable of doing no wrong in his eyes, but that had not made either of them happy. Happiness, Andrew had long ago decided, was something no man could ever fully obtain, and it was foolish to try.

He would do his duty. And he would do said duty in far better ways than his father had ever achieved. Perhaps he would not be what the world expected of him—nor did he care to be—but he would be fair to the people who relied on him, and he would be a guiding hand in William’s life.

That was all he could ever hope for. Wanting more had been systematically forced from his system; he could not remember how it felt to want something utterly forbidden to him.

Aside from Jessamine, of course. But matters of the flesh were not the same thing as matters of the heart.

“You perhaps do not understand,” he said, but her eyes flashed, and she placed her fork down with a clatter.

“I understand perfectly. Do you think I was never a child, or I never grew up around children? I daresay I saw more children in their formative years than you have.”

“While sojourning in Scotland?”

“Don’t make it sound as though it was a charming little trip when I was essentially exiled there. I regret nothing about my life, but it was not easy.” She pushed up from her chair, and once again he stood out of habit, anger igniting in his chest.

“I never implied it was easy, but I will not have my suggestions dismissed so readily.”

“Will you not?” She stormed over to him, planting a hand on the table and leaning up to him.

If it was an attempt to intimidate, she had a lot to learn. Perhaps it wasn’t an attempt to seduce, but she was certainly enticing enough to make the success of that venture immediate.

Her lips parted, presumably in outrage, but the sight of them sent a bolt of lust right through him. She was pretty at all times, but especially now, with this new rage running through her.

“Your suggestions are a recipe for making him miserable,” she continued, magnificent in her anger, and prodded his chest with her free hand. “And I will not allow you to suffocate the poor child as he grows.”

Andrew caught her wrist, her bones so fragile in his fingers. Life in the army did not make anyone soft. And for Andrew, it had hardened him into a dozen different diamond edges, and the feel of her soft skin under his made his pulse quicken, and his mind wander to far darker and forbidden places…

Such as her lips parting, and her breath coming faster⁠—

Andrew firmly halted that thought.

“He will not be suffocated,” Andrew said, clearly and distinctly. “The duty and privilege of parents, as we have now become, is to shape the new generation into being the best for the Dukedom we can. I will have an heir who will do right by the people he manages. Do you suppose an estate like this is easy to handle? He must have discipline, and it will make him happier, too, in time. The happiest soldiers are the ones for whom discipline comes easily.”

“He is not a soldier,” she cried. “He is a baby.”

“Babies grow into boys, and boys grow into men.”

“What of fun, then?” she demanded, looking straight up at him.

He had the temptation to grab her chin and crush her lips with his. Would she use that bold mouth of hers to protest him then, or did she feel this same pull?

If he kissed her now, he would be tempted to lay her across the dining table and feast on her instead of the food his cook had prepared.

The force of his lust took him by surprise. Their marriage was a front, a means of providing William with a mother. They had nothing else in common.

“What of fun?” he asked, returning to the conversation.

“Young boys require fun. To be happy. Fun and laughter and love.”

“That sounds like a recipe for ill-disciplined, spoiled⁠—”

“Ensuring William is happy is not the same as spoiling him! But a child should have the things he wants and needs.”

“The things he needs, certainly. But no one should have all the things they want all the time. That is not how life works, Jessamine. If you spoil him too much, you are setting him up to fail. Believe me, I know.”

She drew herself up to her full height, looking up at him from dizzying proximity. “I would rather he be spoiled and happy than denied, neglected, and miserable. I will not allow you to be cruel to him!”

“You—”

She raised a hand, pressing her finger to his lips. Instinctively, he quietened, shocked by the intimacy and the confidence of the gesture. Her gaze moved past him, upstairs, listening. After a moment, he caught it, too: the slight sound of a baby’s cry.

“I should go to him,” she said, stepping away. “Do not try to stop me.”

Andrew did not. he stayed where he was, motionless, as her footsteps disappeared upstairs. Then he returned to the dinner they had ruined.

Sipping his wine, he thought about the days ahead and wondered, for the first time, how well he would weather them. Or rather, if he would manage to weather them at all.

Jessamine curled her legs up in bed, pretending to read the book in her lap but really glancing at the door between her suite and Andrew’s. It remained closed. Every time she thought about what might happen if he opened it, a new thrill ran through her.

A bad thrill. One which she did actively not want. Because she did not, under any circumstances, want Andrew to visit her tonight. They had agreed, more or less, that he would not. The marriage was one of convenience, and they had no immediate need for children. There would be no reason for Andrew to sire an heir—at least, not at present—and he had made it plain that his interest in her started and ended with what she could do for William.

And even that, it seemed, was limited, given their argument earlier.

She drew her legs to her body and hugged them, book forgotten.

If he continued in this awful, high-handed way, they were going to clash even more. Rebecca would not want her son to be treated as a little soldier, created only for the purpose of commanding and expecting instant obedience.

Rebecca was no longer there to advocate for William, but Jessamine was, and she would not fail him.

She glanced across at the open door leading to William’s room. For now, he slumbered, but if this was like any of the other nights she’d spent with him, he would awaken, needing to be fed or changed or perhaps both. And she would not hesitate.

“I miss you,” she whispered to the empty room, aiming the words at Rebecca. “How can your cousin be so very different from you? I thought he might love William, but I doubt that now. How can I continue in a marriage with a man who does not love your son? Our son,” she corrected. “He will always be your son first. But he is mine second. I have claimed him. I will always claim him, no matter what he truly is to me. Brother or not.”

She rolled over, blowing out the candle.

Next door, she heard Andrew’s footsteps creaking away.

He was not coming to her.

Good.

“I don’t know how I will survive this marriage,” she murmured as though Rebecca were right beside her. “What on earth am I to do about that, Rebecca?”

The empty room remained silent.

And Andrew did not come to visit her.

Chapter Seven

Andrew could not have been the duke for very long, but he evidently had a firm way of running things—she might even say strict—because for the first week, Jessamine felt as though she were a spare cog in a very well-oiled machine.

The servants moved about her with precision; breakfast was served at nine precisely, and if she arrived late, she often found them packing her a tray. If she came early, there was no breakfast to be found, and the footmen sheepishly informed her that the duke had instructed them to provide breakfast precisely when he required it.

The same happened at dinner. For lunch, he often ate out at one of his clubs, and Jessamine was more easily able to request some bread and cakes be sent to her in the middle of the afternoon without fearing she was disturbing the duke’s routine.

Because, it seemed, he did not differ from that routine. After breakfast until perhaps one, he worked in his study. At one, he left the house, presumably to visit one of his gentlemen’s clubs for lunch, or perhaps for something else—Jessamine did not ask, and she did not particularly care. When he returned, at five or six, he would change, and dinner would be served at eight on the dot.

If Jessamine was late, he would not scold her, but treat her to a glare.

Breakfast and dinner were the two meals they were expected to share together. Except, of course, as she had predicted, William did not adhere to a schedule. In fact, his needs often overlapped with Andrew’s rigid mealtimes.

The first time she was more than a few minutes late to dinner, he came up to find her in the nursery, cradling a screaming infant against her shoulder and singing a lullaby under her breath. He froze in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

“He won’t sleep.” Jessamine huffed hair out of her eyes as she walked back and forth, feeling as though she was wearing a hole through the carpet. Her arms and legs felt like lead, and her eyes were gritty. “I’ll come down as soon as he goes to sleep.”

Andrew surveyed her with an irritated expression. “He ought to get accustomed to sleeping by himself. Put him down and come to dinner.”

“If I put him down now, he will not settle, and I can’t eat while he’s up here screaming.”

“Does he need feeding?”

“No.”

“Can the nursemaid not do it?”

“She has been with him half the day,” Jessamine snapped. “And she has her own children too, you know. Not to nurse, but to care for. How do you think she still has milk? She has been caring for William excellently, but she must also think of her own children.”

Andrew’s expression set, and Jessamine wondered if he had considered this. That nursemaids did not merely exist outside of any other consideration.

No doubt he had not.

His gaze fell on the pots of herbs Jessamine had placed beside William’s crib. Their fragrance filled the room. “What are these?” he demanded.

“They are merely there to help him sleep and reduce his chances of nightmares.” Jessamine jutted her jaw. She’d had lavender beside her bed ever since she had moved to Scotland, and its soft perfume had lulled her to sleep when she had thought she would never rest again. Even now, the scent sent a wave of peace through her tense body. “It should help him rest.”

“Nonsense.” Andrew picked up the small pots and tossed their contents into the fire. “Do not make the mistake of listening to nursery tales and mistaking it for medical certainty, Jessamine.”

“I am doing no such thing,” she fired back. “These are all used in Scotland.”

“And does Scotland know better than the best medical professionals in the land?”

“There is something to be said for old medicinal cures.” If she were not holding William, she would have put her hands on her hips. Already, her fury at his having disposed of her herbs—her lavender and sage and valerian root—made her want to hurl something at his smug face. “Imagine presuming you know best when you do so little of the work, Your Grace.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then pass the child to me.”

“As though I should! You would merely dispose of him in his crib and inform me that we are going downstairs now, because his crying interferes with your schedule. When I’m sorry that this infant has not yet developed a sense of your precious discipline, but I will not punish him for it.”

Andrew sighed in impatience. “Then what do you intend, Jessamine?”

“To sing to him,” she said simply. “As I was doing before you ever arrived.”

His jaw set, but she turned her back on him, swaying gently as she crooned one of the old lullabies she’d heard countless times in Braemar from nursemaids and mothers and old scullery maids with gnarled fingers. They all sang to the babes, to quieten them and settle them and to protect them from evil spirits.

Jessamine did not believe in spirits, but she did believe in the power of song to soothe.

William blinked his large blue eyes up at her as he listened, and eventually they closed slowly, lulled into slumber.

Jessamine grinned in triumph and placed the sleeping infant down in his crib.

Andrew still stood in the doorway, listening to her with an odd expression on his face. She swept past him, tugging him out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Come, Your Grace,” she said, grinning to herself. “If you’re not careful, we shall be late to dinner.”

The next time Andrew ventured into William’s room, he found the boy sleeping in his crib.

Jessamine must have immediately gone into her bedchamber, and so Andrew stood alone in the middle of the room. He’d heard the strains of her singing from below, and had thought to come and listen, but he’d just missed it.

At first, he hadn’t thought the singing would do much, especially in what sounded like a foreign tongue, but there could be no doubt the boy responded to it.

The herbs were back, too. Bunches of lavender and sage tied together, and something brown and almost bark-like in quality in a small pot. He’d tossed them away, and she had returned them to their place without consulting him, going so far as to tie the bunches of lavender and sage to the bars of the crib.

Andrew raised a brow, but rather than throw them away, he leaned in to examine them a little more closely. William slept soundly, and the soft fragrance of lavender surrounded him. For a moment, he was reminded of his mother. She had kept dried lavender in a pouch on her person, and whenever she had embraced him, he had smelled it.

A strange longing overcame him, and he moved away, banishing the feeling. This was not about his mother. But Jessamine clearly had a reason for putting the herbs there, and he could not believe it nefarious.

He slipped quietly from the room and went downstairs to the library, scouring the shelves until he finally found what he was looking for: a comprehensive collection of the natural herbal remedies of England. A book he suspected his mother had left there.

Sitting before the empty fireplace, ignoring his otherwise strict routine, he began to read.

Jessamine arched her back, exhausted, as she made her way through the house to the library. This was the one time of day, in late afternoon, when her time was wholly hers. Every day for the past three days, she came to the library—safe in the knowledge that Andrew did not spend these hours at home—and read a novel.

Not for long, of course. William required a great deal of care and intervention, and she refused to let others take over the role that ought to be hers. But just for a little while.

When she entered the library, however, she came up short. Andrew had not left the house, after all. No, he was sitting in an armchair, one ankle hooked over his knee, reading a book in his lap.

She hovered in the doorway, suddenly reluctant to relinquish her own routine. If she left now, what was she do to?

As though hearing the force of her thoughts, he glanced up and met her gaze.

Her stomach immediately squirmed. There was something about the sternness of his face when he looked at her that made her instincts kick in. Fight or flight.

When it came to Andrew, she so often chose fight. But there was something else under her skin, something even more terrifying than the anger and resentment.

When he looked at her in that way he had, it made her think of terrible things she ought never to. What it might feel like to have that strong, big body pressed against hers, his big hands on her face, her waist, his mouth on hers.

In her daydreams, though she resented herself for it, she found herself enjoying those moments.

“Jessamine,” he said. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

He half rose, closing the book he was reading. She caught a glimpse of a green illustration on the front, and her irritation dissolved into curiosity.

“What are you reading?”

“Oh, this?” He tucked the book out of sight. “Nothing in particular. Just whiling away time.”

“You usually go out during the afternoon.”

“I do,” he said, replacing the book carefully on the shelf. She made a careful note of where it was so she could find it later. “Today, I changed my mind.”

“Altering your routine?” She raised a brow at him. “How odd.”

“Yes, I realize it must be strange for you. But please, don’t let me get in the way of whatever you had intended to do. I would hate to intrude on your time.” He bowed slightly and moved as though he was about to leave.

For a reason she could not fathom, Jessamine placed a hand on his arm. “Shall we declare a truce?”

“A truce?” His brows came together as he looked down into her face.

There was something so forbidding about the severity of his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. He was a man carved as though from ice, with no softness to be seen, save for the occasional softness around his mouth and eyes when he looked at William.

That very softness was now why she offered this truce.

“I know you disagree with the way I choose to raise William,” she said, “but he is none the worse for it, and I think he would if I went about things differently. Even if you disagree, surely you can accept things the way they are?”

“I do accept them,” he said unexpectedly. “I will not fight you on this, so long as I perceive no harm coming to him.”

“I would do nothing to harm him. And,” she added, “neither would you. After I informed you that our nursemaid has her own children and family, you gave her an extra half day off a week. I know it, and you know it, though that means you have had to hire another nursemaid for that single day, so William may still be fed.”

She had overheard the interview, where Andrew had calmly informed the nursemaid of William’s current feeding and napping schedule, and what her duties would be.

Jessamine hadn’t known he had paid so much attention, but evidently he had. Mealtimes, too, were different. While the food was still prepared for the same times, he would come up to check with her to see if William was likely to settle in time, and if not, he prepared a tray for her and had someone bring it.

Those small gestures, along with the way he sometimes tiptoed into William’s room just to, one would presume, look at the baby, suggested Andrew was not as cold-hearted as Jessamine had first suspected.

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Believe it or not, I am not regularly cruel to my servants, and I do what I can to support them. I am not my f—” He cut himself off. “I am not a tyrant.”

“So will you enter a truce with me?” She stuck out her hand.

After a long moment, he took it, his fingers engulfing hers. “I was not aware we were at war.”

“Were you not? Is that not what marriage is?” She smiled at him, and for the first time, she thought she saw the tiniest hint of a smile in return. “Marriage is a never-ending battle.”

“How long will this truce last, then?”

“Until we next find something to disagree over, which is to say, not very long at all. But for now, we should take advantage of it.” She nodded to his armchair. “Read. I will read as well, and then we may get on with our day in our respective ways.”

For a moment, his fingers tightened on hers, and she wondered if he would reject her offer. Arguing was certainly a state they were more familiar with, and she rather suspected part of him enjoyed the arguments. Having her present peace as an option was perhaps unsettling.

But then his mouth twitched again, and he dropped her hand. “I fear remaining in the same room as you for too long would disrupt our truce sooner than necessary. Enjoy your break, Jessamine. It’s well-deserved.”

He bowed and left the room.

Jessamine stared after him. Would this fragile truce hold, or would it break at the first possible moment?

Chapter Eight

Andrew wasn’t entirely sure what had woken him. He lay in the darkness for a moment before the urgency in his chest compelled him to rise. He strode through his bedroom, paused at the door leading into his wife’s chambers, then moved for the door that opened into the corridor instead.

The moment he stepped out, he realized the source of his disturbance.

A baby’s cry echoing through the house.

He didn’t pause, moving through to the nursery. A single lamp was lit by the window, and Jessamine paced, William in her arms. This was a familiar sight, but what was less familiar was the sight of his wife in her nightclothes, the thin fabric catching on her nipples and hugging the generous curves of her backside.

He blinked, forcing any inappropriate thoughts from his head. William ordinarily slept at this time. He woke several times a night for a feed, and sometimes Jessamine soothed him back to sleep, but nothing like this.

Andrew had memorized the baby’s routine. Of course, he knew it would change, but it behooved him to know everything that occurred in his household. And when it involved William, even more so.

Jessamine turned when she saw him, her eyes ringed with dark circles and her hair loose around her head. It made her look undone in a way that briefly made his loins awaken. Just as quickly, concern eclipsed any amorous feelings.

“What is it?” he asked crisply, trying not to give rise to any suspicion that he might be concerned.

“He won’t settle. And look at his face.” Jessamine tipped the babe toward him, revealing a red face and eyes that were squeezed tightly closed. “He’s too hot. I’ve done everything I can to soothe him, but he won’t settle. I think there’s something wrong.”

Panic thrashed through Andrew, but he kept his voice extremely calm. “Have you sent for a physician?”

“Not yet. What if it’s nothing?”

“If you have cause for concern, then it’s not nothing.” He reined in his temper with difficulty. None of this was her fault, not William’s illness, nor the memories it brought back. “I will send for a physician. Have you rags and cold water?”

“I sent for them some time ago, but everyone is asleep.”

“Then I will wake them,” Andrew said grimly, fastening his robe more tightly around himself.

William wore nothing except cloth around his middle, and Andrew came to press the backs of two fingers against the boy’s chest.

Too hot.

“It’s a fever,” he said.

Jessamine closed her eyes briefly. “He can’t…” Her throat bobbed and tightened with a swallow. “Nothing can happen to him, Andrew. It can’t.”

“It won’t.” His voice was grim, but she looked at him as though he were a genie from a bottle, placed before her for the sole reason of granting her wishes. “You may trust me on that.”

“I do,” she said, her voice sounding almost wondering. “God help me, I do.”

“Good. I will arrange someone to come and help.”

“Katherine is sleeping. I told her to get some rest in case the milk…”

Andrew nodded. He knew little enough about the business of producing milk, and he would do nothing to interfere with the process. “We will manage perfectly well between us.”

“Once you’ve called for the physician, you may return to bed if you would like,” Jessamine said, but he held up a hand.

“Don’t insult me, Jessamine. William is as much mine as yours, and we will care for him together. I could hardly sleep now as it is.” He nodded at her and strode from the room, intending to wake up the entire household if need be. They could sleep when daylight came, if by then William was well enough.

He prayed William would be well enough. If he were not, and if Andrew lost Rebecca and her son within the month, he was not fully sure how he would go on.

Jessamine sang to William in a thick voice, forcing back all her worries and anxieties as far as she could. Everything that came to mind, she put to words and a tune. Fragments of half-remembered songs, things her mother used to sing to her as a child, and lilting melodies from her time in Scotland.

And as William continued to scream and writhe in her arms, she moved to a prayer uttered aloud in the form of song.

“You must be all right,” she sang. “See the night through and be well by morning, my darling boy.”

Andrew returned to the room as she repeated the phrase, and although his brows drew together, he said nothing.

Several maids squeezed past with copper bowls and rags that they laid neatly out on the side. Andrew, to Jessamine’s surprise, ordered some tea, and then rolled his sleeves up.

“Place William here,” he said, indicating a blanket in the crib. He lifted the bars away so they had free access. “Let me bathe him.”

Jessamine shivered with a brief, terrible fear that if she let go of William for even a moment, something dire would happen to him.

But Andrew’s expression was implacable, and there was no room for argument in his words. She understood their logic, and so she slowly lowered William’s tiny body to the blankets. Andrew dipped the rags into the water, squeezed, and laid them across William’s stomach.

“This will cool his body faster,” Andrew explained.

“Have you done this before?”

“Not with an infant. But if you think there was never illness in the army, you would be sorely mistaken.”

The army. She never forgot he had been in the army—how could she, with the way he strode about the house, ordering servants about like he was a general and they his army?—but she hadn’t thought of him in this role.

“I thought there were doctors in the army,” she ventured.

“There are. But when there are epidemics, they are hard-pressed to treat everyone. And minor ailments such as fever need no great medical knowledge to treat.”

“Then why did you send for a physician?”

“Because I have no experience with children,” Andrew said, and for a moment, his hands faltered.

He curled his fingers into fists, the whites of his knuckles showing. No matter his calm, she suspected that underneath, he was not calm at all.

“And because William is… precious,” he added.

Jessamine nodded. Yes, William was precious indeed.

She watched the way Andrew carefully placed the wet rags on William’s stomach, handling him with inordinate care. Then, when he turned the boy over, she asked to have a go, and wrung the wet cloths out carefully before placing them on William’s skin.

He screamed even harder, and she slid her finger into his tiny hands, letting him grasp as she murmured reassurance to him.

“It’s all right, my beautiful boy,” she told him. “Everything will be all right now, I promise you. All we have to do is get you cooler.”

Her heart hurt. This could not be happening. When she’d been attempting to get him to sleep before, she had thought perhaps this was nothing, a figment of her imagination born from a lack of sleep and such endless worry.

So many things happened to infants before they had the resilience to survive. And if something happened to William, she would never forgive herself.

The maid arrived with tea, and Andrew handed her some. “Drink,” he said curtly. “It will do you good.”

“I feel as though⁠—”

“I will hold him,” Andrew said, picking the child up and gently placing him in his arms. “You may drink. Then when you are done, we will trade.”

Jessamine took the proffered cup and sipped, watching the stiff way Andrew held William. He was certainly not used to the feeling of such a small boy in his arms. But he held him with determined patience, pacing about the room with him.

“Speak to him,” she said. “I won’t ask you to sing.”

Andrew glanced at her. “I believe he would like that even less than the fever.”

A joke? That didn’t seem to be real, but Jessamine couldn’t deny the half-lift of his lips, as though he wanted to smile but didn’t. The expression soon left his face, however, replaced by that familiar tightness. Worry, written in his eyes like the night stars.

Soon, it was Jessamine’s turn to hold William, and she did, letting him press against her skin, letting him know that she was there, and he was safe. He would be safe.

“More cold water,” Andrew decided once he had finished his tea, and they replaced William’s rags.

Then, because Jessamine could not bear to allow William to go long without the comfort he so desperately needed, she scooped him back into his arms and held him. Sometimes she paced, sometimes she sat in the one armchair in the room while Andrew stood by the window, looking out into the night.

Hours passed. She felt delirious with exhaustion, but although Andrew looked almost as tired, he made no complaint, and neither did she. In truth, it was comforting to have another person with her, his calmness allaying the worst of her fears, although she doubted he truly was as calm as he suggested.

She wondered what had happened to him to make him so alarmed when he had confessed to having some experience with fevers in the army. Illness, then. Or perhaps children.

The death of a child—of anyone—could blight a person’s entire life. Andrew, she presumed, was not immune to that very human of feelings.

As dawn finally cracked the sky, William’s crying settled into a murmur, and he finally drifted into sleep. Jessamine stared at Andrew in wonder, her entire body aching at having held the small child for so many hours. Her arms, her shoulders, her back. Heavens, her back.

But it was worth it. He was asleep.

Andrew approached them both, and with the back of one finger, tested William’s stomach again. His face was taut with concentration, and Jessamine held her breath, afraid to move in case she should wake the child, and scared that after all this, they would conclude that William’s fever was worse than ever and this was the inevitable decline before he passed.

But Andrew’s face cleared, and his lips curved upwards, ever so slightly. It was the closest thing to a smile Jessamine had seen him give, and it was one of the most unexpectedly marvelous sights she had seen.

She had to be delirious, utterly out of her mind, because at the sight of his eyes crinkling softly, she felt her stomach flip with—something, anyway. Nerves, excitement, anticipation.

He looked like a different man entirely, all the harshness of his expression wiped away into something entirely more sincere.

This was the man she fancied he could have been, if things in his life had been different.

“He’s cooler,” Andrew whispered, and motioned for her to place the baby in the crib. “Let him rest.”

Jessamine didn’t want to. She wanted to hold him tight, close to her, for as long as possible. She never wanted to let him go, in case something terrible should happen to her.

Andrew’s hand moved to where she supported William’s weight. “Come,” he murmured, absurdly gentle for a man of such sternness. “You must be tired, and he will sleep alone now. You have done all you came here to do.”

Jessamine blinked, but she finally allowed Andrew to guide her to the crib, and she carefully, oh so slowly, placed William within it. He stirred, tiny fists bunched, but then fell still and silent once more.

Jessamine released a slow breath of relief. They had done it. Somehow, they had triumphed. The translucent light of distant sunrise sliced the sky, and William was asleep.

“You are exhausted,” Andrew said. “Let me watch over him, Jessamine. Go to sleep.”

“I’m perfectly well, thank you. I will stay here.” She sank into the chair, wincing as she did so. Her back ached terribly.

“Forgive me for not believing you,” he said dryly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“In that case, stand up and walk to me and assure me that is the case.”

Jessamine glowered at him. Now, she was sitting, she was not at all sure she could stand again without considerable pain, and if she showed any sign of it, he would consider himself vindicated.

“Well?” he prompted. “I’m waiting.”

Jessamine scowled, but attempted to rise before promptly gripping the back of the chair to support her. She hissed a breath through her teeth.

Andrew sighed. “As I thought.” He approached, but Jessamine shrank back. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice reassuring, soothing. The same way he had spoken to William during the height of his fever. “I only want to help.”

Jessamine still hesitated, wary, and he held up both hands as though in surrender.

“All right,” he said. “Keep suffering.”

She bit her lip. He had been in the army, and his men had by his own account, suffered from a number of ailments. She doubted he had been their first port of call, but it was entirely possible he had more experience than she did.

“My back hurts,” she admitted eventually. “I presume from carrying William, and…”

“Yes, I thought so.” His gaze crossed her face. “Turn around.”

Jessamine hesitated again, reluctant to put her back to him, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They had behaved as a team all that night. But she couldn’t forget the way he had first approached her for this marriage, and the way he had insisted on being a part of William’s wife without considering her feelings on the matter.

Now, she appreciated, perhaps for the first time, that William might be better off with the two of them working together.

“I only want to help,” he said again.

Slowly, Jessamine turned, and Andrew approached, a hulking figure from behind. She stiffened, but he merely put his hands on her shoulders.

“Where does it hurt?”

“There,” she said. “And around my neck. And… lower.” She ached down to the small of her back, and even further than that.

Andrew’s thumbs dug into the muscle, and she let out a stifled groan of surprise. He stopped. “Does that hurt?”

“No, it was… It was nice.”

He resumed the motions, his fingers massaging the soreness from her. When he had worked the muscle around the base of her neck, he made his way down, rubbing the heel of his hands along the muscles of her side until he finally reached the small of her back.

“Here,” he said, his voice low. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it sounded more gravelly than usual. “Is this where you need me?”

Without thinking of the phrasing, she said, “Yes.”

Andrew took hold of either side of her waist and pressed his thumbs into the muscle above her hips, rubbing slow circles. “How about this?” he asked, the thickness in his voice more evident now.

Jessamine realized she had braced herself against the chair, holding herself up, pressing her backside toward him. She straightened, flushing.

“Yes, that’s… Good.”

“Relax.” He found another knot and worked at her again. Despite herself, she leaned back into him, closing her eyes and letting another sigh slip through her lips.

“Your muscles feel very tight here,” he observed. “You must have been very sore.”

She hissed another breath, then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a moan. “Yes.”

“This may make you… tender.” He cleared his throat, adjusting himself slightly behind her. She almost turned around to look, then changed her mind. “But it should relieve the worst of the pain.”

“You are very good at that.”

For a second, his hands hesitated, then resumed their kneading. “I have some experience.”

“The army?”

“Mm.” He slid his hands back up her spine, and it was as though his fingers lingered on the back of her neck as he gave her once last squeeze. “There.”

Jessamine turned, finding him mere inches away. His chest almost brushed hers, and his head was tilted down, as though he was drawn into her orbit. Gravity brought them together. His eyes were dark, and one hand still rested on her shoulder, his fingers against her neck.

She felt loose. Hot all over, as though she wanted nothing more than to feel the air against her skin. Her stomach turned over.

“Jessamine…” he rumbled.

The hand on her shoulder moved to the back of her neck, and she moved instinctively, stepping even closer into him. Her chest truly did brush his then, and her nipples pinched. Sensation washed over her.

She gasped.

He groaned, as though he had been pushed beyond every limit known to man. His breath brushed her face, and she knew she ought to move away, to find her equilibrium, but a force she didn’t understand compelled her to stay. Demanded, with odd intensity, that she know how it felt to have those clever hands of his on more of her.

“Andrew,” she whispered.

The hand on the back of her head tightened, then his lips met hers. She didn’t know if she had been the one to move, or he had. All she knew was the heat of his mouth, the way it opened in invitation.

Jessamine took it.

She forgot they were in the nursery still, with William just a few feet away. She forgot that this was her husband whom she, at best, tolerated. Her body felt on fire, heat rushing down to the tender area between her legs.

She had never thought much about it before now, but having him kissing her made her core throb with urgent need.

His tongue brushed her lower lip, and she gasped into his mouth.

His other hand found her hip, dragging her against him, and a hard ridge pressed against her. At the meeting of their bodies, he let out a grunt, which only inflamed her more.

She gripped his lapels, as though to drag him still closer—though how much closer they could get, she hardly knew—when the door opened behind them.

Andrew was the first to move. He stepped back so abruptly, she almost stumbled. The dawn air felt cold against her swollen lips.

“I am so sorry,” the nursemaid said, not seeming to notice the tension in the room. “I hadn’t intended to fall asleep for so long.”

Andrew cleared his throat, only half turning to her.

“It is of no consequence,” he said to the nursemaid, his voice stiff. “I will leave William to your capable hands.”

Jessamine pressed her fingers to her burning cheeks, wishing she were anywhere but there. “Goodnight,” she said, and fled as soon as she thought Andrew had returned to bed.

Despite her exhaustion, it was a long time before she could sleep.

Chapter Nine

Jessamine only managed to sleep a handful of hours before the demands of the day—and her worry about William—dragged her up again.

When she made her way to the nursery again, however, she found William asleep, recently fed and snuffling softly as he slept.

Relief crashed over her. Having his fever seem to break a few hours ago had been one thing, but seeing proof that he was no longer suffering—and knowing that he had been perfectly fine even when she hadn’t been with him—was a weight off her shoulders.

A knock came at the door just as she had pulled up a chair to sit by William’s bedside.

“The physician has arrived,” Foxwell said, opening the door.

And indeed, the physician, a spare man with deep-set dark eyes, entered the room. He brought with him an aura of calm and self-possession that calmed the immediate pounding of Jessamine’s heart.

Behind him, Andrew entered the room.

Jessamine immediately looked at her feet. She felt as though she were flushing all over, from the crown of her head to the very tips of her toes. His expression, in the glimpse she’d had of it, was just as stern as ordinarily, but all Jessamine could think about was the feel of his mouth against hers.

When she’d awoken, her first thought had been of William, but in the time that had passed since, new memories assailed her. Andrew’s hands on her back, kneading the muscle. The way he had touched her, both respectfully and needfully.

The physician bowed to her. “My name is Mr. Wilford, and I specialize in infants and children’s health. If I may, I would like to examine Master William.”

Jessamine wondered if Andrew had requested Mr. Wilford ask her for permission. After all, Andrew was perfectly capable of giving permission, and indeed he seemed eager to give instructions to all and sundry.

If that were the case, she felt gratitude tighten her chest.

Andrew still did not look directly at her.

“Yes, of course,” she said, rising. “I should be very grateful.” She ran through his symptoms and the things they had done the previous night to calm him.

“Very good,” Mr. Wilford said as he bent over William, listening carefully to his pulse. “It seems as though you did everything right. I commend you both.”

“Thank you.” Jessamine chanced another glance at Andrew and found him watching her.

At her attention, he moved his gaze away again, the gesture deliberate rather than instinctual. As though it were not a knee-jerk reaction at seeing her, but an intentional movement to indicate his lack of interest in interaction.

What had the kiss meant to him? She hadn’t expected a kiss at all—the fact he’d kissed her had come as a surprise. And yet it had not been wholly unwelcome.

She flushed again and did her best to focus on William.

“His temperature is down,” Mr. Wilford said. “And he is sleeping peacefully. His heart rate seems settled, though still a trifle elevated. With a little sleep and careful watch, I expect him to make a full recovery. He seems a healthy child.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” Jessamine sank into a chair. “I had hoped, when his fever broke, I had hoped he would… But are you certain?”

“I am,” Mr. Wilford said, smiling. “He seems as though he is doing well, and I hope this comes as a relief to you both. Your quick actions saved him from any more permanent harm. When he awakes, he will be as he always is, I am sure.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said, his voice as warm as Jessamine had heard of it. “Please, see Foxwell on your way out, and he will arrange generous compensation for coming here so quickly.”

“Of course. My thanks, Your Grace.” Mr. Wilford bowed and left the room.

The nursemaid accompanied him downstairs, leaving Jessamine and Andrew alone.

She longed to ask about the kiss, but Andrew was staring into the crib with a tight expression, his brows drawn and his mouth tight.

“Will you be perfectly well?” he asked abruptly. “With William, that is.”

“Yes, of course, if he’s all but recovered.”

“Good.” Andrew nodded, tucking his hands behind his back. The silence felt thick between them. His gaze alighted on her, dropped to her mouth, then away. The line between his brows deepened. “I will be in my study if you require anything else.”

Well, that answered the question of whether he intended to address what had passed between them.

A resounding no.

“I see,” Jessamine said. “Thank you, but I expect to manage perfectly well.”

He inclined his head and left the room once again.

Jessamine sank into the rocking chair beside the crib. “Well,” she said to the sleeping child. “What am I going to do about him?”

The anxiety-inducing monotony of the day continued until after lunch. For once, yet again, Andrew did not disappear during the afternoon, instead remaining in his study. Jessamine had already resolved not to go to him for help unless she absolutely could not help herself. He had made his position clear.

Fortunately, distraction came in the form of Irene and Kate, minus Button. “I thought William might not like to see Button just yet,” Kate explained, perfectly seriously, by means of a greeting. “He is rather large.”

“He is,” Jessamine agreed with a smile. “That was very considerate.”

“How is he?” Irene asked.

“Why don’t you come and see for yourself?” Jessamine led them upstairs. “He had a fever last night, so he is a little crotchety, but I expect you can still hold him if you would like, Kate.”

Kate’s eyes lit up. “Oh, do you think? I would be so delighted to. He’s so tiny!”

Jessamine smiled tiredly at Irene, whose hands were on her stomach. If Jessamine hadn’t known her sister was with child, she would never have guessed, but Irene clearly never forgot that fact. And in seeing William, she was no doubt looking ahead to when she would have a baby of her own.

The nursemaid smiled at them as they entered the nursery, William in her arms, grumbling tiredly.

“Well timed, Your Grace,” she said. “He has just finished feeding.”

Jessamine glanced at Kate, who was staring at William in undisguised wonder. “Why don’t you hold him?” she suggested to the girl. “He doesn’t mind who holds him at present, so long as they are warm and comfortable and rock him gently.”

“I know how,” Kate said. “I have done it before, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Jessamine nodded at the nursemaid, who relinquished William into Kate’s arms and guided her into the chair.

Kate stared down into William’s face with a soft smile on her face, looking as though the rest of the world no longer existed.

“She will be a wonderful mother one day,” Jessamine said.

“Oh yes,” Irene said. “If we can one day find a gentleman willing enough to put up with her spirit and her love of extremely large dogs.”

“She may yet grow out of that.”

“Perhaps. But I rather suspect that when Button eventually passes on, she will immediately find a new stray to take care of.” Irene’s face softened.

For all her teasing complaints, she adored her husband’s sister completely.

Jessamine rubbed at her face and took Irene’s arm. “I have something I must tell you,” she said under her breath. “Come through to my bedchamber, will you? It’s next door, and I will hear William cry if he does.”

“Of course. What is it?”

But Jessamine kept quiet until they were safely ensconced in her bedchamber, the door firmly closed.

Only then did she release a long, slow breath. “Last night, after William finally settled from his fever, the duke and I kissed.”

Irene clapped her hands together. “How delightful!”

“It was not delightful!”

“Are you telling me that His Handsomeness is a terrible kisser?”

More heat suffused Jessamine’s face. She felt as though she had spent half the day blushing. “That is not what I meant.”

“So he is a good kisser,” Irene crowed.

“It was a mistake,” Jessamine insisted. “We are both here to take care of William. Nothing more. He said so himself.”

“Jessie, dearest.” Irene put both hands on Jessamine’s shoulders. “You know it is perfectly all right for you to desire your husband, don’t you? Heavens, that’s the preferable way of things. Marriage is supposed to include desire for one’s spouse. I won’t speak for affection, but desire is a very different matter.”

Jessamine sank onto the edge of the bed. “It makes things altogether more complicated than they ought to be. We should be keeping our distance.”

“For what purpose?” Irene asked gently, taking a seat on her left. “You know, what happened to Rebecca was not your fault. And you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to Percy.”

Jessamine winced. The memory still stung, a splinter that had never quite worked its way out. “Don’t talk about Percy.”

“The world is a cruel place, and we can’t change so many things about it. Percy is one. Rebecca is another. The only things that we should think about are the things we can control. And you are doing just that. You are looking after William and even married into Willima’s family so you can do so legitimately. That is dedication, but make sure it comes from love and not from guilt.”

Jessamine pressed her palms against her thighs, looking down. Thinking about Percy, the baby brother she had gotten to hold just once, made her chest tight. But William was not Percy, and although she would never forget what happened to her late brother, and although she would never quite forgive herself, this was not penance.

At least, not wholly.

“I do love William,” she said, looking up.

“Then allow yourself to be happy, dearest. That is all anyone wants for you. If the duke can kiss you and make you happy, then why should you hold yourself separately from that?”

If it were just about Jessamine and the things she wanted, then there was no reason, but it was not just about her at all.

She hunched her shoulders, and Irene took pity on her, hugging her from the side. “I think,” she said softly, “that no matter what you decide about your marriage, William is extremely lucky to have you as a mother. Just… don’t shut yourself away from the means of being happy, that’s all.”

If the duke was what could make her happy, then she would eat her bonnet.

“William is all I need,” she said, rising. “Come on, shall we check on Kate?”

Chapter Ten

Andrew leaned against the doorframe, watching Jessamine in the library, William in a small basket beside her. She had retrieved a book from the shelves and now read it aloud, animating her voice with so much enthusiasm, Andrew found himself smiling despite his best intentions.

William cooed in response, as though answering her, and she laughed, putting her book down and kissing the baby’s forehead. The domesticity of the picture tugged at something in his chest, making it ache.

“I wish your mother could see this,” he heard Jessamine said. “I will always be your mother, but I won’t hide your real mother from you. When you get old enough, I will tell you all about her.” Her voice caught. “How wonderful she was, and how much she loved you, right until the last.”

The twinge in Andrew’s chest tightened, becoming something rather closer to pain.

“And in her memory, I will always keep you happy,” she said.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Andrew said.

Jessamine’s head snapped up, eyes wide as she took him in. Red tinged her cheeks, and just like every other time he had seen her since the kiss, he wanted to take hold of her hair and punish her, lure her, with another kiss. More kisses, until he had his fill of her and no longer wanted her the way he wanted her now. Though it was perhaps not her fault, he still resented this lack of control on his part, the way she had drawn him to her from the very beginning.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Now that you’ve listened to me and agreed to allow him some space, he will get everything he could possibly want. How will that not make him happy?”

He advanced to sit beside her. “As a baby, perhaps that will suffice. But as he grows older, things will change. No matter what you offer him, he will test the boundaries and seek something different. He may even grow angry and resentful against us both for maintaining those boundaries.”

“Perhaps, if you enforce them in a way that brings resentment, but don’t speak about William as if he will have no sense of reason. Most boys understand that there are certain expectations and boundaries in place for safety reasons. As for other restrictions and expectations, perhaps they are not necessary.”

“They are always necessary,” he said, biting back his irritation. “I have told you before that no one can have everything they want. Do you intend to spoil him?”

“I intend to make him feel loved! I do love him, and I show it every moment I can.”

“He will know he’s loved,” he said. “Unless we’re cruel.”

“Your standards are abominably low.”

“I am merely being practically minded.” Andrew set his jaw.

He had no idea how she managed to get under his skin so effectively. First he wanted her, and then he⁠—

Well, he found it infuriating that she had so little concept of what it required to raise a healthy child with strong principles, one who would uphold his duty well and without complaint.

It was certainly not by coddling him.

William stirred, his face screwing into a red mask of displeasure, and let out an earth-shattering wail.

“Oh, my little prince.” Jessamine murmured, immediately leaning over to pick him up. “Have you grown tired of being on the chair?”

“Shall I call the nursemaid to feed him?” Andrew asked. “Or perhaps he needs changing.”

Jessamine sniffed the boy, then shook her head. “He doesn’t need changing.”

“I’ll call for Lucy, then.”

“Wait. He may just need a little comfort.” Jessamine cradled him in her arms as though she had never been without a child; it came to her as easily as breathing.

Andrew had never felt that. He spent hours worrying at night that he was stepping up to an imperfect guardian, and she had taken to motherhood the way a duck takes to water.

“Comfort?” he repeated.

“Babies need comforting too, you know. I think he just needs to be held.” She offered him to Andrew. “Perhaps he needs to be held by his fa—by his uncle.”

Andrew hesitated, even as he held his arms out for the child. The sooner she stopped this ridiculous farce and actually attended to one of the boy’s needs, the sooner he would stop crying. And if this was what was necessary to prove such a thing, then so be it. Even as some part of him trembled at the thought of holding such a tiny child.

He could handle the practical applications of being a father, but this had never been something he’d had experience with.

William kept crying in his arms, tiny body squirming, and Andrew felt a mixture of relief and odd anxiety. “See?” he demanded. “I was right.”

“Well, if you are just sitting there like a scarecrow, then no wonder he’s still crying. Rock him a little. Say something comforting. Caress his head. Show him that he is loved.”

Andrew glared at Jessamine, but he merely waited for him to follow her instructions. He had never felt more ridiculous than sitting here, with all his bulk focused on such a minuscule being, one that controlled him utterly.

Evidently there was nothing more to do than to, as she said, although showing him that he is loved was vague enough for him to take issue with. But William kept crying, so Andrew mimicked what he had seen Jessamine do on more than one occasion, rocking back and forth. The gesture felt stiff and oddly uncoordinated, but under her bright smile, he kept going.

Then—miracle of miracles—the baby stopped crying.

William stirred a few more times, but then his eyes opened, and he stared at Andrew, unblinking. Unsure what to do, Andrew stared back.

Something warm erupted in his chest. He had always loved William because he was Rebecca’s son, and he’d feared losing him the night of the fever, but he hadn’t quite felt… this before.

“There,” Jessamine said, her voice soft as William’s eyes began to close. The boy was falling asleep. In Andrew’s arms. “Do you see now?”

He saw nothing very clearly except the fact that he had a child in his arms he had no idea what to do with. And perhaps yes, he could believe that something as small and fragile as a baby required feeling safe before it could sleep. Somewhere familiar or warm and protected, and Andrew could protect him.

He would protect him against any danger that came along.

“Shall we take him upstairs now?” Jessamine asked, still in a half-whisper.

Andrew nodded and rose as carefully as he could. William didn’t stir, and soon his tiny breaths were all Andrew could hear.

Jessamine followed Andrew upstairs, doing her best not to celebrate too loudly. If he saw her celebrating, he would probably hand William immediately back to her and take himself off again. A man of Andrew’s caliber did not like to be wrong.

But wrong he was.

She could hardly blame him, given he clearly had no experience with children. In Scotland, she had seen plenty of children, although she’d never had any of her own. It made fitting into London Society life feel strange in comparison, but this—caring for William—was a point of familiarity in an unfamiliar world.

And she was slowly but surely bringing Andrew into that world.

He hadn’t avoided her when he’d seen her in the library. He’d even held William, though she hadn’t missed his uncertainty, or the way he had very clearly not believed that this was best for William.

None of that mattered now.

They reached his nursery, and Andrew carefully laid William down in his cradle. Andrew went to ring for Lucy, and Jessamine stayed a few more moments, staring at William’s tiny, sleeping face and wondering how she could love him so very much when she had only known him for a handful of weeks.

“Rebecca would be so proud of him,” she whispered so Andrew wouldn’t hear, then followed him out of the room.

Andrew closed the door behind her, leaning over, and she caught the scent of soap and cotton and something else—a scent that she had smelled once before, when he had massaged her and drawn her in for a kiss.

The memory turned her face to fire, and a tingling went through her body.

He glanced down at her, seeming to realize their proximity for the first time, and stepped back. Jessamine opened her mouth to ask about the kiss, then hesitated.

What ought she to say? What was there to say?

He looked down at her seriously, and she found her attention drawn to his mouth once more. She’d never had occasion to look at a man’s mouth before now, and she didn’t know quite what to do with the sensation.

“Andrew,” she started, not knowing where she was going next. Even this corridor made him feel too close; so large was he, and yet the distance he maintained between them felt too far. “We ought to…”

His eyes flicked to hers, so dark they made her stomach flutter. “We ought to what?”

What? What did she have in mind to say? “Well done with William.”

His gaze searched her face as though he knew she had intended to say something else, but eventually, all he said was, “If you have anyone to thank, you should thank yourself.”

“We are both learning what we can as we go,” Jessamine said.

She stepped forward, a moth to a flame.

Keeping her distance from Andrew was impossible. She had seen something else lurking behind that stern exterior, and she wanted desperately to uncover it and learn a little more about him. All the things she had assumed at their first meeting were false, and she could no longer say she disliked him. If anything, she thought she might like him very much if only he gave her occasion to.

“Good day, Your Graces,” Lucy said breezily as she approached, patting down the nursemaid’s cap on her head. “Is William sleeping?”

Andrew tore his gaze from Jessamine, and she felt bereft from under it, her chest tightening and releasing. “He is,” he said curtly. “Thank you for coming and sitting with him.”

“Oh, that’s my pleasure, Your Grace.” She bobbed a quick curtsy and disappeared inside the nursery.

Jessamine looked at Andrew, half reaching out, but he had already turned for the stairs. Running, yet again.

“If that is all,” he said, pausing several feet from her, “then I will take my leave, Jessamine. Let me know if William needs anything else from me.”

“Just to be held,” Jessamine said, although part of her wondered how much of that requirement was for William, and how much was for her. “That’s all.”

“I think you have that admirably under control.” He nodded at her, his stern mask fully in place, not a glimmer of emotion showing underneath.

Jessamine said nothing as he disappeared down the stairs away from her.

This time, it felt a little as though he had taken a very small piece of her with him. She was not sure how to get it back.

Chapter Eleven

“Does he have a fever?” Andrew asked when he visited last thing at night before going to bed.

Days passed. Andrew did his best to keep himself to himself, while still checking in on William every time he thought Jessamine might be elsewhere.

As time went on, however, it seemed whenever he entered the nursery, Jessamine was there, cradling William and singing to him.

“No.” Jessamine’s eyes were ringed with shadows, but she forced a smile. “But he’s being a little crotchety.”

William squalled in her arms. Andrew looked down at the babe in not insignificant alarm. “Is something else wrong with him, then?”

“Not that I can tell. Lucy tells me that children sometimes go through periods like this.” Jessamine deposited William on her lap and rubbed her forehead. “He is fed, changed, and I am doing my best to soothe him, but there is nothing to be done. All we must do is wait this out.”

“Surely there must be something. He would not cry for no reason.”

She laughed. “You cannot apply your formidable sense of logic to a baby. Some babies just get colicky, and there’s not much to be done about it.”

“Colicky?”

“Colic. Where a baby cries for no reason.” Jessamine sagged against the wall, the screaming babe in her arms. “Exhausting, I grant you, but nothing of concern. It happened plenty during my time in Scotland.”

“How many babies did you encounter there?”

“It was a small village, and everyone pulled together. Very different from here,” she added dryly. “When someone had a baby, we all did what we could to help. I saw plenty of colic, and I helped out plenty of exhausted mothers. This will pass, I assure you.”

“How long?”

“It differs from baby to baby, but hopefully only a few more weeks.”

Andrew’s jaw snapped together. “Weeks? Will you be holding him the entire time?”

“Lucy will take a little of it, and after all, I can hardly feed him. So I must take some breaks.”

“And sleep?”

“This chair is perfectly comfortable.” She nodded toward a chair that was, in Andrew’s opinion, not in the least suitable for sleeping. “I’m perfectly all right, husband.”

She did not look perfectly all right. She looked exhausted, but there was a jut to her jaw that told him any attempt on his part to compel her into bed would result in another argument.

“I can hold William if you would like to sleep,” he said stiffly.

“Oh.” Jessamine peered at him, a smile crossing her face. “I can handle this, thank you. Particularly with Lucy’s help.” She hefted the infant a little further up into her arms.

The boy had been growing quickly, although he was still so small.

Whenever Andrew saw him crying like that, he felt another wave of helplessness. Now he was the duke; he could do a great many things, but he could not fix whatever ailed William. He could not provide the things that Jessamine—or Lucy, even—could. None of his connections, rules, wealth or influence could make the slightest difference to a boy who knew nothing except the arms that held him and the breast that fed him.

Abruptly frustrated with himself and the situation in which they now found themselves, Andrew strode out of the room and into his bedchamber, where he spent a very indifferent night listening to the distant sound of a baby’s cry and knowing that Jessamine would not be sleeping.

The colic continued for the next week straight. Andrew increasingly ate meals on his own, sending trays to the nursery that came back largely uneaten. Whenever he visited, William was invariably crying, and Jessamine was invariably attempting to comfort him in the soothing embrace of her arms.

Whatever magic she had wielded in the past made no difference to the child now. And practically underneath Andrew’s gaze, he saw her growing increasingly pale and thin, as though he watched her waste away.

No more of this.

When at dinner the next day she once again failed to arrive, he made the now-familiar trek to the nursery. Once again, William was crying, and once again Jessamine was jiggling him about the room, singing under her breath.

Her voice was hoarse. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her movements were heavy with exhaustion.

“Jessamine.” His voice rang out, making her jump, but he’d had quite enough of her stubbornness; he would not be taking no for an answer. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I—” Her brow furrowed, and she stopped her pacing. “I imagine I had breakfast.”

“You did not,” he said grimly. “At least, none that could be discerned from the full tray you returned downstairs.”

“You are keeping watch on me?”

“You are my wife,” he returned, hearing the sharp note in his voice. There was nothing to be done about that. If she made him angry, then she would have to face the consequences. “If you are actively starving yourself, I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?”

“I’m not starving myself.”

“Then tell me, when was the last time you ate?”

“If not breakfast, then yesterday.”

“During which you barely touched the food I had sent up. If I hadn’t sent anything up, would you have come looking? I doubt it.” He advanced now, taking the babe from her arms.

He stirred, his cry growing ever louder at having been disturbed.

Jessamine had made it plain that nothing she did could soothe him—he was beyond being soothed—so there was no need for her to remain in this stuffy room.

“Lucy,” he ordered, and the door opened, revealing the nursemaid. “You will assume responsibility for William for the next three hours.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She opened her arms for William, whom Andrew handed to her.

“Three hours?” Jessamine protested. “That is far too long. I can’t be separated from him for that long!”

“You can and you will.” He took her hand and attempted to lead her downstairs. “Dinner is waiting, and you will eat, wife.”

She resisted him. “Send a tray up, and I assure you I will eat it all.”

“No. Everyone must have a break from their duties at regular intervals, and you have not been taking your breaks.” He eyed her sternly. “I did not schedule any of my soldiers to be on duty for longer than twelve hours at maximum, and you have been at this tyrant’s beck and call for over a week now.”

“Andrew—”

Unwilling to suffer any further objections, he took hold of her waist and flung her over his shoulder, the way he had carried more than one fallen man in his time. She struggled, protesting, but he ignored her, hooking his arm over her knees to hold her steady. Her hands braced against his lower back.

“Do you intend to carry me around your house like—like some sort of pantomime villain?” she demanded.

“Is that how you see yourself? The distressed damsel?”

“No! But you can hardly protest that your behavior is gentlemanly.”

“Within my walls, I am at liberty to be rather less than a gentleman, if I so choose.” He ignored Foxwell’s slightly startled gaze. “William is precious to us both, but there is nothing you can do for him, and there is plenty you can do for yourself. Eating, for one.” He finally deposited her in the dining room, where dinner still sat, waiting for them. “And then sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”

She swayed a little, proving his point, then placed a hand against his chest, supporting herself. “You are extraordinarily high-handed, Your Grace.”

“If you had adopted sensible practices when it came to caring for William, I would not need to be so.” He took her hand, trying not to think about the smallness of her fingers wrapped in his, or how soft her skin was, and led her to the table. “If the only way you eat is through my high-handedness, then rest assured I will continue to be high-handed. And if you dislike that, there is only one solution.”

Her stomach audibly growled, and she sighed. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at the spread before them. Her shoulders relaxed, and he knew he had won. “Very well, but let it be known that I will not stand for being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have taken such care with potatoes,” he assured her, drawing a smile from her.

She sat at the head of the table, serving herself, and he did the same opposite her. This was the first meal they had shared in what felt like weeks, but there was a distinct lack of awkwardness.

Perhaps his kidnapping of her had broken what ice remained between them. She spoke idly in between bites of her food, telling him a little of her life in Scotland. There was affection in her voice, but he had the impression it had been a lonely time.

“I hadn’t wanted to return to London, you know,” she said.

“Why?”

“Well, because I had my life up there, and I was…” She hesitated, her gaze briefly meeting his before glancing away. He suspected she had been about to tell him she’d been happy, but couldn’t quite make herself believe it. “I liked the slow pace of life,” she said, and this was indeed the truth; he could feel her sincerity. “And I loved the people. In London, everyone has something they want and a goal they have in mind, and so they do things specifically to achieve that goal. I always wonder if the things I say will be somehow taken out of proportion and used against me.”

“You have friends here.”

He made no mention of the Minerva Club. He knew of it only tangentially; Rebecca had been a member, and so had Jessamine, although she made no mention of it now. He saw no harm in it, so long as she did nothing to threaten his reputation.

“And you made an excellent marriage,” he added.

Her lips twitched. “How modest.”

“Is being a duchess not better than living in obscurity in the back of beyond?”

“Well.” She considered the point, her head tilting to one side like a bird. “It certainly has its perks. I could not have known or cared for William if I had still been in Scotland.”

“Is that all?”

“You know I never aspired to an excellent marriage like this. Nevertheless, you have a very lovely home,” she added politely.

“So you would have been just as satisfied if a villager had offered for your hand?” he asked, unoffended but curious. “Did you have a beau there?”

“Oh, no!” She flushed. “I had no thoughts of marriage while I lived with my aunt.”

“I see.”

“Please don’t think me ungrateful,” she said quickly. “I know I have not always been appreciative of what you’ve done for me, but I am thankful that you gave me this chance to be your wife and William’s mother.”

He almost laughed at her earnestness, as though she feared she might have hurt him. If theirs had been a love match, then perhaps it would, but she had made her reservations about the marriage clear from the very beginning.

Now, all he needed to do was get her from his head.

“You need have no fear of offending me,” he said, rising and offering her his hand. “Now it’s time for bed. Don’t argue with me, Jessamine. You may tell me anything you please from your past, and I will have no qualms about it, but if you cross me, I shall find a thoroughly wicked way to make you pay.”

She looked up at him shyly, placing her fingers in his once again. “And if I were to protest?”

“Protest while you’re sleeping,” he said curtly, and was rewarded with a smile that made his chest feel lighter.

He hadn’t known a smile could do that, and he quashed the feeling as ruthlessly as he dared.

So much for keeping his distance from her.

He ought to have known from the start, from her defiance and her beauty and her love of William, that it would have been an impossible task.

No one could resist her for long, not even him.

Not even when he believed it to be the best thing for both of them.

Although now, he wondered if that were even the case, or if there could be some form of future for them, after all, in a way he hadn’t considered before.

Partners.

Perhaps even… friends.

Chapter Twelve

Amonth or so after the wedding, Lady Marwich paid Jessamine and Andrew a call. As one of the leading London matriarchs, she evidently believed it was her responsibility to keep everything in the ton as it should be.

Jessamine didn’t mind, and she pulled the other woman into an embrace. “I am so glad to see you,” she exclaimed.

Lady Marwich patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t disgrace yourself, dear. It’s unseemly to be seen having too many emotions.”

Jessamine drew back, fighting a smile. “Of course.”

“Where is William?”

“Upstairs sleeping. Would you like me to bring him down?”

“No, no.” Lady Marwich waved a hand. “But summon your husband, if you would. This involves the two of you.”

Jessamine rang the bell for Andrew, and he arrived shortly after, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy coat. He dressed with reserve, but always well, and always in a manner that drew attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist. Some men employed padding to achieve this effect; Andrew achieved it effortlessly.

He nodded at her, offering what was, for him, a smile. Things had changed over the past week or so, ever since he had carried her down for dinner. He was not soft, precisely, but he felt as though he had softened toward her.

Or perhaps the change had occurred earlier. Perhaps even when they had first kissed, although she had not discerned in him a desire to kiss her again.

That was probably for the best. She dismissed the thought.

“Andrew, Lady Marwich wishes to speak to us both.”

“Lady Marwich. A pleasure.” He nodded, and folded his large body into an armchair, lacing his hands together as he waited. “What is this about?”

“It’s about young William.” Lady Marwich fixed Andrew with a stern look. “You expressed an intention to adopt him and name him as your heir.”

“I have already had the lawyers adjust my will,” he said.

“That is all very well and good, but what of the world at large? You must adopt him so the ton knows you have an heir. And the boy must be christened. Give him your name in a public way.”

Jessamine glanced at Andrew, whose face had turned inscrutable. “Very well,” he said. “We will christen him and present him to the world, although I think we may fall short of bringing him to any balls or other social events.”

Jessamine turned her snort into a cough. “Yes, indeed, I think we may have a little time before that is necessary.”

Lady Marwich glowered at them both. “You may think this is a laughing matter, but the world is talking about you, you know. Those who have seen you recently can confirm you were not with child, Jessamine dear, but with talk of the duke and his heir, there is a lot of assumption around, you know.”

“I have claimed that William is my cousin’s child,” Andrew said.

“But everyone has yet to see him,” Lady Marwich said. “Some doubt even the boy exists.”

“Well, we shall prove them wrong, shall we not?” He rose, looking directly at Lady Marwich. “Did you have anything else to say, my lady?”

Lady Marwich was not one to be intimidated; she merely smiled at Andrew as she placed one hand on her cane. One day, Jessamine swore, she would be just like Lady Marwich, unaffected by anything she did not choose to give her attention to.

“Not in the slightest,” she said cheerfully. “I have said my piece, and all I may do now is hope you take my advice. It was kindly meant, Your Grace.” She placed a motherly hand on Andrew’s arm, and to Jessamine’s surprise, his face softened slightly.

Foxwell emerged as though summoned to escort the dowager from the house, and Jessamine looked at Andrew.

“It’s a good idea,” she said. “William must be christened, and the sooner we do it, the sooner we can counter any talk of his not being legitimate, or worse, being mine.”

“No one with any sense will think the boy yours,” he said with a touch of impatience. “But yes, you’re right. We ought to find godparents for him. An additional layer of legitimacy and security.”

Jessamine laced her fingers together. Though some time had passed, thinking of Rebecca still made her chest tighten uncomfortably. “Before she died,” she said quietly, “Rebecca asked me to be William’s godmother.”

At the sound of his cousin’s name, Andrew flinched, striding across the room to the window. Jessamine stared after him, wishing she could find a way of healing the wound that still very clearly lingered in his heart. When they’d first met, she’d blamed him for Rebecca’s predicament, but that was unfair.

What could he have done from the army? He was younger than Rebecca by two years; he had not yet reached majority when she married, and had no independence of his own.

Then there was the way he adored William; it was more than she’d believed a man could love a child he had not sired. It was genuine love.

“I see,” he said, after the silence had stretched too far and too thin.

“Do you disapprove?”

“No. If that is Rebecca’s wish, then it ought to be upheld.” He cleared his throat and turned back to face her. “My cousin chose well.”

Jessamine pressed a hand to her throat. “Thank you. That means… thank you.”

“Lord Mirthby can be the godfather,” Andrew said. “Rebecca knew him a little, but more to the point, I know he will advocate for William where it is required.”

Jessamine took a step closer, though she hadn’t entirely meant to. Something about the pain in such a large man made her ache to be closer. He pulled her into his orbit.

“All right,” she said, and took his hand, pressing it between hers. “That sounds like a very good plan.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but she saw no amusement in his gaze. “I’m glad you’ll approve. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to a modiste so you can purchase a new gown for the event.”

“I already have dresses, Andrew,” she said, laughing.

“Very few formal gowns,” he said, not laughing. But the corners of his eyes softened. “I would have you dressed well for this, Jessamine.”

“I am offended on behalf of all the other dresses in my wardrobe.”

“Why not think of it rather as a gift for William?” He had stepped closer still, his heat searing into her.

Why did he no longer think of kissing her? She remembered how his eyes had looked before he kissed her, wintry blue around pupils gone wide and dark. Now, they were merely… controlled.

When he was this close to her, it became all she could think about. What his jaw might feel like under her fingers… it was always so hard and firm. Would it be like granite, or hold the softness she found on her face?

And his mouth. She often wondered how a mouth could be at once so stern and so soft. His lips had coaxed pleasure from hers once, and she longed to feel them again.

“A gift for William,” she repeated, feeling as though he had cut her strings and left her to float loose into the sky. “I hardly think he will notice my appearance, Andrew.”

“He might not. Even so, my duchess deserves a new dress. You deserve a beautiful thing, Jessamine. Because you are bea—” he caught himself and cleared his throat. “I mean, because you’ve done nothing but care for William. You deserve a gift.”

He held her gaze, and Jessamine wondered if she was a fool, because at the thought of Andrew seeing her in a new gown, of appreciating her dress with that same intensity in his eyes as she saw now, made her stomach tighten.

“Very well,” she said as lightly as she dared. “Tomorrow it is. I will allow your tastes to guide me, Your Grace.”

The corner of his mouth curled, and he leaned toward her before stopping and moving away again. “I look forward to it.”

This was nothing but a mistake.

Andrew sat on one of the chairs placed for guests as he admired Jessamine, seamstresses pinning the gown into place on her voluptuous figure. When he’d imagined purchasing a dress for her, he’d assumed he would be bored, women’s fashion being of no interest to him. But that was before he had arrived here with Jessamine.

Madam Roux, the proprietor of this particular establishment, had bustled forward to take his wife under her wing, promising premium treatment. And so far, she had delivered. And despite the prickly demeanor she showed Andrew, Jessamine seemed to bloom under the attention.

Andrew could not take his gaze from Jessamine. The high empire waistline just skimmed the underside of her breasts, which the low neckline only served to highlight. Soft swells, just the beginning of cleavage, which tantalized him to no end.

Then there were the skirts.

He knew, logically, that she wore more than one layer underneath. At least a chemise. Stays. And yet it felt as though the curves of her body pressed against the silk. The long line of a leg here, a rounded hip there. And when she turned, he caught a glimpse of her derriere, which might become his undoing.

She was all dimples and cream, perfect roundness that he longed to press and squeeze and make his.

He shifted in his chair, his arousal having reached unmanageable levels. If someone were to look at him now, they would glimpse the unsightly bulge in his breeches. And while these ladies had no doubt seen such things before, he didn’t want Jessamine to know how much she affected him.

After he had lost his mind over her all those days ago, he had done his best to keep his attraction to her at a low simmer. Every time he looked at her, he felt a burn anew. An ache. The taste of the forbidden was appealing indeed, and although he did his best to convince himself he didn’t want her, just as he had attempted to deny every other desire or inclination in his life, he couldn’t quite manage it.

She turned back to him, a bright smile on her face. “Well?” she prompted. “What do you think?”

“I think peach becomes you,” he said, leaning forward to better disguise his erection. “But the better question is whether you like it?”

She ran a hand down her stomach, as though attempting to see whether the gown adequately disguised its soft curve, and Andrew had to bite his lip against saying anything.

If it were up to him, he could make her his right there, in front of the mirror.

How he’d enjoy making her watch as he claimed her…

He throbbed with need and silently cursed himself.

“Do you have any others in this style, Madam Roux?” he asked. “I will take them all.”

“Andrew.” Jessamine turned, her hand over her mouth. “You cannot.”

“Why? By what measure? I most certainly can.”

“It’s too much.”

“Will you wear them?”

She flushed, eyes sparkling. “Well, yes, of course, when the occasion arises, but⁠—”

“Then there is nothing more to say. As your husband, it is my prerogative to provide for you in the manner I see fit, and this is the manner I currently see fit.” He nodded at the assistants, who scuttled to prepare the cloth. “I will have my wife clothed in the manner that befits a duchess.”

A divot appeared between her brows, and she turned back to the mirror, running a hand down herself once again. He cursed himself for looking, for wanting her, for caring, and turned instead to look out of the window as Madam Roux led Jessamine back behind a screen to change.

Thank heaven.

Because if she still stood before him, he did not think he would be able to stop himself from making a terrible mistake. One did not simply ravish one’s wife in public. Particularly in the manner he wanted to claim her.

Some time and space would give him the chance for some reflection.

If he ever had the chance to get that far.

Chapter Thirteen

Jessamine beamed at the world as she and Andrew walked back to where their carriage awaited them. Behind, two footmen carried her purchases. Well, perhaps she ought to say their purchases, as Andrew had been the one to insist on them all.

When they’d married, she’d thought she wouldn’t care for her new position as duchess at all. But it transpired there were some good things about it, after all.

Today, she had felt like a princess. Seen. Admired. Treasured.

A man stepped into their path, stopping them both. He looked to be around thirty or so, with black hair and eyes that seemed to her like two coals. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold.

A shiver ran through her.

“Your Grace,” the man purred. “How wonderful to see you… alive.”

Jessamine glanced at Andrew, whose face had hardened like stone. “Baron Lorthey.”

“And this must be your wife. Your Grace.” He turned his smile, and its malevolence, on her. “What a lovely family you have, my dear captain.”

Captain?

“I heard you adopted your cousin’s child as your ward,” Baron Lorthey said to Andrew again. “How sweet it is that some people get to grow their families… while others bury them.”

Bury them?

Jessamine blinked, but Andrew laid a hand on her arm. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice controlled.

Before she could say anything, the baron turned to her and offered an insincere smile. “I must offer you my congratulations, Your Grace, on your marriage. It must be a great honor to be marrying such a brave man.”

Andrew’s arm tensed under hers.

“Thank you,” she said, unsure what she should say.

It felt somewhat as though she had been dropped into the middle of a play and no one had given her a script. Andrew’s face was tight and hard, and the baron looked as though he was half a hair from exploding into something far more sinister than mere conversation.

She couldn’t even pinpoint what it was about him that gave her that feeling; it was just something about the ice in his eyes, and the thinly veiled malevolence of his smile.

“His Grace is an excellent husband,” she said, feeling as though she ought to say more. “And I consider myself very fortunate to be his wife.”

Andrew looked down at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. They were exchanging pleasantries, and that was the sort of thing one said about one’s husband, whether one believed it or not.

As for whether she believed it… Well, she believed it more than she had ever thought possible.

Baron Lorthey sneered, his lip curling. “Let us hope, then, that he remains worthy of such admiration, Your Grace.” The way he said it implied that he doubted such a thing were possible.

Jessamine tilted her head up. “I recommend you do not speak about my husband in such a way.”

The baron’s sneer hardened. “Or what? What will you do, you little⁠—”

There was a flash of movement. One moment Andrew was beside her, standing perfectly still⁠—

And the next, he had Baron Lorthey’s arm twisted behind him.

The gesture looked almost easy, but the way Baron Lorthey’s eyes bulged, Jessamine suspected Andrew was exerting a great deal of force.

“I recommend,” Andrew said in a low, threatening voice, “that you never speak to my wife like that again.”

Jessamine’s heart pounded in her chest. She ought to despise violence, but her chest felt oddly full and tight as she looked at him and the innate strength in his arms.

Andrew pushed the baron a little against the wall. To a casual observer, they were nothing more than two friends talking together and standing a little too close.

“I have allowed you your grief, but if you continue like this, I will have no choice but to set things straight,” he gritted out.

Lord Lorthey swallowed, his face turning the pasty pale of porridge. Evidently he understood the threat in Andrew’s voice just as well as Jessamine did.

“Understand?” Andrew asked, still in that low voice.

Lord Lorthey nodded sullenly, and Andrew released him, clapping him once on the shoulder in a comradely way. But when he turned and Jessamine caught sight of his eyes, she saw they were blazing with anger. It was almost enough to make her shiver.

“Good day,” Lord Lorthey said, his voice tight with resentment as he bowed and went on his way.

Andrew’s fists tightened by his sides, and he drew in a long, slow breath that looked as though its purpose was to steady himself. Judging by the still-wild expression deep in his eyes, however, it was failing.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, sounding as though the question came with effort.

Perhaps because he was clenching his teeth.

“Perfectly. Thank you for coming to my defense.” She stepped a little closer and rested a hand on his arm. “Shall we take a walk before returning to the carriage?”

If they were not in London, she might have suggested he go for a hard ride instead, letting the exercise work off a little of his energy. Instead, this was the only thing she could imagine; she did not want him cooped in a carriage after a confrontation of that nature.

He nodded stiffly, taking her hand again and striding through the crowd until they found a more secluded road, framed by tall houses on either side and few people. Jessamine waited for the only other person sharing the space—a man—before asking the question at the forefront of her mind.

“What happened there? Who is Lord Lorthey?”

“He is a baron,” Andrew said.

“Yes, I gathered as much, but how do you know him?”

His teeth snapped together. “That is of no consequence. But a word of warning, Jessamine: do not speak back to men like that. I am one thing. You don’t know what they might do. It’s not safe.”

His concern sent a small smile to her lips. “I lived in Scotland for a long time, Andrew. I can defend myself.”

“Oh?” He stepped even closer, taking her chin in his fingers, tilting her chin up toward him.

Her stomach tumbled. They were outside, the sky silhouetted behind his head, but they were alone, the sounds of the city muted here. A small park stood at the end of the street, a wrought-iron fence around it, and he pushed her through the gate.

“And what if I wasn’t here, and Lorthey were to act against you now?” he murmured, his other hand moving to her waist.

Perhaps she should not, but she felt a flash of desire move through her, hot and sudden. “What if he were to raise his hand against you for talking back to him? What would you do then? Would you be able to defend yourself?” His fingers tightened, not to the point of pain, but enough that she could feel their strength. “And I will not always be around to protect you.”

She searched his face, her skin oddly heated. His fingers were a brand on her chin; their heat sank through the fabric at her waist. His hands on her… she felt as though she could never have enough.

Her breath came too fast. With every thump, her heart demanded that she take advantage of Andrew’s proximity. The sharpness of his blue eyes had dissolved into heat. Not of anger this time, but something different.

“Does it bother you to think that something might happen to me?” she whispered.

“You are my wife.” He stepped closer, his body almost pressing against hers. That almost made her ache with frustration. His thumb slipped against her skin, and she shivered in anticipation. “The thought of any harm ever coming to you bothers me, and particularly when it’s because of your unruly tongue.”

“I thought you liked my unruly tongue.” The words slipped out entirely without intention.

For a second, his face blanked, and then he looked down at her mouth. His gaze focused, such intensity there that she couldn’t breathe.

“This mouth,” he said, sliding his thumb up to catch on her bottom lip. “This mouth is constantly begging for trouble, and I am more than happy to give it to you.”

There was an ache between her legs, and she caught hold of his wrist again. “Then do so.”

He let out something—a groan, perhaps, or a curse—and brought his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss.

Jessamine felt as though she floated in a bliss of her own making. Finally, finally he was kissing her, her back against the rough trunk of the tree, his hands sliding up her waist.

Such big hands, splayed across her ribs, his fingers almost reaching the underside of her breasts. There, his hands halted, although she wished he would move them just a little further up.

Her nipples tightened. Her entire world narrowed to Andrew and the pressure of his mouth, and the hot, sensual slide of his tongue. He kissed her as though there would be no tomorrow, as though he were a dying man and she were his very last breath.

She drowned in him.

Ever since their last kiss, she had been imagining what it would be like for him to kiss her again, and now she knew. It was like magic, like lightning in her veins and fire in her heart. Heat sank through her to gather, liquid, at her core.

More. She would always need more, always be greedy for it. When the hand on her chin moved to her neck, clasping gently, she arched her back, encouraging him to take what he wanted. Her body knew more than her brain; it knew, here, that friction would ease a little of this need within her.

He huffed a sharp breath and pressed himself more firmly against her, positioning them so his thigh slid between her legs.

Oh, sweet relief.

Jessamine cared for nothing except the sudden burst of unexpected pleasure from his leg against the apex of her thighs.

Heavens, there was nothing so sweet, nothing so heady, as this.

“Jessamine,” he moaned, and his hand finally made its way to her breast.

His palm skimmed her nipples, the sensitive flesh spiraling more heat through her.

Nothing had ever felt so good in her entire life. With every drugging pull of his kiss, she slid further under, lost to the world.

A man’s laugh, harsh and altogether too close, cut through her haze. She jerked back; her head would have slammed against the tree had Andrew not used his hand to cushion it just in time.

Reality crashed down on her.

The man was nowhere to be seen, but he would be soon.

And she had been disgracing herself with Andrew in a public place.

The very indecency of the act, the way she had been rubbing herself wantonly against him, made her flush all over. Shame had her wiggling out from against him.

He braced himself against the tree, head lowering as though he were catching his breath. She watched the rise and fall of his shoulders.

Really, kissing her husband should not feel so very wrong, but there it was: it felt wrong. This was not the marriage she had agreed to.

For weeks, she had wondered what it would be like if he kissed her, and now she knew. All her curiosity could be put to rest.

If only the restless, unfulfilled pleasure in her body, this hollow wanting, could also be put to rest, she would be happy.

Finally, Andrew turned, adjusting the lapels of his coat. His face was utterly inscrutable. “I apologize.”

“No, I—” She had encouraged him in a fit of madness. “There’s no need to apologize. But this… it shouldn’t happen again.”

“No,” he agreed. “No, it shouldn’t.”

“Our focus is on William. And if we…”

If they were to get distracted together, how could their focus remain as it should be?

“We mustn’t,” she finished.

“Yes, I understand.” He stayed where he was a few minutes more, not fully facing her, looking out across the trees as though they fascinated him.

Finally, he offered her his arm, which she took in silence.

Neither of them looked at the other for the entirety of their journey home.

Chapter Fourteen

Jessamine threw herself into planning the christening. The entire purpose, aside from officially giving William Andrew’s name, was to eradicate any lingering rumors about his origins or what his place might be in their family.

Thus, unlike her wedding to Andrew, she arranged it to take place in a large church close to Westminster itself, and invited many members of the ton as guests. Her friends, of course, along with Lord Mirthby as the other godfather, but also other lords and ladies to whom they wished to introduce William.

It was paramount that the world knew who he was and accepted him as such. Having so many attendees be in support of them all would only help. Once this was over, she hoped the only rumors would be ones about how dedicated they both were to William, and how wonderful it was that they had adopted his deceased cousin’s child to be his heir.

Nothing more. Nothing else.

Certainly no mention of Rebecca.

On the day of the ceremony itself, Jessamine dressed in the gown she and Andrew had selected together, staring at her reflection in the mirror. So long as William did not regurgitate any milk on her shoulder—not a certainty—then she would look like the most gracious of duchesses.

“You look lovely, Your Grace,” her maid said, giving her curls one final bounce and stepping back, heated curling irons in her hand. “Everyone will think you are the most beautiful duchess.”

She didn’t want the world to think she was the most beautiful duchess; she wanted Andrew to think that. But considering the fact he had been ignoring her since that wonderful, awful, terrible kiss, she doubted he was much inclined to be impressed by her beauty.

Lucy came in carrying William, and Jessamine took him, the nursemaid following behind as she descended the stairs. Andrew was already there, checking his pocket watch and scowling.

The scowl fell away as he beheld her for the first time.

A little of Jessamine’s nervousness fell away at the sight of his upturned face, a little of his shock slipping through. And some of that same emotion she had seen on him when viewing her in this dress for the first time.

Heat splashed through her as she recalled his mouth on hers, the urgent way he had pressed her against the tree as if he wanted nothing more than to consume her.

At least he did still think her pretty, even if he wanted nothing more to do with her.

William gurgled in her arms, and she glanced down at him, smiling at his tiny, perfect little head. “There now,” she cooed. “What a smart, strong boy you are.”

When she next glanced up at Andrew, his expression was inscrutable once again. “Shall we go?”

“The church awaits.”

His hand grazed her lower back, and she bit back a shiver.

Jessamine looked out of the window during the carriage ride to the church, and once inside was thankfully too preoccupied with holding William and allowing the service to go ahead that she had no reason to look at Andrew and wonder what that expression on his face had meant.

Or worse, in the church, remembering the explosive response her body had to his kiss. And how much she had wished she could feel it again in the intervening days, even though she knew it was not what they had entered the marriage for.

He was a distraction. She both wanted nothing more to do with him and wanted everything to do with him.

Lord Mirthby stood on her left as they were announced to be William’s godparents. He held the child willingly, and when William regurgitated milk across his shoulder, he merely gave a wry smile. “Well, I confess that I never have been a particular favorite with my valet.”

Jessamine decided she liked Nicholas very much.

Once the ceremony ended, all the guests had been invited back to her home with Andrew for a garden party. Jessamine handed a grumbling William to Lucy so she might feed him on the carriage ride home.

Once back, he went into his nursery for a nap and Jessamine and Andrew ventured out into the garden.

This time, when he offered his arm, she took it. This was now a public event, and they must put on a united front. “If anyone asks you why you were so eager to adopt another man’s child as my future heir rather than your own,” Andrew said, but she shook her head.

“I can defend my own decisions.”

“But for a child whose parents you supposedly didn’t know⁠—”

“All is answered if one believes I love you. Then, all things are possible.” She shrugged. “You, too, are adopting another man’s child to be your heir rather than one of your own blood. The same question might be directed at you.”

He paused, his brows descending over his eyes. The garden had been set up for a picnic, with blankets and parasols set up across the sweeping lawn, and a game of croquet a little further away, the mallets in a neat line beside the small hoops.

The guests were about to arrive.

“We will be fine,” Jessamine said, surprised by her need to reassure him. “There will be rumors; we already knew that. All we need to do here is convince them that those rumors are wrong, and the best way for us to do that is to defend William ourselves.”

Andrew nodded slowly.

Then there was no more time for conversation. Irene and Henry arrived first, with all the pomp and ceremony that a duke and duchess ought to have when arriving at an event. The other guests filed in shortly afterward. Jessamine smiled until her cheeks ached, standing beside a stiff Andrew.

No doubt joining the army had done very little for his social graces. For the first time, Jessamine understood that these ton events might not be familiar territory for him, just as they were still new and unfamiliar for her. They were both out of their comfort zone, doing what they could for William’s sake.

Irene drew her away as soon as possible. “What a wonderful service. And William behaved himself so well!”

“What about the whispers?” Jessamine asked, glancing at the people all around. “Are they satisfied, do you suppose?”

“Well.” Irene shifted uncomfortably. “There are some comments, of course. Some speculation.”

“Show me who is speculating, and I will show them what for,” Jessamine said fiercely.

“Much as I would love for you to put their assumptions back in their face, I suspect a lighter hand is needed here.” Irene smiled apologetically. “This is not Scotland any longer. Society responds better to a light hand.”

“A light hand? When they are the ones speculating at William’s origins?”

“Yes, dearest. You have already done an excellent job with christening, but now you and the duke must show everyone that there is no resentment between you, and I will discuss how generous you both are, and how tragic it is that William’s real parents died the way they did, before they could ever meet their son.”

“Perhaps you ought to make it plain that Andrew and his cousin were close?” Jessamine suggested. “I will do the same, of course.”

“Of course.” Irene winked. “We will have the world convinced in no time. Now go and smile at your husband adoringly.”

Jessamine rolled her eyes, turning to where Andrew and Lord Mirthby appeared deep in conversation. At her glance, Andrew turned halfway toward her, and it seemed almost as though his eyes were warm and soft.

“Well,” a loud voice said from behind them. “All I’m saying is that it’s odd. A lady marries a duke and immediately adopts a child that isn’t hers to be the duke’s heir? And you are telling me the boy is not his?”

“Poor girl,” another voice said. “She must be so humiliated, celebrating her husband’s by-blow like this.”

“And where is the mother?”

“No doubt she was not important enough to marry,” the second voice said, her tone snide.

Jessamine whirled, but before she could say a thing, Andrew came to stand beside her, his hand grazing her back. This time, she leaned into his strength.

“Excuse me,” he said, perfectly pleasantly. “Forgive my intrusion, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conjecture on my adopted son’s origins. Let me put one thing straight.” His tone hardened like steel, and his eyes turned flat and hard. “He may not be my son by birth, but for all intents and purposes, he is mine, and I will protect him as I would protect any son of mine. His father and I grew up together, and it is my honor to be able to celebrate his life, ended too soon, by adopting his son. If you think that I could not do something like that, I believe it reflects rather more on you than on me. Would you not adopt a child of your relative’s? Would you not make them your own? Why should William grow up as second-best within the only household he has ever known?”

He stepped closer to the little gaggle of gossiping ladies, and if possible, it seemed as though he grew in size and menace.

“I understand these are unusual circumstances, ladies, but I will not let future comments slide. Do I make myself clear?”

The ladies cowered. The leader, a lady in her forties with a beaked nose, raised her chin to lock eyes with him—then glanced away. “Our apologies, Your Grace. We had not wished to offend.”

“My son is not a suitable recipient for your curiosity,” Andrew said. “Take your speculation elsewhere.”

“Yes, Your Grace. We are very sorry.”

Andrew turned away, and Jessamine took his arm, squeezing it in gratitude. He glanced down at her, and his hand covered hers briefly.

The first hurdle had been crossed, and with remarkable ease.

Jessamine had a suspicion the remainder of the day would go a lot more smoothly.

Andrew sipped at the wine in his hand. Jessamine stood a little further away, her sister by her side, and Lady Marwich beside them both. Jessamine laughed, her head thrown back. He wished he could have been by her side, that he could have been the one to make her laugh—and then shook away the thought.

This was precisely why he didn’t need any distractions.

Lady Temperance, one of Jessamine’s friends, sidled up to beside him. “Your Grace,” she said, holding up her glass in a toast. “I think we can safely consider today a success.”

“In some ways,” he said.

“In all ways!” She cast him a sideways glance. “You know, Rebecca would have loved it.”

At the sound of Rebecca’s name, his stomach dropped. Rebecca, William’s true mother. If she’d been here—if he hadn’t failed her—none of this would have been necessary.

Lady Temperance was still looking at him, expecting a response. She seemed like a kind girl, and she had most certainly said this in good faith, presumably thinking this would come as some sort of comfort, not as a condemnation.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly.

“We were never great friends, but she was exceedingly close with Jessamine.” Lady Temperance looked over to where Nicholas was now approaching Jessamine.

Instead of Andrew, it was Nicholas who made her laugh, her expression lighting up.

Something hot and fierce erupted in his chest, and he squashed it back down. He could not afford ferocity. For tonight, he must be the civilized, polished Duke. For William’s sake.

“Rebecca always knew that Jessamine would look after William,” Lady Temperance went on, and her words were knives in his chest.

Because he should have been the one Rebecca relied on to take care of William.

He was grateful she had Jessamine, of course, grateful that Jessamine would do so much for William’s sake.

Lady Temperance smiled, oblivious to the dark maelstrom in his chest. “I am so relieved you offered for Jessamine,” she confided. “Just think what might have happened to her if you hadn’t. I know she was determined to take William no matter what, but the world would have been so cruel to her if she had.”

“I would not have allowed it,” he said curtly, knowing he sounded cruel, but unable to summon the softness Lady Temperance clearly thought behooved him as a savior to her friend. “William would have been coming with me regardless. The marriage was the only solution I could think of that would allow Jessamine to remain at William’s side. And Jessamine was at first reluctant to receive my suit. Yet,” he added quickly, “as you can see, we deal very well together.”

Lady Temperance looked at him curiously, then looked back at Jessamine, who glanced over to them, her lips still wide in a smile that Andrew had not curated for her. At their perusal, she raised her brows and shrugged. Her smile didn’t falter.

“She does seem happy,” Lady Temperance said musingly. “Happier than I have seen her, to be sure.”

Andrew plucked two glasses of wine from the table and offered one to Lady Temperance. It was unbecoming of him, he knew, to be so eager for scraps of his wife’s past that she had not already shared with him, but he found himself curious about how others viewed her.

“Have you known her since she returned to London?”

Lady Temperance pressed her finger to her lips as she considered this. “I…”

“I know about the Minerva Club,” he reminded her.

“Yes, indeed.” Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement. “I remember how you came barging in, looking for William.”

Andrew recalled that moment, too, although it evoked very different emotions for him. Panic, despair, anger once again at his father for sending him away instead of letting him help Rebecca.

Knowing it had been too late had hit him so hard, he had not known how he had drawn breath from that moment onward. At first, he had told himself it was for William’s sake, for Rebecca’s, but now he wondered.

“I met her not long after she arrived in London,” Lady Temperance said. “Lady Marwich was the one to recruit her to Minerva’s, of course. She always has an eye for who might suit our little group well. We became friends immediately. She was a little different, then. Less used to the rigors of London, I suppose. From what I understand, she grew up in a tiny village in northern Scotland, and for her, London felt too loud and too smelly.” She giggled. “Ask her about the air in Scotland, and she will tell you.”

“Did she smile then?”

“Of course. One must always smile in Society. But not quite as she does now.”

Nicholas, damn him, made her laugh again, and she accepted the wine he placed in her hand.

“Not quite as she does now,” Andrew murmured, and as though she heard him, she looked up again.

Without thinking about it, he strode across the grass to take his place beside her, one hand on her elbow. A possessive hand, though he didn’t let himself think too much about that.

She glanced down at the contact, then back at his face, as though searching for a reason he had interrupted her.

There is no reason.

Only that he wanted to see her.

Eventually, she softened again and returned to her conversation, engaging laughingly with Nicholas, who was telling her stories of how he had looked after his second cousins, and all the pranks they had gotten up to. Andrew listened in silence.

His childhood with Rebecca had been very different. After his mother died, his father had hardened into the harsh man he had become. George, his elder brother, had always been a decade older, going to university when Andrew was a mere boy, then never quite returning in the same capacity.

Rebecca, only two years older, had become his best friend, his confidant. Her father, Andrew’s uncle, lived in an estate nearby, and they visited often. Even then, it was not the same light-hearted, playful relationship Nicholas was detailing for them.

He and Rebecca had hidden from his father’s wrath by making forts under the library tables, bringing under candles and reading each other extracts from their favorite books.

Rebecca had always liked poetry. She’d been a romantic, through and through. He had dreamed of escape, and always reached for the Atlas, to read about faraway places.

Then, as they’d gotten older, they’d fled into the garden and made their home behind the formal hedges. They had been everything to one another. For a time.

Every time he recalled what had happened, a sharp pang ran through him.

Jessamine looked up into his face with a frown. Are you all right? she mouthed.

He nodded, not wanting to tell her, and especially not here, when the eyes of the ton were on them.

“I should fetch William,” Jessamine decided. “He has napped long enough.”

“Do, do,” Lady Marwich said, making shooing motions with her hands. “Bring him out so we can welcome him to the world. William Kinley, Lord Merton.”

Andrew started at the sound of his subsidiary title being bestowed upon William. And yet—yes, it was right.

At least in this, if no other way, he could make Rebecca proud.

Chapter Fifteen

Jessamine returned to the party with William in her arms, his eyes open wide, a clear, pretty blue, staring at the world as though it fascinated him. There was not a single person in attendance who was not charmed, and Jessamine was determined that no one should question his origins further.

If William were Andrew’s love child, Jessamine would not be furnishing so much love and affection for him. At least, that was what she hoped the world would think.

For her part, she didn’t know what she would do. Whatever the sins of their parents, a child was an innocent. If Andrew had been unfaithful—although, given when they married, it would be an indiscretion long before he had even met her, so it wouldn’t have been a betrayal in that sense—then she would be angry with him, but not with the child.

Never with the child.

William smiled up at her, chubby fists waving, and Jessamine took him on a tour of the garden.

Lady Marwich, who had clearly made it her mission to protect William’s reputation with every bone in her body, held him and loudly said that he looked just like Mr. Walter Kinley, the cousin to whom they were pretending William belonged.

“After all,” Lady Marwich confided in Jessamine as William was being handed to yet another cooing lady, “why should he not resemble Mr. Kinley? All babies look the same in my opinion, and I ought to know, considering I had six of my own.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Kinley as a baby?” Jessamine asked.

“I might have done,” Lady Marwich said vaguely. “I saw several babies of that time, and I could not now tell you who they belonged to. I expect I even saw your illustrious husband as a babe. His mother and I were friends. Not close, you understand, but she looked to me as a sort of mother figure, though I was only a decade or so her senior. Poor girl.”

Jessamine cast another glance at Andrew. He had been somber almost the entire party so far, and she couldn’t quite understand why. “Why was she a poor girl?”

“Only her choice of husband. One’s husband can make or break one’s life, you know. And poor Clarissa picked Ronald to be her husband. A mistake. He was not a kind man, and although he loved her, it is my firm belief that love is not enough.”

Jessamine kept an eye on William, content to be passed around the group like a particularly large potato. “How so?”

“Well, one cannot suppress one’s nature, dear. Not even for the sake of love, although it’s all very well and romantic to suppose they can. She thought he could for her, and she was sadly mistaken. Poor girl.” Lady Marwich clucked her tongue. “And then she paid the ultimate price.”

Jessamine gasped. “He killed her?”

“Of course not. Do be sensible, dear. But she died, and perhaps if she had been in a different, happier situation, she might not have done.”

Lady Marwich’s face softened, and Jessamine knew she was thinking about her own mother, who truly had paid the ultimate price. She had loved a man she ought not, and she had married him, and when he tired of her, he disposed of her as easily as one might shoot a horse.

A distasteful thing, but one that he did not shy away from doing.

Jessamine’s chest felt too tight. She sipped at the air.

“Which is, of course, why I encouraged you to marry your duke,” Lady Marwich continued, seemingly oblivious to Jessamine’s breathless hurt. “He might be a trifle stern at times, and one can see the soldier in him, but he is a good man, and honorable, and he will do you right. He has done already.” She leveled a serious look at Jessamine. “And if you ask me, you ought to be making more of an attempt to get closer to your husband. Get to know him. A man like that, trapped in his head, needs a woman’s gentle touch.” She rapped Jessamine’s arm with her fan. “A gentle touch, mind. Don’t you go barging in there like a bull in a china shop just because you think he might need a little teasing out of himself.”

Jessamine looked at Andrew again. He was listening politely to an older lady, his face an impassive mask, but he stood as though he were standing to attention.

Or, perhaps, as though he were protecting himself.

Something about being here had hurt him in some way, perhaps even in a similar way to the way in which she had been hurt.

And she would find out how.

She didn’t get her opportunity until much later on that evening, when the guests had finally returned home, and Jessamine had finally put William down to sleep. Lucy was with him, knitting in the chair by the corner, and so Jessamine felt it was safe to see her husband, at least for a little.

Her heart rattled in her chest as she rapped on the door to his bedchamber. This was a room she had never dared enter before. He had been in hers, of course, but that had been a very different experience.

She sucked in a long, deep breath at the quiet “come in” and finally ventured inside. Andrew was sitting on the bed, his hands braced against his knees, his coat and waistcoat tossed over a chair. At the sight of his shirtsleeves, Jessamine’s stomach twisted and turned like a coiling snake.

“What is it?” he asked, raising his gaze to her as though reluctantly.

Jessamine looked down at herself. She still wore the gown they had purchased together; she’d thought it better than changing into her nightwear for this conversation, but now she wondered if it was sending the wrong message.

A message like Kiss me, Andrew. Kiss me.

She cleared her throat and kept her distance. If she came any closer, she would be tempted to run her fingers through his messy hair and step in between his legs and tilt his head up to hers, so she might see every particle of his blue eyes.

And that would not—could not—happen.

“Is everything all right?” he asked when she said nothing.

“I came to check on you,” she blurted.

He frowned. “Check on me?”

“Yes. Because…” How to phrase this without sounding as though she had been watching him this entire time, and that she wanted nothing more than to soothe whatever pain he was experiencing? “I thought perhaps you might be a little sad.”

His eyes searched hers for a long moment.

“A little sad,” he repeated.

“I saw your face earlier.”

He tilted his head. Not angry, but not open, not yet. He was a closed book to her. “You seem very concerned about my face, Jessamine.”

“Merely…” After a moment’s hesitation, she sat beside him, hands braced on the bed on either side. There was enough distance between them that there was no danger of them accidentally touching. “Well, you were looking at me.”

That prompted him into a snort, and she smiled a little. They sat in silence for a long moment, and for once it didn’t feel awkward or strained. So much had sat between them since they were married, but this felt like harmony, in a strange way.

“I thought perhaps it might be to do with Rebecca,” she said.

He leaned forward so his arms were braced against his knees, hands clasped between them. “What made you think that?”

“It was an event celebrating her son,” Jessamine said. “And also erasing her from the picture. No one knows that William is her son.” She laced her fingers together, staring down at them rather than at Andrew.

Lady Marwich’s advice rang through her ears again, insisting that a man like Andrew needed a gentle touch.

This had to be it. There could be no denying he was locked inside his own head, thinking about something she had no access to, and there could also be no denying that if they could just talk about it—if he could finally open up to her—they might have one of the most honest conversations they’d had since their marriage.

“Rebecca was my friend,” she continued when Andrew didn’t speak. “I know it’s not the same as the bond you two had, and I would never compare my loss to yours, but I loved her too.”

Slowly, Andrew turned his head to look at her. For once, his blue eyes weren’t hard. The sternness in his face had softened into something she knew well: grief.

“Talking about Rebecca has…” His voice came rough, and he coughed to steady it. “It has never come easily to me.”

“That’s all right.” Jessamine smiled gently. “I can do the talking, if you like. Here’s what I remember. Rebecca was a kind woman. She loved freely, and openly, and was never afraid to say what she thought. Her marriage had been a source of sadness, yes, but it had never defined her. She was bold and bright, and she made the world a better place for being in it.” Jessamine shot Andrew a sideways glance. “And I know she was close with you when you were children.”

He blew out a long breath and closed her eyes. “I failed her.”

Jessamine waited, knowing there was more.

“Her father… My uncle, he was determined for her to marry Lord Cartwell, despite his age and infirmity. It was cruel to expect a girl so young to marry a man so old. She begged me for help, but…”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Jessamine put a daring hand on his.

“She begged me,” he repeated, “but I was unable to stop it. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t convince her father to do otherwise. No one could convince him of anything he didn’t want to do. He had never known compassion, much like my own father. Neither of them ever once felt sorry for the woman they condemned. And… All her father saw was the personal gain.” Andrew shook his head, his mouth turning down. “As for my own father, he sent me into the army. Bought me a commission and all but shipped me away as Rebecca married. We exchanged letters for a while, but I knew how desperately sad she was, and she knew I had let her down. I should have tried harder. Run away with her. Defied our fathers.”

He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and Jessamine ached for him.

“It sounds as though there was nothing you could have done,” she told him.

“That’s nothing but an excuse!” His jaw snapped shut. “Claiming there is nothing else to do amounts to giving up. And she was my family, Jessamine. She deserved more than giving up.”

All at once, Jessamine felt as though something had clicked into view, as though she had finally put on a much-needed pair of glasses.

Andrew was not cold and unforgiving. He grieved his cousin, but worse, he held himself accountable for every bad thing that had ever happened to her, and blamed himself every time he thought of her.

“Andrew,” Jessamine whispered, shuffling closer. “You can’t carry this burden around with you for the rest of your life.”

“It’s the least I deserve. After all that, Rebecca is dead, and what did I do to save her?”

“You came the instant you knew.”

“No,” he said grimly. “I came once my father and George were dead, and I had inherited the title and everything in its name. No one had written to even tell me Rebecca was with child. She had not written.”

He looked so disgusted with himself, Jessamine could have cried.

“She was ashamed,” Jessamine said.

“And she thought I would judge?”

“My father…” Jessamine cleared her throat. “She was deceived by my father, and she saw that as a personal failing. She didn’t even want to tell me, even though this made William my brother.”

“She did tell you,” Andrew said, looking down into Jessamine’s face as though he were seeing her anew.

“Yes. After some time. But she told no one else. I imagine…” Filled with daring, Jessamine reached up to brush her fingers along Andrew’s jaw. “I imagine she knew she could not lie to you.”

Andrew’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, but he didn’t pull her away. His fingers shifted along her bare skin, just a fraction, but enough to send sensation dancing into her toes. Although it made no sense, she felt his touch everywhere.

That soft scrape of his fingers across her bare skin ignited something in her very soul.

“She loved you,” Jessamine went on. “And when I first met you, I couldn’t see why. But I think I understand it now.” She smiled sadly and made the decision to offer him her own pain as a means of soothing a little of his. “Did I ever tell you about Percy, my… My brother?”

His fingers made another distracting slide. “No. Tell me.”

“A year before my mother died, she gave birth to a baby boy,” she began.

Jessamine’s chest felt too tight. This was a story she had told almost no one in her life. Mostly because, when she thought about it, everything in her ached. But for Andrew, who had confessed so much, she would find a way of putting it into words.

“I was eight years old.”

Andrew was sitting closer now, although she hadn’t noticed him move. His arm brushed against hers, offering warmth and comfort.

“I came in to see my mother and the new baby. My father had already tired of my mother, I think, and he was nowhere to be found. He never loved her.” Her lip curled, but her voice shook as she spoke. “I think he was hoping she would die in the birth and leave him with a son.”

Andrew squeezed her hand. When had their fingers become intertwined?

“A man like that is not your responsibility,” he said. “And his actions are not your burden to bear.”

“Well, this isn’t about him, because my mother did survive. This, anyway.” She shook her head. “This is about Percy. He was so tiny. I remember thinking that, because I was smaller than everyone else, and he still felt so small in my arms. I held him, and my mother smiled, and I thought, perhaps, we could find happiness together, and then…”

She gritted her teeth against the potency of the memory, though it had happened so long ago.

“He started convulsing,” she whispered. “Just—he couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. Mama took him back and tried to soothe him. All the maids and the physician came back… No one noticed me for the longest time.”

She had been stuck in the corner of the room, watching with terror in her heart as Percy’s life teetered on the edge.

It took only a few minutes for him to die.

“I’ve never heard any person make the sound my mother made when Percy stopped breathing,” Jessamine continued, her voice thick. “It was… it was as though it had come from the very depths of her soul. Thirteen years ago, and I can still remember the agony in that cry.”

Andrew lifted her entirely, pulling her across the bed until she sat across his lap, legs dangling over the side. His hands came to her eyes, knuckles brushing away her tears. She hadn’t even known she was crying.

“The thing is,” she croaked, “I know it wasn’t my fault. I know Percy would have died even if I weren’t holding him… but I was.”

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured. “Babies… they die all the time. It’s tragic, but it’s not your fault.”

This didn’t feel as though it could be Andrew, so gentle and soft now when he was capable of being so harsh. He’d been a soldier, a captain, commanding men and getting his hands dirty, yet those same hands held her as though she were precious.

“I’m sorry.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I didn’t mean… All I meant was to illustrate that I understand. A little.”

“Perhaps we both carry guilt we shouldn’t,” he said, smoothing down her hair and brushing it back from her face.

This close, she could see every tiny line and crease and dimple of his skin. His absurdly long eyelashes. A dimple at the very base of his chin. The colors in his blue eyes: yellows, browns, greens, and grays.

His fingers slid along her chin, stopping just before her ear. His thumb brushed her mouth.

She was iron to his magnet. The force that drew them together was impossible to ignore, impossible to resist. His eyes seemed alight now.

“Jessamine,” he said, and his voice scraped across her name, making it sound rough and needy.

Heat ignited in her lower belly.

“Andrew.” She threaded both hands in his hair. “Don’t turn me away now, please.”

“No.” His other hand skated up her side to her shoulder, then back down.

His fingers were still on her face, and he searched her expression as though he expected to find something there.

Whatever it was, Jessamine didn’t know. All she knew was this new and strange hunger.

This was no longer about Rebecca or about Percy; this was about the way he looked at her, as though she consumed him.

As though he wished to devour her.

And she wanted nothing more than to be devoured.

His breath flowed over her lips. They were in a bedchamber, his bedchamber. On a bed.

Jessamine gripped his shoulders, holding him close.

“You make it… impossible,” he said, eyes fluttering closed for an instant, “to do as I vowed I would… To keep my hands to myself when all I want is to unravel you.”

And then he kissed her, and the want in her chest became an inferno.

Jessamine kissed him back with all the frantic desperation she felt in him.

This time, she would not end matters before they progressed.

This time, she would see it through to the very end.

Whatever that entailed.

Chapter Sixteen

Andrew felt as though he might be on the verge of insanity. Seeing her tears—the intensity and the trust—had unlocked something frighteningly primal in him, and the fact she wanted him too only made it harder to resist her.

Worse still, he didn’t want to resist her.

He wanted to make her his, to spread her legs and discover the color of the curls between them, to know once and for all what was under that dress. It was as if she had known, when she wore it today, how much it would heat his blood to see it on her.

He kissed her fiercely, with every ounce of the desire in his body, cupping her face and drinking from her lips. She clung to his shoulders, as eager as he.

The time against the tree flashed into his mind, although he had been doing his best to forget ever since.

They were only here for William. That was the only reason they had married, and it felt wrong to be distracted with one another when the boy needed them.

But he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help drawing her closer. They twisted, and then her back was against the bed, and he leaned over her, supporting his weight on his forearms. Her legs opened so naturally, and he settled between them like rain falling to the earth. Her skirts slid up her thighs, and he brought a hand to her stockinged knee.

Above, her garter held the stockings in place, and he slid his hand up toward it.

Her questing fingers found his cravat, rumpling it in her desperation to remove it from him. Well, there seemed no harm in that; it was the end of the day, and he had no further need for a cravat. Nor did he have any need for a coat, which he allowed her to toss to one side. Next, she fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat.

He found her garter and unfastened it, drawing her stocking down her leg. Soft skin greeted him as a reward, and the next time he slid his palm up her calf, it was bare.

His gut clenched.

This was madness. He ought to stop, or he would find himself unable to stop, but he didn’t know how. Couldn’t bring himself to slow down even a fraction.

She finally unbuttoned his waistcoat, and he allowed her to once again slide it off his arms and toss it aside. When his valet found the mess, the poor man would be furious, but never mind that.

It took him very little time to remove her other garter, and then there was nothing on her legs that might hinder his passage between them. He explored the tender skin of her inner thigh, and she shivered.

“Do you want me to stop?” The words came out thick, as though through honey.

Stopping was the very last thing he wanted. In fact, he could not imagine anything he wanted less.

“No,” she whispered, now wrapping her legs around his waist. “Don’t stop.”

He could not afford to ravish her in quite the way his body demanded. He had been hard from the very beginning, and now the ache felt as though it consumed him, body and mind. But if he got her with child, that would be a disaster.

No, he could not do that. But he could give her something and see to himself later. Once she was satisfied, she would not think to ask about him, probably. After all, she had no experience; this was her first time being with a man of any description, so of course she would not know that what he was about to do was, perhaps, not the full joining of man and wife.

He spread her legs wider still and kissed down her neck. “All right,” he told her, licking the soft curve of her collarbone. “I won’t stop unless you tell me to.”

Jessamine dug her fingers into Andrew’s hair as he descended down her body, kissing her breasts through her clothes.

She wished she were wearing less.

He had meticulously removed her stockings, and she had presumed that meant he would be removing the remainder of her clothes. Instead, her skirts bunched by her hip, and he kissed her nipple through the layers of material covering it. His heat of his mouth was only a vague sensation.

And yet, despite that, she found herself tightening everywhere. Heat pooled between her legs. It was just as demanding and potent a sensation as before—in the trees—or if anything, more intense. She knew that if he didn’t do something about this slick ache, she would feel it for the rest of the night. Unsatisfied.

He had promised he would not stop. She had to believe that.

She arched her back into his mouth, and he smiled. His fingers came up to pluck at her nipples, barely visible through her dress, but achingly hard. “Does this mean you want me, Jessamine?”

Admitting it took sacrificing all her pride, but she forced herself to do it anyway. “Yes.”

He made a muffled sound of pleasure, or perhaps it was appreciation. Relief. All she knew was the sound made the low ache between her legs even worse. She throbbed with need, and she hoped he knew how to ease it for her, because she had never experienced anything like this before.

“There we go,” he murmured, reaching her stomach and pushing her skirts up a little further to reveal bare skin.

His mouth grazed there. Soft, teasing kisses that were only a portion of what he could, what she knew he could do.

She wanted more. Helplessly, endlessly. Desperately.

“Please,” she gasped.

“Please what?” he asked against her hipbone, upon which he was lavishing all his attention. She didn’t know what about that subtle little jut of bone had entranced him so, but there could be no denying his interest.

“More,” she begged.

“More what?”

“Andrew.”

He chuckled, lighter than she had seen him, and brought the fingers at her lower thigh up a little. Then a little more.

And as she writhed, desperate for something she didn’t understand, he finally touched her where she needed him the most.

“You’re so wet,” he said, almost wonderingly, drawing a finger through her folds.

Jessamine caught her breath, trying to roll her hips closer to him. The shock of pleasure from his touch almost shut down her brain. It was too much, but already she craved more.

He pressed another kiss to her hipbone as he found a sensitive pearl with his fingers and drew small circles around it. Jessamine gasped, one hand pressing against her mouth as she begged him silently to never stop, to keep going, to keep going, to keep going.

With a murmur of praise, he withdrew his hand and kissed down her thigh. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, although she was so dazed with this barrage of new sensations that she could hardly parse his words.

Kiss her? But he had been kissing her this entire time.

“Wha—” she started, but before she could finish the question, his lips pressed where his fingers had been so recently, and he gave her a soft, chaste, closed-mouth kiss.

Jessamine tipped her head up so she could look at him and the expression of very male smugness on his face as he peered up at her.

He was kissing her there.

And as she watched, he kissed her again, this time more thoroughly. His mouth opened, and she watched the movement of his jaw as his tongue came to lick her.

Too much.

Everything was too much, like the colors inside her body were too bright, and she wasn’t quite sure how she would contain all this within her body. Tension coiled tight in her lower belly, and despite her shock, she found herself digging her fingers in his hair once again, gripping tightly, staring down at the dark head and the concentration in what little of his expression she could see.

Her inclination toward modesty gave out, and she gasped, crying out as his tongue stroked her toward a conclusion that felt both a mystery and inevitable. She drew closer and closer to it, approaching it as one might approach the very edge of a cliff, the wind in their face.

“That’s right,” Andrew murmured, the vibration of his voice doing terrible, wonderful things to her. “Just let go. Do it for me.”

“I don’t know—” She writhed under him. “What’s happening to me?”

“It’s your peak,” he told her. “Let go. This is meant to happen.”

His finger joined his tongue, a little lower, circling her entrance, and that small pressure was enough for her to shatter. She felt as though the pleasure ripped from her in one violent wave, crashing over her and dragging her under the surface.

All her thoughts splintered. The only thing left in her mind was how intense this pleasure was. Truly a peak—she felt as though she were falling.

And Andrew… he caught her.

He whispered praises against her skin and held her as her body jerked uncontrollably. If it weren’t for him, she might have been self-conscious, but he made her feel beautiful instead.

When the last dregs of that pleasure left her system, he tenderly tucked her skirts back down her legs and positioned himself beside her.

“There,” he told her, kissing her forehead.

The gesture made her feel strangely warm and fluttery inside. All the emotions of the day, everything she had felt about her mother and Percy and then Andrew, now felt distant. As though her peak, everything he had done to her body, had purged it from her.

“That’s right,” he murmured, stroking her hair back from her face. “Go to sleep. The hour is late. Sleep, Jessamine.”

She could not have resisted his command even if she had wanted to. With the reassuring presence of Andrew by her side, she drifted into oblivion.

When she woke again, she was in the cold sheets of her own bed. Andrew was nowhere to be seen.

She wore only her chemise, her other clothes neatly folded over the back of a chair. He must have removed them from her, keeping only her chemise in place as a nightgown.

He had brought her back into her own bed.

She clamped her legs tightly together as she recalled precisely what Andrew had done to her. With his mouth. He had not seemed even remotely self-conscious about the act. Perhaps it was usual between a husband and wife; she certainly could not make the argument one way or the other.

Yet here she was. After the event. He had urged her to sleep, had kept watch over her while she drifted into unconsciousness, and then he had returned her to her proper place.

She placed a hand on her stomach, wishing she could push away the unpleasant feeling of having been abandoned. They had never agreed, verbally, that their relationship had changed.

Except it had.

She groaned and pressed her face into the pillow, resisting the urge to scream, but only because she feared Andrew would hear her.

What did he want? The man infuriated her.

Echoes of pleasure ran through her body at the memory, once again, of everything he had done to her. That was not the action of a man who did not care about or like her at all.

Nothing made any sense.

She closed her eyes, doing her best to drift back into slumber, but unfortunately, sleep was rather harder to come by now, and she lay silently in her lonely bed until the glow of sunrise touched her curtains, and birds called merrily to one another to welcome the new day.

Chapter Seventeen

“Good morning,” he said to the surprised footman of Nicholas’ house. “I’ll show myself in.”

Andrew rose before any of the servants expected to see him awake, ordering a horse to be called and riding across to Nicholas’s house.

After a sleepless night thinking about everything that had taken place between Jessamine and him, he needed another perspective, and Nicholas was the only person he thought could provide that.

All the blinds were drawn as he approached, and he rapped smartly on the door.

“But Lord—” the footman began.

Andrew waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder as he walked determinedly along the corridor. “Lord Mirthby will receive me. See to my horse, if you will.”

Being a duke did make certain activities easier. It gave him the liberty to order others around and for them to listen. No one dared deny a duke, no matter how much they had denied Lord Andrew, the younger son of a duke.

He took the stairs two at a time and rapped his knuckles loudly on Nicholas’s bedchamber door before letting himself in. Light strained in through the curtains, and Nicholas stirred groggily in the bed.

“Wake up,” Andrew said.

“What the devil did I do to deserve this?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“And you couldn’t wait until calling hours like a civilized person?” Nicholas sat up in bed. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Just after eight.”

“The army did you no favors,” Nicholas grumbled, stretching and propping himself on the pillow. “Open the curtains, then. If you’re so determined to talk, you may as well shed some light on the situation.”

Andrew strode to the curtains, throwing them open and welcoming a shaft of sunlight onto the floor. Nicholas swung out of bed and grabbed a robe hanging over a chair, slinging it across his shoulders.

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I ought to be sleeping for another two hours at least,” he grumbled. “Do you know at what time I got to bed?”

“Went to White’s after you left mine, did you?” Andrew asked, unsympathetically.

“What of it? A man must have some entertainment that doesn’t revolve around an infant, you know.” He paused, sinking back onto the edge of the bed. “Yet I will admit that it all went very smoothly yesterday. I suppose you’re proud of yourself?”

“Jessamine deserves all the credit.” As he said her name, his stomach tightened.

God, she had been so perfectly responsive in his arms. He had ached for her so desperately, and he knew this foolishness had to stop before it progressed further. Before he damaged what he had in pursuit of what he should not want.

“I see,” Nicholas said slowly. “You’ve come here because she’s thrown you out?”

Andrew sent his friend a stern glance. “No.”

“Then what on earth possessed you to disturb my sleep like this?”

Andrew threw himself into a chair. Now he was here, on the verge of discussing it, he wasn’t even sure how to go about the discussion.

“I never wanted a bride,” he began, after several false starts. “Even before my father and brother died. There was no woman I wanted to bring into my life and make my wife and… You know.”

“Yes, yes, you’re thoroughly damaged.” Nicholas propped his chin on his fist. “But you do have a wife.”

“For William’s sake.”

“And yet I think it may be slightly more than that,” Nicholas said slyly. “Or were you not glaring into the back of my head last night with the force of a thousand suns?”

Andrew scowled. “You must have been imagining it.”

“I never imagine the ire of jealous husbands,” Nicholas assured him. “Your wife is wonderful, by the way. A delight. You are a very fortunate man.”

Andrew rested his forehead on his hands. “I think it might make me lose what’s left of my sanity?”

“For what reason?”

“This marriage was supposed to be entirely…” He let out a long breath. “I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You know my past. Everything I’ve been through shouldn’t weigh her down, but I’ve already told her about Rebecca.”

“She already knew a great deal about Rebecca,” Nicholas pointed out. “They were friends.”

“But my burdens are not hers.”

“I have it under excellent authority that that is marriage.”

“Not the marriage we were meant to have,” Andrew snapped. “It was meant to be an entirely dispassionate arrangement purely for the sake of taking care of William. A practical arrangement alone.”

Nicholas ran a hand through his hair. “I presume you think now is too early for a drink?”

“For God’s sake, Nick.”

“You look like you need a drink,” Nicholas said unrepentantly. “Have you even slept?”

“If I had,” Andrew said, dropping his hands to glare at his friend, “I would not be here.”

“So, to sum up, you are feeling like a fool because you confided in your new wife, and now you feel as though your burdens have become her burdens, and that you will make a poor husband?”

“I also—” Andrew couldn’t bring himself to detail what happened last night. “Things have become a trifle more intimate between us,” he said at last. “And I… believe I have acted in error.”

Nicholas groaned. “For what reason? Of all the women in the world, she is the one you should be satisfying the most.”

“There are no other women, Nick.”

“All the more reason to be taking your pleasure from her, then! That may not have been the reason you married, but it’s certainly an advantage. She’s a beautiful lady, and no doubt she will have other offers in time. You know as well as I that the ton only pretends to virtue. You ought to ensure her sights are set on you alone.”

Andrew scoffed. Perhaps he did not know Jessamine all that well yet, but he knew her well enough to know she would not be stepping outside their marriage. His reticence was because he knew how easy it was to hurt someone to whom he was close. They could not afford intimacy to turn cold and angry. William required two parents—even if neither were his actual parents—who were able to be around each other with a calm sense of duty. Introducing other aspects to that relationship paved the way for disaster.

“It’s not as simple as all that,” he said.

Nicholas sighed and lay back on the bed. “So keep your distance from her. But for heaven’s sake, still treat her as though she matters to you. It’s obvious she does, so if you retreat back into yourself and become Captain Kinley with her, you’ll only make things worse.”

“Captain Kinley?” he asked wryly.

“You know. All stiff and distant and proper. Just be yourself, and don’t bed her, if you’re so worried about that. Although, if you’ve done it once, she’ll expect you to do it again.”

Nicholas raised his head to waggle his eyebrows at Andrew, who tossed a cushion at him and rose to leave.

He would go riding, he thought—anything other than return to his house to eat an awkward breakfast with Jessamine.

If she thought last night was the beginning of something⁠—

Well, they would have to cross that particular bridge when they came to it. And he hoped not to come to it for some time yet.

When Jessamine descended downstairs for breakfast, she found the breakfast room empty.

Her stomach dropped.

This was his usual time for eating; by London standards, he was an early riser, choosing to do more with his day than ladies and gentlemen often did.

Evidently, he had chosen to do even more than usual.

Jessamine pinched her nose, calming herself. So her husband was avoiding her after he had put his mouth between her legs in a manner she had not known was enjoyable—but what did that matter?

Better they both put the event entirely behind them.

She reached for the marmalade and slowly spread it over her toast. “Do you know where His Grace is?” she asked the footman who brought in a tray of hot tea.

“I believe he went out, Your Grace.”

“Will he be back for breakfast?”

The footman’s gaze darted from her to the empty seat at the other end of the table. “I’m afraid he didn’t specify, Your Grace.”

“Very well. Thank you, Thomas.”

The footman bobbed his head again and bid a hasty retreat. Jessamine poured herself some tea and gathered up the last of her wounded feelings, tucking them away again.

This was perfectly fine. She was a duchess, and she had plenty of things to do with her time that did not involve a reticent duke.

After finishing breakfast, she retired to the library, where she wrote a series of notes to her friends.

If Andrew was going to be out, then she would be, too. The weather was sunny, and so she invited Irene, Temperance, and Lady Marwich to a picnic in Hyde Park.

Next, she descended into the kitchens to speak with the cook to ask if a picnic could be made at such short notice. With much smiling, the cook assured her yes, but the moment she left the kitchens, she heard his voice rising in anger as he commanded new ingredients to be bought and preparations to be made.

No doubt she had put herself in the cook’s bad books for the foreseeable future, but she couldn’t remain in the house any longer than she absolutely had to.

That done, she retired upstairs to where Lucy was holding William against her chest. Something inside Jessamine loosened when she saw the baby. He had largely recovered from the colic now, although he grizzled for no reason sometimes still, and he turned his large, blue-gray eyes on her as she reached for him.

“William,” she said, nuzzling her face into his hair. “I declare you’re growing bigger every single day.”

“That he is,” Lucy said with a smile. “He’s happy to see you.”

William’s chubby hands fastened around one of her curls and held on for dear life. After a moment’s consideration, he brought it to his mouth, and she disentangled herself as best she could.

“I’m happy to see him,” Jessamine said. “Sometimes it feels as though he’s the best part of every single day.”

“That’s how it feels,” Lucy said, smiling. “He’s a sweet lad, I’ll say that. How was the christening?”

“You were there.” Jessamine laughed, settling into the rocking chair and adjusting William in her arms. “I think, for the most part, it went well.”

She hesitated, thinking about Andrew, his sorrow over his cousin, and the way he had held her when she’d confided in him about Percy. That had been painful, as well, but also incredibly rewarding.

And that was enough thinking about that.

“It went well,” she said again, and changed the subject. “I thought I would go for a picnic in Hyde Park today with some of my friends. Temperance and Irene and Lady Marwich.”

Lucy smiled warmly. “What a lovely idea. Would you like to bring William? The sunshine and fresh air would be good for him.”

“Oh.” Yet another thing in Jessamine’s heart felt as though it expanded. Doing the things she loved, but with William. Adding him made things all the better. “Yes, let’s do that! How wonderful.”

Already, a little of the sting from Andrew’s absence faded.

She did not need a man. All she needed was her precious boy. She hugged him closer, feeling her racing heart settle.

Yes, this was all she needed. All she would ever need.

If only she could truly believe it.

Chapter Eighteen

“Oh,” Temperance said, her eyes lighting up. “You brought William!”

Hyde Park looked beautiful in the afternoon sun. Jessamine led the way, a parasol twirling in one hand. Servants trailed her, carrying picnic boxes and more parasols and blankets.

Lady Marwich and Temperance were already in position, looking across at the Serpentine River, and Jessamine joined them.

Lucy sat carefully down with them, William strapped against her chest, fast asleep.

Jessamine smiled at the nursemaid, then at her friends. “If the fresh air will be good for him, why not? When he wakes, you can hold him.”

Irene hurried over, her own maid behind, and she took a seat. “My goodness,” she said, stretching out. “I had not known there would be so much nausea. Barbara, tell me it eases.”

Lady Marwich laughed. “It eases, my dear. I imagine you must be in the thick of it. But soon enough, it should pass. And then you will be plagued with swollen ankles, crushed lungs, and hunger pangs.”

“What a splendid insight into pregnancy,” Irene said dryly.

“It’s always best to be prepared, or so I say.” Lady Marwich turned to Irene. “And how is motherhood treating you, my dear?”

“Well, he’s sleeping better than he was,” Jessamine said. “I suspect a touch of colic. But he seems to have gotten over that.”

“Ah.” Lady Marwich nodded knowingly. “That can happen.”

Lucy, with William, seated herself politely to one side, invisible as only good servants could be. But Jessamine couldn’t stop herself from glancing over every few minutes to check that William was still asleep. One of the times she checked, he was just blinking his sleepy eyes open, staring at the world as though he had never seen it before.

“Here,” Lady Marwich said, thrusting a strawberry into Jessamine’s hands. “Stop fussing, dear. You know that won’t make him grow any faster or slower, and it certainly won’t make him stop crying if he’s about to.”

Jessamine looked back over, accepting the strawberry. “I know that.”

Irene patted her hand. “You seem distracted. Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” Jessamine said.

There was no way she could confide in Irene with Temperance and Lady Marwich present. Even saying the words out loud made her shiver a little inside.

She had… Well, this time they had more than kissed.

“You are doing perfectly fine,” Temperance said. “About William, I mean. I think everyone thought he was a charming boy, and all those nasty rumors have almost stopped.”

“You’ll never quell them completely,” Lady Marwich said, and her chest swelled indignantly. “There are always some who are determined to mine misery wherever they think they can find it, and if they think you are miserable in a marriage with a husband who disrespects you, trapped caring for a son whom your husband had out of the marriage, then they will do their best to spread it.”

“Misery loves company.” Irene spread her hands. “Chances are, it means they are unhappy with their lives.”

“But I am not entirely without influence.” Lady Marwich speared each one of them with a glare. “And I assure you that no one will spread rumors about our boy within my hearing.”

“Nor mine,” Irene said.

Our boy.

Jessamine felt her eyes sting. Rebecca hadn’t just been her friend or Andrew’s cousin; she had belonged to all of them, and now so did William, in a way. And knowing how far her friends would go to defend him touched her more than she could say.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at each of them in turn. “It means so much to me to know that you—any of you—want to look out for our sweet boy.”

“Oh, of course!” Temperance gushed. “Even if we had not cared for Rebecca the way we did, how could we ever turn our backs on you? What is your burden is ours to bear.”

“Ours to share,” Lady Marwich corrected. “No harm will come to him.”

Unable to bear being apart from William, Jessamine collected him from Lucy and held him against his chest, supporting his head as he peered, wide-eyed, at the world around them.

“Sometimes, I get afraid,” she confided. “Rebecca entrusted him to me, but what if I fail them both somehow? What if William isn’t safe with me after all? What if I’m not up to being responsible for him? I thought I was, but…” Her voice trailed off.

She had been so determined to care for him single-handedly, she had given no consideration to the wider world and the role William would eventually play in it.

Irene placed her hand on her stomach as she stared at Jessamine thoughtfully. “You know,” she said, “no one has given me a treatise on how to be a mother. Oh, I know such things exist, but I put very little stock in them, because they are largely about how one remains virtuous while raising a virtuous child, and heaven knows I was not a virtuous child, nor do I expect my baby to be.”

She slid her hand up the minuscule bump now visible.

“I mean the real parts of motherhood,” she continued. “I know what I want: for my baby to enter the world and be sure of itself and to be safe and well-protected, and to grow to be happy. But there are so many expectations placed on its head already, and it hasn’t even been born yet. How am I supposed to know what to do?”

“No one ever truly knows,” Lady Marwich said. “Some claim they do, but we are all human, and we all make mistakes. The most important thing is that William is secure and loved. You have a husband and his title to provide security, and you are more than capable of offering him love. That’s truly all that matters, and this comes from a woman who has raised a son.”

Jessamine kissed the top of William’s perfect head.

“Thank you.” Her voice wobbled, but she endeavored to keep it steady. “Thank you all so much.”

Irene accompanied Jessamine home, and followed Jessamine up to her bedchamber. “Well?” she demanded the moment they were alone. “I know there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Jessamine slumped on the bed. Not, thankfully, the bed she had defiled with her husband. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because we are sisters. Joined by blood! We are one soul. And also, we lived together for several months, and I know when you’re keeping secrets. So, Jessie. Are you going to tell me your secrets?”

“It’s not a secret,” Jessamine said.

“Is it about the duke?”

Jessamine fell back and stared at the ceiling. “It feels as though everything in my life is about the duke.”

“Well?” Irene fell on the bed beside her, dislodging her pillows. “What is it? Did something happen? I’ve noticed the way he looks at you.”

Jessamine sent a sharp glance at her sister. “And how does he look at me?”

“Like he wants to skin anyone alive who makes you laugh. And also like he wants to undress you with his teeth.” Irene smirked. “Believe me when I say I recognize that look on a man’s face.”

Jessamine put both hands over her face. “Irene.”

“What? Are you telling me nothing of that nature occurred?”

“Well…” Jessamine dropped her hands. “Perhaps it did.”

“I knew it! But tell me everything, dearest. You invited us to a picnic today, so evidently whatever passed between you did not result in pledges of undying love.”

“I don’t love him,” Jessamine said with dignity. “I just… It’s complicated.”

“It’s your husband. If it’s not simultaneously complicated and confusing and difficult, then what is it?” She cleared her throat. “But you know, there’s no need to be scared of… of the natural things that pass between a husband and wife.”

“I’m not afraid,” Jessamine said, rolling over to face her sister. “It’s more that I don’t want to risk anything happening to William. If something goes wrong? If I risk my heart and something happens, how can we be there for William? How will he know he’s loved if we can’t stand to look at each other?”

“Are things that bad?” Irene demanded.

“No! At least… I hope not.” Jessamine snorted. “Although what should I know? I went to sleep in his bed and awoke in mine, and he left first thing. I haven’t seen him since. Perhaps he’s hoping to return to the first days where we barely saw or spoke to one another. How should I know if he doesn’t speak to me?” She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “But even if he did, I don’t know what I would want him to say. Everything is so tangled in my head.”

“Well then, take the time to untangle it before you force a conversation,” Irene said. “There’s no need to rush things. You will be married for the rest of your lives. Just know that… If you do decide to let things happen as they will, I think it will make you very happy.”

Jessamine buried her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“As for William, Lady Marwich said it the best.” Irene tugged at Jessamine’s hair. “As long as he has you, he will be loved. That’s what you do best, you know. It’s why Rebecca was so fond of you, and why she chose you to be William’s godmother. She knew that you would do everything you could to care for him in every way you could. Trust in that. Trust in Rebecca.”

Irene smiled gently when Jessamine raised her head.

“And if he proves himself to you, trust in Andrew,” she finally added.

Chapter Nineteen

“Ihad an idea,” she said as he entered the room, not even giving him time to greet her.

Andrew finally came home to find his wife present, glowing from having been in the sun all day. She looked even more beautiful than usual, and his heart clenched dangerously when he saw her.

“Oh?” He came over to see what she was doing: rearranging the decorative snuff boxes in a glass cabinet. “And what’s that?”

“Lady Marwich is throwing a ball, and she has invited us.”

He looked down at her mahogany head, trying to make sense of it all. “I see,” he said.

“Do you disagree?” She turned, cradling a snuff box against her chest, and he had the strangest feeling she was in the mood to argue with him.

Perhaps in a valid way, considering the fact she had risen and left the house when he’d been with Nicholas, and thus, she probably thought him avoiding. When, as far as he was concerned, considering he returned to the house to find it empty, it was the other way around.

“Not necessary,” he said evenly. When she looked at him like that, all smoldering defiance, it reminded him of how she had been in his bed, and the memory only made him want her more. He stepped back to give them both more space. “Is there a particular reason?”

“Well, we’ve been married a little while now, and I don’t want to give the gossip mongers any reason to think we’re anything but deliriously happy.”

“Ah.” He smiled a little. “So this is a kind of vengeance.”

“Not vengeance.” She scowled. “More that… I don’t want them thinking the worst of us.”

“No, neither do I.”

“It’s for William,” she said then, still more defiantly.

“Even if it were for you, I would not have fought against it,” he said, and won himself a startled glance. “Does that shock you? I don’t want rumors about you or your unhappiness any more than you do, and if a few appearances is all it takes, then that’s what we will do.”

“You will have to seem as though you like me,” she warned.

She was being increasingly standoffish, and it amused him enough that he couldn’t keep the distance he had intended. “That will be all right,” he said. “I’ve managed it before.”

And after he had managed it, he had taken her to bed and kissed her until she reached her peak on his lips.

But better not to think of that.

“When is the ball?” he asked.

“In three days. Will you be… Can you be ready by then?”

“Yes.” He took the snuffbox from her hands and placed it at the end of the neat row she had already set in place. He closed the lid. “Will you have a dress?”

“You made sure of that.”

So he had. And the memory only brought a fresh wave of torment.

“Then we’ll attend together,” he told her, and took a step back. “I’ll visit William now.”

To his relief, and perhaps his disappointment, she let him go.

On the day of the ball, Jessamine wore a green gown, smoothing her hands down herself as she took a breath. Her maid pinned the last pearl in her hair.

Her first ball since she had married.

She’d been to a few before, of course, after she had moved back to London. Irene had been determined to do right by her, and so she’d had every social event one could imagine laid at her feet. Her introduction to London Society had been something spectacular, though short-lived before Rebecca had died and Jessamine’s life had changed forever.

There was a knock on the door, and Andrew stepped in. Her maid stepped back and curtsied, leaving the room.

Jessamine curled her hand into a fist by her side. They’d had little to do with one another since…

Well, since that night.

But he hadn’t avoided her the way she had expected. More, he kept his physical distance while engaging in conversation about mundane things.

“You’re dressed,” he said gruffly.

“Do you like it?” She turned away from their reflections in the mirror and turned to face him. There was a perfume bottle in her hand, and she anointed her wrists, rubbing them together. “I thought the green could be symbolic. New beginnings.”

A smile touched his mouth. “Yes. Very symbolic.”

“So you don’t like it?”

“I never said that.” He cleared his throat as he stepped closer. “I thought we might check on William together.”

Secretly, Jessamine was delighted. Both that his gaze kept traveling down her silhouette as though he could not help himself, and that he had come to her with this request about William. It wasn’t that she thought he didn’t care about William, but often their different types of caretaking took place at different times and in different ways.

Perhaps Lady Marwich was wrong; she was offering William love, yes, but perhaps Andrew offered the child more than merely security.

“Yes,” Jessamine said, and she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He extended his arm to her, and she took it, as though they were walking into a ballroom. Together, they walked into the nursery, where William lay in his cradle, eyes open and his little fists waving. Lucy sewed in the corner, darning a pair of stockings.

“He’s perfectly contented just lying there,” Lucy said.

Jessamine scooped William into her arms. “What a brave little man,” she said, kissing his cheek. His hand batted her cheek, and she carefully removed it before he could grab her earring. “How can I leave you for an entire evening?”

This had been her idea, her plan, but now it was coming to fruition, she started to doubt whether she could go ahead with it.

This would be the longest time she had left him for. What if he cried and wanted her, and she didn’t come? Her stomach twisted at the thought.

A hand slid up her back, and she glanced over her shoulder to find Andrew standing close behind her, his body heat leeching into her. “He’ll be all right,” he said gently, as though he knew she needed the reassurance.

“But what if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong. Look how healthy and happy he is. Lucy will take good care of him, feed him when necessary, and put him to bed. You know his routine. It’s almost his bedtime.”

And it was. Andrew, despite not being present for most of it, knew William’s routine just as well as she did.

She sniffed, kissing William’s head again. “All right.”

“And if there is a problem,” Andrew glanced up at Lucy, “then I’m sure someone will send us note, and we can come straight home.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lucy said immediately. “If anything goes wrong, I shall send for you at once.”

“So you see? There is nothing preventing us from attending.”

Jessamine sighed, because he was right. And she wanted to show the world that she was happy, that her marriage was not a farce, and she would not cave under the pressure of their idle gossip. Lady Marwich had been defending them, so let them stand up and prove their happiness.

Andrew stroked a hand down William’s downy head, and Jessamine placed him back in the cradle. With Andrew’s hand still on the small of her back, they moved to the door.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I know it can be… alarming to feel as though you’re not in control.”

She glanced up at his face. “Have you felt like that?”

“Often. And with far more reason to think so.”

She squeezed his hand, and they went downstairs together, more in harmony than they had been in a long time. The carriage had been waiting for several minutes, so they climbed inside, and Jessamine attempted not to notice how many times their knees touched as they sat together.

Then they were at Lady Marwich’s grand home, walking up the steps together.

A footman greeted them and brought them to the ballroom, where the butler announced them. A hush spread across the room as people turned to stare—the unexpected duke, freshly back from the army, and his new, almost Scottish bride, daughter of a man who was imprisoned for his crimes—a rare punishment for the nobility.

She knew she was infamous, but it seemed her connection to Andrew only made her more so. Not only was she her father’s long-lost daughter—as though he had not been the one to send her away—but she was also married to a duke who had, in the eyes of the ton, produced a son for her to care for.

A duke, moreover, who did often not play to the regular niceties of society. He did not simper and smile and offer fake assurances of regard. He looked at them all as though he had no interest in being alongside them, and as though their shallow materialistic natures disgusted him.

Jessamine put her hand on his arm and leaned up to him. He glanced down as though he couldn’t help himself, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her mouth for a fraction of a second before returning.

“Smile,” she murmured, smiling sweetly up at him as though he were the only thing to exist in her world. “You must act as though you want to be here.”

His hand covered hers. “I suppose you can convince me of that. Will you dance with me?”

“As many times as you like.”

A light sparked in his eyes, and she caught her breath.

Was this flirting? Was her stoic, stern husband flirting?

“Your Graces,” Lady Marwich boomed as she made it through the crowd to her. “You must be introduced to everyone who has not already met you. Come, come. And then, yes, you may dance with your bride, Your Grace.” This, she directed at Andrew. “I can see the way you look at her. I will not keep you from her smiles long.”

To Jessamine’s relief, he cracked long enough to offer her a smile. “You are very kind, Lady Marwich.”

“Nonsense. I look out for my own interests as much as anyone else’s, and it’s in my interest that you enjoy your time here. I already know the most enjoyment you will get is with your wife, who is looking exceedingly pretty tonight. You are magnificent, my dear. Truly, a diamond.”

Jessamine touched the diamonds around her neck, which were a gift from Irene upon her marriage. “Thank you.”

With Andrew’s arm in hers, they were taken on a brief tour around the room, and Lady Marwich made it plain at every introduction that Jessamine and Andrew were wildly in love and wanted nothing more than to dance with one another.

By the time they had finished their rounds of the room, it was plain at least half the guests believed theirs was a love match. The other half whispered to themselves, but that was fine. Jessamine knew they could not win everyone over on their first try. But for William’s sake, she would keep trying.

Andrew extended a hand. “A dance, wife?”

“It would be my pleasure, husband.” She put her fingers in his, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze as they took to the dance floor for a waltz. Given how unusual it was for a waltz to be played at this point in the proceedings, Jessamine suspected Lady Marwich had been speaking with the quartet.

Andrew drew her closer. “Have you danced the waltz before?”

“A handful of times. Not many. I was tutored in it, but…” She shrugged and glanced down at her feet. “Have you?”

“I was in the army, Jessamine, not the wilds of the Arctic.” He chuckled, a warm, unexpected sound. “Of course I’ve waltzed before.”

“How should I know what occurs in the army?”

“A great deal of soldiers are gentlemen, and wherever we are commissioned for training, we make the most of what little society there is. It’s not London, of course.”

He drew her a little closer, and his hand settled on her waist.

A strange feeling bubbled in her. “Who were you dancing the waltz with?”

“Jealous?” he asked, a curl of amusement in his voice.

She started to realize she was. She was jealous of a mysterious lady—or ladies—she had never met, and never would, who had seen a piece of Andrew before she had known him. They had known him while he was a captain, and they had… Had they felt like this in the safety of his arms?

And when had his arms become a place of such safety?

“Does that give me leave to be jealous of the gentlemen who danced with you?” he asked, looking down into her eyes.

“There were relatively few gentlemen, so I doubt there’s much to be jealous of.”

“What about in Scotland?”

“None who seriously aspired to my hand. I was too English for them.” She laughed, the memory amusing her. Some lads had found her pretty enough, but they had ultimately wanted a Scottish lass. “I kissed a few.”

“What?” He stilled a little.

“Not—not the kisses I shared with you.” Her face flamed. “I mean… you know, the type children exchange.”

“Ah.” He relaxed a little, but his arms tightened still more around her. They were in the middle of the ballroom, but he didn’t seem to notice a thing except for her. “I’m not sure I would count them as kisses.”

“From a technical standpoint, they count. At least, I thought so at the time.”

His eyes were dark and intense. “And now?”

“Now…” She huffed a breath. “I don’t know.”

“I hope you do not consider those kisses to be on par with others,” he said, still looking down at her. “If you do, I shall demonstrate the difference to you.”

She stumbled, missing her footing, and he caught her effortlessly.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not particularly good at the waltz.”

“Then follow my lead,” he said. “Every step is easy if you have someone to show the way. Lean against me. Let me guide you.”

His hand pushed at hers slightly, indicating she was to step back, and when he turned, he used his hands and body to guide her before he moved.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Just like that.”

“Thank you.”

He hesitated for a second, then brought her a little closer to his body again. The hand on her waist shifted a fraction, and his thumb swiped the material of her dress.

“It’s the least I could do, Jessamine. Truly. The way you are caring for William…” He glanced away for a heartbeat, then looked back at her. “It’s better than anything I could have hoped for.”

“Andrew,” she protested. “It’s nothing. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I know he’s not your child⁠—”

“So?”

“And I also know you’re doing this for Rebecca,” he continued doggedly, “but that doesn’t stop me from being grateful. Perhaps I haven’t always shown it the way I ought, but that doesn’t stop it from being true.”

Affection twinged in her chest as she looked up at him. “I didn’t do it for you,” she said, smiling, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy it means something to you. And perhaps—perhaps if you were to ask me now, I would do it for you.”

His eyes flashed to hers, and held.

Jessamine’s stomach flipped. Logically, she knew there were over fifty other people in this room, but all she could think about was the way Andrew looked at her. The way a man might have looked at Venus in Ancient Rome and understood what beauty was for the first time in his life.

His thumb moved across her waist again, another slow swipe that made her blood heat.

She couldn’t stop thinking about that night, the night she had attempted to banish to the back of her mind. Irene was right that they could take it slowly and there was nothing obliging her to re-enter his bed if she were afraid to—oh, but she wanted to.

That was always the problem. The problem was not that she did not want to, but that she did.

“Andrew,” she whispered.

His arms curled her a little closer. The rest of the room vanished. She didn’t know what she wanted to say, but perhaps it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the heat in his eyes and the slow curl of his mouth as he looked down at her.

“You are not what I imagined you would be,” he said gruffly.

“And what did you imagine?”

“I imagined—” He broke off as the music stopped and the dance ended.

Already.

Jessamine wasn’t sure how it had happened so quickly. The dance was over.

She looked questioningly up at him, and he stepped back, releasing her. The moment had passed, like the dance, and now it was over.

Wishing it could have lasted just a little longer so they could have had more of this conversation, she accepted his hand and allowed him to walk her back into the crowd.

Chapter Twenty

Andrew had never been much for ballrooms and dancing.

Yes, he’d done a little—enough that he could guide Jessamine when she faltered—but they had never been the place he felt most comfortable. He was a man with one foot in polite company, and one foot out.

If he lost himself to the sound of the crowd, his mind replaced it with other sounds. The hush of soldiers talking as they hid in trees and readied themselves to ambush French soldiers. The burst of bullets, the screams of pain, and the desperate gasps his men made as they dragged their wounded back to safety.

He rarely gave in to the force of these memories, but they were always there. Until Jessamine, at least part of him had despised London and its Society. What did nobility know of true loss? They pretended at hating the French, all while having copied their fashions. The Napoleonic War was distant enough for it to be gossip and not reality.

For them. Andrew had seen every muddy, bleeding particle of its reality.

Jessamine, beside him, had seen enough pain and sorrow and loss in her lifetime that he absolved her of the sins of her class. And the way she had thrown herself into caring for William showed that she cared for more things than mere appearances.

She cared about William. And she even cared about him.

The lingering sounds of battle faded. Warmth replaced it. He kept his eyes on her; if he looked away, he might lose the peace she cultivated within him.

She was looking past him, a glass of wine in her hand and her earrings swinging slightly as she scanned the room. He couldn’t take his gaze away from the elegant lines of her neck. None of the things he wanted would be appropriate here, or even appropriate back at home, where he had sworn to himself not to touch her for now.

More complication was not what they needed.

But it was very much what he wanted.

Her eyes widened, and she stiffened, one hand coming to his elbow to grip. Some part of him felt vindicated at such clear evidence that she came to him for comfort, but the rest responded as he would to danger. He stepped in front of her, his entire body tightening, and he looked up to find Baron Lorthey striding toward them.

He sucked in a breath. Every time he encountered Baron Lorthey---thankfully, an infrequent occurrence---he could not help thinking of Harry.

Harry Leighton, who had been fighting alongside the rest of them when he had taken five bullets to the chest and stomach. There had been so much blood. Andrew’s stomach dropped to think of it, the blood. How helpless he had been to keep that life inside Harry’s body, and how it had felt to see the eyes of his friend go dark and to know there was no venturing into that place to save him.

He exhaled sharply, and turned every iota of that emotion back on Baron Lorthey.

The man stopped in his tracks. Andrew saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled.

And then, slowly, the baron turned on his heels and strode away again.

Jessamine’s grip on his elbow. “How did you do that?”

“A little something I learned at war,” he said, and shook his head.

Even the mention of the war was too much. Jessamine knew a little of his wounds, especially those pertaining to Rebecca, but she didn’t—couldn’t—know everything. Especially the war. If he could keep her from that knowledge, he would.

Not everything had been training in small English towns, dancing and drinking and playing cards with the locals. Some of it had been terrible.

She frowned up at him, bringing her hand to cup his cheek. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He took her hand and, without thinking, kissed her fingers.

They curled a little in his grasp, and he realized what he had done. The intimacy of the act. This was not a mere greeting, but a demonstration of affection.

A public demonstration of affection.

And so he did the only thing he could under those circumstances. “Dance with me again.”

She didn’t take her eyes off his as she said, “Yes.”

They did not spend an overly long time at the ball. Andrew might have; Jessamine wasn’t sure, but as the hour grew later, so did her anxiety about William.

At first, it had been easy to shut all those feelings away, but it hadn’t been easy for a while. Now, she rubbed her eyes and gripped her skirts as she hurried through the house to William’s nursery. Andrew followed on her heels with a little more decorum.

Just as she reached the door, she slowed and rapped her knuckles very softly against the wood. A few seconds later, Lucy opened the door.

“Welcome back, Your Graces,” she whispered, putting a finger to her lips and closing the door behind her. “Master William is asleep.”

“Has he been all right?” she whispered.

“Calm as anything. I’ve had no troubles.”

Although that had been the reality for the past several nights, Jessamine still pressed a hand to her pounding heart. If she spent too long away from him, she thought of Percy, and the fruitless, terrible thought that if she had just been able to hold onto him, he might have clung to life. But she had relinquished him, and he had died.

She had held him, and he had died.

“I must see him,” she said. Andrew grazed her back with his fingers. “I will go to bed,” he said. “I trust William is doing well. I don’t want to risk waking him.”

Jessamine shook her head. If she woke him, she would soothe him back to sleep—what was exhaustion, anyway?—but she needed to see he was well.

And so, she opened the door, creeping into the darkened room. Sure enough, his breathing sounded quietly from his cradle, and Jessamine paused by the side of his bed, releasing a sigh of relief.

He was all right. Lucy had said so, and there could have been no way she would lie, but now Jessamine knew it to be true herself. She had verified the fact.

She exhaled slowly, pressing another hand to her chest. Why did her heart insist on beating so loudly whenever she was apart from him?

“Goodnight,” she breathed, seeing no need to disturb him, and crept quietly from the room.

That night, Jessamine dreamed she was sinking in a pool of blood. Every time she opened her eyes, blinking away the stickiness, a child was placed in her arms. Percy. Almost immediately, he started to choke, to stiffen and jerk, and hands took him from her.

“No!” Jessamine cried, reaching for him. “Bring him back!”

But nothing worked.

The final time, the baby placed in her arms was not Percy, but William. And as he lay sleeping peacefully, Jessamine sobbed above him, knowing what would happen and unable to stop it. She cradled him close and kissed his perfect head and begged the heavens to let her keep him.

She’d lost Percy, but at least let her keep William.

But then, just as she had whispered her final prayer to the gods, he jerked in her arms. Convulsed. Spit bubbled in his mouth, and she tried to wipe it clean, tried to hold on to him, but those mysterious hands came anyway, dragging her son away from her, dragging her baby, and she could do nothing but listen and sob as his wheezing, uneven breaths stopped.

“Jessamine!”

The voice was desperate, almost ragged, and her eyelids fluttered open.

She stared into Andrew’s face. Light bloomed beside him. A candle. She was panting, her hair plastered to her head. His eyes, too, were wild, taking her in as though he feared she might have been dead.

“Jessamine,” he said again, a trifle calmer. His hand stroked over her hair in a reassuring gesture that made her heart clench. “It was just a nightmare.”

“A nightmare.” She sat bolt upright. “William. I must⁠—”

“Jessamine.” Andrew held her against him, his strong arms wrapping around her, and in the sudden silence, she heard a baby cry. “He’s all right. Lucy is with him.”

Jessamine exhaled slowly. William was all right. It felt like it couldn’t be true, like everything in her dream was more real than this shadowy reality.

“I know,” he murmured, his heart pounding against her ear. “I get them too.”

“Nightmares where William dies?” she whispered.

“Nightmares,” he said, and the gravel in his voice convinced her.

Whatever he had nightmares about, it was probably just as terrible, just as traumatic. He was probably just as helpless to stop them.

But Jessamine wasn’t helpless.

She disentangled herself from him. “I must see him.”

“It’ll be like when we came home from the ball,” he said, cupping her face between his hands and staring at her seriously. “You will convince yourself he’s in danger or something is wrong, and he will be perfectly fine.”

She licked her lips. “But what if he’s not? What if I take my eyes off him and he’s not, Andrew? How am I supposed to live with myself, then?”

That seemed to have hit a nerve, because his hands loosened on her, and she was able to escape, sliding free of the bed and moving into William’s room in a daze.

Here, she would be here, and she would stay here, and it wouldn’t matter if William’s crying kept her up at night or if she had to spend every single day for the rest of her life here⁠—

It would all be worth it so long as William was all right.

Chapter Twenty-One

Three days passed where Andrew once again barely saw Jessamine. Just like when they first came to the house, she spent all her time in the nursery, barely eating and barely sleeping.

From what he could tell, there was nothing wrong with William, but her nightmare must have shaken her more than she would ever articulate to him.

When he did see her, entering William’s room to find her cradling the babe in her arms, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, it was to find the boy perfectly well and something haunted in her face as she looked at him.

He understood what it was like. When he fell into the depths of thinking about what he could have done if only he had been a better captain to his people—if he thought too much about all the men he had lost—then he felt as though he were going mad. And if he could have done something to prevent someone else, another soldier, from dying, then he would.

But as the days passed, he watched as Jessamine became a shadow of herself, eaten away by her fear, and enough was enough.

“All right,” he said, entering the nursery and tapping the doorframe.

The sun had set several hours ago, and night had well and truly fallen on the city. If he were spending a quiet evening at home, it wouldn’t have been long before he would have retired to bed.

And lay away for hours thinking about Jessamine in this room.

Her head snapped up, and she stared at him in a daze. “Andrew.”

Her skin was pale, and her eyes were heavy with fatigue, all their dancing amber tones swallowed in weary brown. He wanted to bring her into his arms and hold her, as though that might protect her from her own thoughts.

Not that it would do her any good.

“Enough is enough,” he said. “We have plans tonight.”

“I accepted no plans,” she said.

“That’s because I made them on behalf of us both.” He gently pried William from her hands and handed him over to Lucy. “You need a break, Jessamine.”

“I need⁠—”

“You need to get out of this room.”

“Not a ball,” she begged, resisting him as he took her hand and all but dragged her out of the room. “I don’t have a ball in me, Andrew. Not dancing and seeing the world. I can’t⁠—”

“I know,” he told her, keeping his voice gentle. “I have something entirely different in mind. Do you trust me?”

She blinked up at him. “What sort of question is that?”

“Change into something that doesn’t smell of stale milk.” He gently urged her into her bedchamber, where he had already summoned her maid to attend her. “It doesn’t have to be a ballgown.”

“Andrew—”

“I know it’s not what you want, but this is what you need. And if you don’t trust me, then I will have to insist you listen to the wisdom of your husband.”

“Oh.” She glanced behind her, and the ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “It’s like that, is it?”

“It is,” he said firmly.

“What can I say to that?” She closed the door in his face, and he paced impatiently outside.

If she fell asleep now, there was little he could do, but remaining in the house—ready to be woken by William’s every cry—was not conducive to relaxing.

What she needed was to be amongst her friends.

What better way than at the Minerva Club?

If it hadn’t been for Rebecca, he would never have known about its existence, and while he didn’t know precisely how he felt about it, he did know it had been a place of refuge for Jessamine before she had taken on the burden of raising another woman’s child.

When eventually she reappeared, he felt as though his nerves had been strung tight. He took her hand and led her down the stairs to where a carriage awaited them. She gripped his hand with surprising strength, and didn’t let go even once they were inside the carriage.

“Tell me where we’re going,” she said, gazing up at him.

He cleared his throat, surprisingly moved by her plea. “It’s a surprise.”

“I truly am all right.” She placed her other hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know I probably alarmed you when I woke up from my nightmare, but⁠—”

“You screamed.” He couldn’t prevent the bluntness of the words from searing the air. Every time he thought about that scream, the way it had left her mouth, so ragged and raw, it made his heart—his entire chest—plummet. “You kept screaming, and I couldn’t wake you up. You said you had lost him.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“Don’t apologize for something like that.” He leaned forward, adjusting their grip so he now held her hand between his. “But you must know that when I hear my wife scream, I will always come to help.”

Her mouth softened. She opened and closed it a few times, as though searching for the right words to say and failing. If only he could see inside her head to know her thoughts—she was so sparing with her words, but he could see her thoughts racing.

He was just as guilty of that as she. He wanted her, but couldn’t tell her. He felt guilty for the way he had forced her into this marriage, even if it was the best solution for them both, and he wished—more than anything—that he could release her into the world so she could find some happiness in it. The life he had provided for them both was not good enough for her.

She deserved more than anything he had to give her. The title of duchess did not make up for his many shortcomings.

“I understand,” he told her, thinking through each word as he said it. “I understand more than you might know what it’s like to… feel responsible for something terrible. And I know how tempting it is to do anything to put that right, or prevent it from happening again. But if you sacrifice your health for that, then how can you be there for him when he does need you? You must sometimes put yourself first.”

He leaned back in the seat, aware he had revealed too much of himself.

“You are not the only one responsible,” he said, gentling his tone. She was staring at him as though she had never seen him before. “Let others take some responsibility. William is being cared for by so many. We all play a part. His welfare is not dependent wholly on you.”

It was like a dam had broken. Jessamine’s shoulders shook, then she put her hands over her face and sobbed into them as if her heart was breaking.

Andrew felt his own chest twist and crack in response, and he reached for her, pulling her close, holding her to his body. This was similar in some ways to the way he’d held her after the nightmare, but then she had only been half-present. The other part of her had been focused so intensely on William, it was as though she barely saw him.

Now, she was wholly there. She gripped his coat in her hands and pressed her face against his shoulder. He stroked her hair, murmuring nonsense.

This was not the role he was accustomed to. During war, his soldiers required action. A firm hand and utter certainty. Orders, commands, decisions.

Nothing like this. They did not cry before him; they did not ask to be held, and he’d never had to be gentle. Their faith in him was born of thinking he was some immovable rock.

How could he ever be what Jessamine truly needed?

What did one do in a situation like this?

“I’m sorry,” she gasped into his shoulder. “I just feel—I know it’s irrational… but I feel as though if I take my eyes off William for a second, something terrible will happen to him.”

“William is safe and with people who know far more about child-rearing than either you or I.” Andrew held her so tightly, he feared her delicate bones might crack, and released his hold. She was so fragile in his arms. “Now he’s a little older; we should grow accustomed to leaving him at home on occasion so we can go on outings. To balls. All the things that you said we ought to do to prevent the gossips.”

And also because he desperately craved the way it had felt at Lady Marwich’s ball when he’d had her in his arms, and she’d looked up at him in that arch way.

It was the closest they had been since their marriage began, he felt.

Almost.

He could not bear to think about the two occasions that disproved it.

Jessamine hiccupped slightly as she leaned back and wiped her eyes. “I know, but how am I to do that?”

“I imagine by doing it, and gradually accustoming yourself to the fact that nothing terrible happens to William when you are absent.” He released her reluctantly, and nodded out of the window. “We’ve arrived.”

Jessamine’s jaw dropped as she spied the Minerva Club outside the carriage doors. Her heart still felt bruised and raw, as though Andrew had reached through her chest and pummeled it a little, but at the sight of the club, all her other emotions fell away.

He had taken her here.

“I thought you might require a distraction,” he said, opening the door and handing her down. “And the presence of your friends.”

“I—” She squinted at him. “You brought me here knowing what the Minerva Club is?”

“Yes.”

“And you are all right with me being here?”

“I am not in the habit of bringing my wife places and denying her entry.”

“Yes, but—” She didn’t know how to articulate her shock, or her delight.

It was as though Andrew saw her. He hadn’t taken her to some mindless society event where she would have to sit pretty and smile. He had brought her to the one place where she could be utterly herself.

The door opened, and the footman smiled upon seeing her. “Lady Jessamine. That is to say—ah.” His expression turned fearful as he glanced at Andrew.

Jessamine smiled at him. “I am now the Duchess of Knightford, so I believe ‘Lady’ has been superseded.”

“Your Grace,” he spluttered. “Welcome. Please, come in.”

Andrew loomed behind her. “I believe you already know me.”

“Y-Your Grace,” the poor boy said. He barely looked any older than her, and he was accustomed to the rather more laid-back atmosphere of the club, not Andrew’s awful formality.

Jessamine nudged him in the side. “Be nice, please.”

“I am perfectly nice.”

She huffed a breath as she followed the corridor through to the drawing room where the group usually met. Sometimes they discussed notable events, sometimes they discussed how they might promote women’s rights, both politically and domestically, and other times, they were engaged in following their own whims.

Or, as was the case here, they were playing games together.

Lady Marwich slammed her hand down on the table as she won a flush, and gathered her tokens to herself. Temperance groaned aloud, tossing her cards to the table, and another lady glowered at Lady Marwich.

“How is it you always win, my lady?”

“Because, my dear, I am simply a better player.” Lady Marwich glanced up, saw Jessamine and Andrew standing in the doorway, and froze. Shock passed over her face, then wicked delight. “My dears,” she said, rising to greet them. “What a delight it is to see you here. And on such a night. You look terrible, Jessamine dear.”

“Thank you.” Jessamine allowed Lady Marwich to kiss her cheek, wondering how obvious it was that she had been crying.

“And you,” Lady Marwich said, addressing the words to Andrew. “I had not expected to find you here, Your Grace.”

He bowed. “I thought Jessamine deserved to spend an evening with her friends.”

“Oh, but we could not expect you to leave us now,” Lady Marwich said. “Please, stay.”

“Stay?” he repeated.

Jessamine took his arm, unsure if she was more touched or amused by the idea of Andrew remaining in the Minerva Club. “Yes,” she said. “Please do stay.”

He glanced around the room, then back at her. After a second, his expression eased. Not quite a smile, but not that far off, either. Her stern, strict, uptight husband, capitulating just for her. It barely felt like it could be real. “Very well,” he said. “If you want me to stay, then I will.”

“Very good.” Lady Marwich clapped her hands. “That’s enough. We ought to play a more serious game.”

Temperance sidled to Jessamine’s other side. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “And with your handsome duke!”

“You can just refer to him as Andrew, you know,” Jessamine said.

“Oh no.” Temperance giggled. “He would never accept that. Look at him! He wants nothing more than to escape.”

Jessamine glanced up at him, amused by the way his eyes widened in what might have even been fear as all the ladies engaged in their disparate activities immediately came to stand beside Lady Marwich. This often meant they would enter a debate, but Jessamine suspected she knew better, and so she did.

“Blind man’s buff,” Lady Marwich declared. “Clear the room.”

The room cleared with remarkable speed. Jessamine watched in amusement as Andrew drew closer to her. “Are you sure you want me to remain? I thought I would allow you some space to be with your friends.”

“Oh, no,” Jessamine said sweetly. “I’m very sure. You were so good as to bring me here. Why should you miss out on the evening’s games?”

“For your sake, I would.”

“I could never dream of denying you.” Jessamine laughed up at his face, carefully neutral. “Relax, darling. Nothing very terrible will happen.”

The endearment slipped from her lips unintentionally, and she saw the moment it hit, as his eyes widened in shock.

It was easier to slip from his side and engage in the planning of the game. Far easier than looking at his face and seeing too much.

Or worse, not enough.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Andrew had never been subjected to so much indignity in his life.

Blind man’s buff was a parlor game, a slightly risqué pastime that younger men and women often engaged in. One member of the group was blindfolded and had to chase the other members around the room and identify them through touch alone.

Thus far, he had endeavored to brood alone in the corner, but that could not last forever, as proven by Lady Marwich, who approached him with the silken scarf in her hands that she had used to wrap around her victims’ eyes.

From the gleam in her eyes, he knew he would not be long exempt.

“Your Grace,” she pronounced, loudly enough that the large room of ladies could all hear. “I think you should be next.”

At the thought of grasping one of these women and identifying them with the use of his hands alone made him break out in a cold sweat. Many of the ladies in question were at least married, but he saw several unmarried ladies amongst their ranks.

His frantic gaze caught Jessamine’s. Although her hand was half over her mouth, smothering a giggle, she managed a look of sympathy in his direction.

If she wasn’t the lady he found⁠—

“I would rather not,” he said to Lady Marwich, hearing the stiffness in his voice but unable to prevent it.

“And yet we must all sometimes do things we had rather not.”

In one deft moment, she reached up and fastened the scarf around his head. The light dimmed, and he planted his feet to steady himself. Vague light filtered through the material, but nothing more definitive.

“Lady Marwich,” he growled.

“Oh, now, go and have fun.” She tapped his shoulder. “It isn’t often we get to play with a gentleman.”

“Torture, more like,” he muttered, then straightened. Jessamine had been to his right, and he took two sure steps in that direction, rewarded by the sound of fleeing footsteps. An arm brushed his body, but he disregarded it. His prey was somewhere ahead; he could sense it.

He could sense her.

She had a particular scent, one that called to him. Floral and pretty with an undertone of something spicier that made his blood heat. There was too much perfume in this room for him to smell her, but if he got close enough, he would know.

A body stepped into his, and he caught her out of instinct. His hands closed around her upper arms, and he had a whiff of that elusive scent. She was silent, but he could almost sense the way she waited, testing him.

This was a challenge. Perhaps that was why Lady Marwich had established it in the first place.

What a terrible idea.

He slid his hands up to her shoulders. A familiar slope. He had only held Jessamine a few times, but he felt as though he had memorized her body in that time. Every line, every curve.

He brought his hand to her cheek, running his thumb along her chin. The room had gone quiet, but he barely paid them any attention.

Yes, this was his wife. She had stepped into his path, and she had allowed herself to be caught, and in doing so, she had once again caught him. Her lure had been too great for him to resist.

Even though he knew her identity, he slid his hand along her jaw until he felt the silken brush of her hair. Her breath stuttered, and he wanted her so ferociously he wasn’t sure how he had ever resisted.

“Jessamine,” he murmured, his voice low enough that it was for her and her alone. “Are you satisfied?”

Finally, she laughed. A huff of breath against his arm, and then she was stepping closer, into the circle of his arms, and reaching up to remove the blindfold. He stared down into her face, her brown eyes light, like amber, and her mouth slightly parted.

He knew that look, too. He’d been blessed with enough experience to know what Jessamine looked like when she wanted him, too. But she had no idea what she really wanted, and how dangerous such a thing was. He was not a kind, gentle man. If she came to care for him… if he endeavored to deserve her, he would end up breaking something, and then who would care for William?

The distance between them ought to be preserved. Friends and no more. Parents of the same little boy, but not lovers in their own right.

Looking down at her now, he couldn’t remember why he had made that vow.

He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I’m glad it was you,” he said with perfect sincerity.

The faint beginnings of a smile touched her lips, even as she watched him with a kind of wariness that made his chest hurt.

“Yes,” she said. “So am I.”

He wished—desperately—that he could read whatever thoughts were passing through her mind. But she merely watched him, probably hoping the same.

He exhaled sharply and went to sit to one side. Jessamine accepted the blindfold, and easily identified Lady Temperance, who submitted to being caught.

It was only when they were back in the carriage once more in the early hours of the morning, after having spent the majority of the night there, that she spoke once again.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“It was my pleasure.”

She reached over and took his hand. He glanced down at the contact, the temptation to kiss her fingers almost overwhelming. “Really,” she said. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how very grateful I am. And for staying. And…” Her voice trailed away.

“You’re welcome,” he said, squeezing her fingers and relinquishing them before he could be tempted to go any further. “Anything you need, Jessamine. That is what I vowed I would provide for you.”

“Anything?”

The way she said it, almost throaty, a little breathy, put him in mind of other things he ought not to be promising her. But by God, the night was old, and he was tired, and his willpower had worn down, and if that was what she wanted from him⁠—

Well, he would not be so much of a bastard as to deny her.

“Anything,” he said.

She sucked in a breath, and he thought she would say nothing.

But then she spoke. “Kiss me.”

Jessamine had not intended to ask Andrew to kiss her. Not precisely. In the Minerva Club, she had half thought he might when he’d found her, but being watched had ensured he stepped back. Or perhaps he would have done, anyway.

All she knew was how much she craved just being held. He had been so good to her all night, and she wanted more of his goodness.

She craved it—she needed it.

He looked at her as though her request had wrecked him from the inside out. And then, as the carriage lurched over uneven cobbles, he moved, crossing to her side of the carriage and taking her in his arms, bringing her against his body and fastening his mouth against hers with such fervor, she realized he must have been waiting for this.

Waiting for her.

His lips claimed hers, and she offered herself to him. No more defiance, no more arguments, nothing but the primal desire that flared between them.

The carriage came to a stop before the house, and Andrew picked her up as though she weighed nothing, carrying her down from the carriage and up the steps to the front door. The moment they were inside, he dismissed the servants and turned her so her back was against the door and kissed her again.

Jessamine wasn’t certain they would reach their bedchambers before this passion claimed them, and she didn’t think she minded. He could have her on the stairs, so long as he had her. So long as he eased the ache in her body.

She wanted another of those wonderful, cresting peaks he had brought on. And more to the point, she wanted to return the pleasure. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she had been aware of the fact that the last time, she had done nothing for him.

This time would be different.

“I want you to touch me,” she said against his mouth.

He groaned as though he was in pain. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He cursed, and then he had picked her up again, barely breaking the kiss as he strode for the stairs. She slid against the hardness at his groin, wrapping her legs around his waist, the pressure delicious. This was everything she had been hoping for. Pleasure shot through her.

His steps faltered. She wrapped one arm around his neck and used the other to remove her skirts from around her legs. They kept getting in the way, and she wanted to feel.

There. Like that. His length—so thick and so hard—slid against her core, where he had pressed his mouth the last time, and she moaned.

More like that.

“You will be the death of me,” he muttered, and continued along his way, albeit more slowly.

When she rolled her hips against him, he paused, his steps seeming to stutter as he climbed the last few steps.

Could she find her peak just like this? He dropped his arms, allowing her to press more firmly against him, just where she needed him, and the pleasure rocketed through her.

Yes, she needed this; she desperately needed this. Just more, more, more.

“Andrew,” she choked, almost a sob.

One hand splayed across her backside as he guided her to move against him again and again. Jessamine rolled her hips, unashamed of the needy way she wanted him. In this moment, they were united in their desire, if nothing else.

More.

He took a few more steps, and the friction became even better, even more delightful, everything she ever could have needed. Her breath came more quickly. As they moved, Andrew moved her across him, though by his soft groans, he was not unaffected by it, either. How he ever managed to keep walking despite the distractions, she didn’t know.

They reached her bedchamber, and she barely noticed their surroundings as he laid her down on her back on the bed, his body weight pressing her into the mattress. She wrapped her legs back around his waist, holding him where she needed him.

She never wanted him to move. If they could, she would remain there for the rest of the night. His length against her core.

His breath came harshly by her ear. His fingers found hers, winding through them, pressing the backs of her hands by her head as he was now the one to roll his hips. Delicious pressure, wonderful friction. She felt hot and liquid against him.

“Andrew,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he said, and he kissed her fiercely.

She lost herself to the demands of his tongue and the slow rock of his body against hers.

Distantly, she understood that they were still too clothed—she might have pulled her skirts up around her hips, but he still wore his breeches. And yet, even despite that, this was just as good as their previous encounter, albeit in a different way. Before, she had been splayed out before him, and he had feasted on her. The pleasure had been meltingly good, but there hadn’t been the intimacy that came from his mouth as his body worked them both. She heard his pleasure in the rasped quality of his breath, could feel the tension in his body.

She let her hands explore his shoulder, putting all the pieces of him together. Every line, every curve, every muscle. Everything that made him who he was—she explored it all. And all the while, he wound her tighter and tighter. It wouldn’t take her long now, she knew.

His fingers found her throat, squeezing lightly. The possessive gesture, though in reality his hand did not obstruct her breathing in any respect, was enough to tip her over the edge. Her peak crashed over her, sending her world white, overwhelming her with heat and pleasure.

When she finally came back into herself, Andrew was still lying on top of her, his chest heaving, his length still hot and hard against her core.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice strained.

She thought again of the last time they had come together, and how then he had not found satisfaction, either. And so she gestured for him to get off her, which he did immediately.

“What is it?” he asked.

Slowly, gaining in confidence, Jessamine ran her hand down his body. He wanted her, she reminded herself—and he would want this, too. All she had to do was discover exactly what he liked. His length was so different from anything she had experienced herself, but that was all right—she would discover the differences, and then she would be able to learn him the way he had learned her.

Step by step. Touch by touch.

His fingers closed around her wrist as she reached the button of his fall. “Jessamine, you don’t have to.” His voice was hoarse.

A rush of affection cascaded over her, in part because of the warmth still in her veins, but in part because he seemed so implacable, so stern on the outside, but when it came to her, he always put her first.

How had she never seen it before?

“Let me do this for you,” she murmured. “I very much want to bring you pleasure the way you did so for me.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and his fingers loosened around her wrist, giving her leave to move. She found his length, running her fingers along its girth, feeling him for the first time. He felt as though he swelled under her hand. A pinprick of moisture bloomed on his breeches at his head, and she smiled to herself.

“What do you want?” she asked.

His hand came to her hair, caressing gently. His fingers tangled in the tresses, scraping her scalp. She shivered at the affectionate gesture. His other hand unbuttoned his fall, releasing his member, which sprang free as though it had longed for her touch all this time. She took it eagerly, holding it with both hands.

“Gently,” he instructed her, and took her hand with his, guiding it up and down the shaft.

He hissed a breath and closed his eyes once more.

Jessamine watched his face, greedy for every sign of pleasure, every indication that he was enjoying this. His hips bucked, almost helplessly, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Almost impossibly, he swelled still more, and a few seconds later, he groaned, and white spurted across his stomach and his shirt.

She kept going until he gripped her hand, bidding her to stop, and they lay quietly.

“That was not the thank you I was expecting,” he said, a wry note in his voice.

He sat up and pulled out his handkerchief, wiping himself down.

Jessamine also sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. In his ardor, it was as though he wanted nothing more than to be close to her, with her, holding her, but now, like this, when they had both taken their pleasure, it was as though he took a step back from her.

“Do you… regret it?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

He glanced up, looking at her and frowning. “Regret it? Oh no, Mina.” The nickname fell from his tongue as though he had always said it. He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. “How could I regret that? I just don’t want…” He looked away as he searched for the words. “I don’t want you to feel as though you must do anything out of gratitude.”

“That wasn’t gratitude, Andrew.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then shrugged off his coat, then his waistcoat. “You should sleep. For as long as you can. I will check in on William.”

“You will?”

“And stay with him to soothe him if he’s crying. But don’t forget that Lucy will be there, too.”

“Lucy should also have some time to sleep,” Jessamine said.

“Then I will give her that time. Now sleep.” He kissed her again, then guided her down with her head on the pillows. “You must be exhausted after such a long day,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. “So sleep, and tomorrow we will take William out somewhere. Does that sound good?”

He was right: she was exhausted. “Yes,” she whispered. “That does sound good. Where will we go?”

“On a walk through Hyde Park?” he suggested. “We can wheel William along with us. He’ll enjoy the fresh air. You said he enjoyed the picnic.”

The picnic, which she had taken the day after they had last been intimate. This felt like a step in the right direction; he was not walking away from her just because they had engaged in… whatever it was they had engaged in.

“All right.” She gripped his hand. “Wake me if there’s any trouble.”

“I will,” he promised, and when she closed her eyes, he was walking to the door and closing it softly behind him.

Dressed in his nightclothes, Andrew sat in the small nursery with William, watching as the sky lightened toward dawn.

As predicted, Lucy required a rest, and so he had said he would sit in with the boy.

He shouldn’t have given in to temptation. Desire was too strong with Jessamine, but if he wasn’t careful, he risked upsetting the perfect balance they had established. Far easier to be parents than to be lovers and parents. Far harder to maintain their good relations with the complication that was lust.

Every time he replayed her small hand traveling down his body in order to give him some relief, he felt another surge of protective affection.

She deserved so much more from him than she was getting. She deserved affection that was not contingent on her performance in the bedroom, and that did not rely on intimacy.

She deserved a man who did not share her nightmares, but could carry her through them.

In other words, she deserved an entirely better husband. But she had him, and he was damn well determined to make her as happy as he possibly could.

No matter what it took.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The day of their promenade dawned bright and cheery, and Jessamine dressed with more than her usual optimism.

Today, she would be seen out with Andrew and William.

When she entered the nursery, she found Andrew asleep in the chair, his head tipped back to reveal his neck. As she watched, he twitched as though in the throes of a bad dream. Her heart twisted when she recalled how he had told her that he also had nightmares.

In the crib, William stirred, but after checking on him, Jessamine moved to Andrew’s side. In sleep, he looked younger than he did when he was awake, his face relaxing, all the harshness softening into gentle lines.

She had seen that expression—that softness—before when he looked at her. Cautiously, she reached up and tapped him on the shoulder.

Instantly, he was awake, eyes flying open and finding hers, alert within the space of half a second. As he registered she was the one to have woken him, he relaxed by increments, settling back into the chair.

She perched on the arm, leaning over him. “Imagining I was the French?”

“Something like that.” His arm came up to slide around her waist. “It’s still early. What are you doing?”

“I came to check on William. I’d expected you to be in bed already.”

“I thought Lucy looked tired.”

He was so caring. Even when he pretended he was, he was.

How could she have ever thought him cruel and inconsiderate?

“How has he been overnight?” she asked, nodding toward William.

“Well,” Andrew said, a little wryly, his arm settling a fraction higher on her hip, “I didn’t get here until late. But while I’ve been here, he has been perfectly fine.”

William chose that moment to break into a squall.

“My angel,” Jessamine called, absently kissing the side of Andrew’s head as she left his arms to pick up the tiny babe. “You should sleep,” she said to Andrew, snuggling William against her chest. “Get at least a little rest before we show off this boy to the world.”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced from her to the baby, then rose, looking as though he had already stiffened from his vigil in the chair. “I take it you’re looking forward to the event?”

“Immensely.”

He smiled, and his hand caressed her elbow as he passed. Jessamine stared at the door long after he had passed through, her heart pounding.

This felt… It felt different.

As though they had passed through some sort of invisible barrier and come through the other side.

“Did you see that?” she asked William, who continued to grizzle, no doubt in need of changing. “Your father—though really, you ought to call him uncle—hasn’t run away from me. Sometimes, I even think he might like me.” She laughed, cradling him closer. “I don’t know what I want, Will. Sometimes I want nothing more than for him to be mine, and other times I think there would be nothing scarier.”

William gurgled up at her, and she smiled down at him.

“Of course,” she said, rocking him, “you come first. You have always come first for both of us. I promise you that we will do nothing that will risk your security or happiness, even if that means we learn to… exist together.”

Now she’d had the taste of what more could feel like; the last thing she wanted was to merely exist together. But for William, if necessary, if she was worried they were getting in deeper than they could handle—and heaven knew neither of them were particularly well-versed in intimacy—then they could still pull further apart.

Go back to how things were, but with a better understanding of one another.

The main thing was ensuring William was well looked after.

All the rest could wait.

Andrew hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from his first promenade with William and Jessamine, but it hadn’t been the parade of servants accompanying them. Lucy pushed the large perambulator, which looked rather like a carriage in miniature, and Jessamine strolled by his side with one hand tucked neatly in his arm.

The sun shone, and he felt rather than saw the gazes on him.

In the army, everything had been simpler. There, the rules were very clearly laid out, and everyone knew precisely where they stood. There was an agreed-upon hierarchy. Here, everything seemed rather blurrier around the edges. He had never been intended to inherit, and thus, he had never been introduced to this world in quite the same way as his brother had.

Similarly, Jessamine had grown up half her life in Scotland, and not just Scotland, but a tiny village in the upper Highlands, by the sounds of it, entirely separate from this world.

They were both playing a game they only had a few of the rules to. And neither of them, especially him, would ever admit that they were out of their depth.

She tilted her face to the sun. He wondered how much she was thinking of last night, and wondered too if she would mind overmuch if he took her to the nearby copse of trees and kissed her until her beautifully soft lips were pink and swollen.

“What a lovely day for a stroll,” she said with a sigh, glancing over at where William was asleep in his pram. “You’ve gone all stiff, Andrew.”

“I dislike being on display.”

“You were the one who suggested this.”

“It was a good idea,” he said, doing his best not to look around them as though they might be under attack. “And I stand by it. But that doesn’t make its execution any easier.”

“You attended the ball with me,” she said.

“I did. But there, I had you to dance with.”

A smile ghosted over her lips, and he felt absurdly pleased. “Ah, so I made the experience more enjoyable?”

“You know you did.”

“Even though you had lots of experience dancing the waltz with ladies who were not me?” she teased, her voice light.

“That was an entirely different experience.”

“How so?”

“Because you are my wife,” he said simply.

When he’d first entered that room to find her straight-backed and refusing to relinquish William despite his most pressing arguments, he had thought there could be no world in which he would ever learn to tolerate her. And yet here they were.

“Oh, is that all?” She arched a brow at him. “So, if you had offered for one of those other girls, it must have been the same?”

“I would not have offered.”

“Because you were a captain?”

“A captain makes a perfectly acceptable husband,” he said. “But that’s not the reason.”

“Then what is?”

“Because none of them compelled me to marry,” he said simply. “I had no interest in any of them.”

“You had no interest in me when we first met,” she pointed out.

“In my defense, we had barely spoken by the time I offered for your hand, so that fact has very little to do with you. If I had known you longer, I might have offered for you based on your merits alone.”

She did an exaggerated double take as she looked at him. “Heavens above. Can this be how it feels to have one’s husband flirt with you?”

“I’ll admit I’m not practiced at the art.” He placed his hand lightly on hers. “But you wanted the truth, and that is my truth. You make an excellent duchess.”

“And mother to William,” she said, smiling up at him.

“And that,” he admitted. “It plays no little part in my decision.”

“I’m flattered.” She looked directly ahead. “You know, I never aspired to win a duke’s hand. That was never my goal, and I was not as grateful for your offer as I ought to have been. But…” She bit her lower lip. “There are some benefits to being a duchess.”

“Oh?”

“Well, for one thing, I have a duke for a husband, which naturally makes me the envy of every other lady I see. And it transpires I am shallow and petty, because that brings me far too much joy. And then there is the fact that you are a young and handsome duke, which adds to their envy. Do you know how few young and handsome dukes exist in London?”

Andrew did his best to keep his laughter from his face. Of the two of them, George was always considered the more attractive; he had that open charm that Andrew had never mastered. Andrew had always been considered stern and forbidding.

“I like a scowl,” she said, squeezing his arm. “There is something remarkably charming about it.”

“Charming?”

“Not every man can scowl with such distinction. And you have such forbidding eyebrows! It truly is a masterful expression.”

“How fortunate you must feel, then, to see it with such regularity.”

“Oh, but you do not scowl half as much at me anymore.” She beamed up at him. “And that, you know, is proof that we are getting along better than we ever have before, don’t you think?”

He opened his mouth to agree, just as the Duchess of Setton stopped before them. “Jessamine,” she said, the affection obvious in her voice.

Andrew had no strong feelings toward her except for the way she so clearly loved Jessamine.

Over the course of this entire situation, he had contrived a hatred of their father, the Earl of Debley. Both for abandoning Jessamine and for seducing Rebecca, a woman who should have had any number of ways to escape. The fact she had not was a testament to the lasting control of both Andrew’s father and her own.

Yet there was no denying that his daughters had found family with one another. And although he hated Lord Debley, he could not hate the Duchess of Setton.

“You must come for dinner,” the Duchess was saying, taking Jessamine’s hand in both of hers. “And you, Your Grace. I would be delighted to have both of you with us.”

Jessamine looked at him, and he could already sense the hope in her gaze.

This was something she wanted. And perhaps he could want it too, doing things that made her happy. He would lose nothing from an evening spent with fellow peers—albeit ones with a far greater claim to the titles they held—and Jessamine would thrive.

The duchess leaned over the pram and touched William’s downy hair with her finger. “He’s so tiny and so sweet,” she said in awe.

Jessamine hooked her arm through her sister’s and grinned, the sort of secret grin that made Andrew wonder what he had missed. They gave each other a long look, their expressions saying more than their words had.

William woke under the burden of this affection, and his tiny face screwed up into a cry. Andrew had still not mastered his inherent discomfort at the sound; it made every muscle in his body tighten the way it did when there was a foe to be fought. Something to defeat.

But the only thing to defeat here was the needs of a fragile baby, and so often he felt utterly out of his depth. If it were down to him, he would give the boy a similar treatment to the one he had received as a boy: one of discipline and rigid conformity.

But Jessamine had opened his eyes to something new.

“Oh, my darling,” she cooed, swooping down and scooping him up into her arms.

Everyone who passed stared. Very few ladies of the ton treated their babies with such overt affection in public, and certainly none who were rumored to have inherited their husband’s bastard child.

Andrew felt a rush of affection. This would do more to combat the rumors than any practiced pose they could strike together, and she had no idea she was doing it.

William stopped crying as he stared, mesmerized, at Jessamine. Andrew came closer, unable to help himself, and rested a hand on the small of Jessamine’s back. Her weight shifted, and she leaned against him slightly.

Every tiny gesture they exchanged pushed them closer to the point of no return, and although he was still determined not to sire a child with her—not yet, at least—he found himself fearing the intimacy less and less.

Then, to Andrew’s delight, William’s mouth curved. The motion looked awkward, almost, as though he wasn’t sure precisely how to achieve the effect of a smile. First one corner twisted up, then the other. Gums peeked through between his lips.

A toothless, carefree smile, aimed straight at Jessamine.

For all intents and purposes, his mother.

Jessamine let out a little gasp, and Andrew slid his arm around her more firmly, holding her against him. He placed his other hand under the one supporting William’s head.

“Did you see that?” she whispered.

“I saw it,” he said. “He smiled at you.”

“He smiled.”

“Oh.” The Duchess clasped both hands against her chest. “He is the most delightful baby, Jessie! Rebecca would be so pleased to see the way he has taken to you.”

“I love him,” Jessamine said, and Andrew felt the weight of those words.

I love him.

Andrew kissed her hair, blind to the fact they were in public. He wanted nothing more than to take her back home and kiss her all over, exactly how she liked it. A reward, of sorts, for opening her heart to Rebecca’s son so completely. But also because he wanted to, because he craved the taste of her on his tongue.

It was at times like these, when his heart ached with need for her, that his resistance fell in tatters around him.

“Tonight,” the duchess was saying. “You must come tonight. I can’t wait to tell Henry the news.”

“Of course,” Jessamine was saying, and Andrew took a moment to reevaluate his plans.

Perhaps taking his wife home and pleasuring her immediately was not his best idea.

He could learn to be patient.

Probably.

“All right,” he said. “Tonight it is.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jessamine hummed as she dressed, her heart feeling as though it was bursting.

William had smiled at her today, and Andrew had been.

He had held her. In public.

This was not the same as the kiss, the way they had frantically reached for one another.

This had been tenderness.

Andrew stepped into the room behind her, and it felt so natural for his hands to slide to her waist, resting there possessively. He met her gaze in the mirror and smiled. She hadn’t been joking when she’d said that he scowled at her less and less frequently now.

“Do you think we are actually getting on?” she asked.

“So far, it seems like it.” He took her necklace from her fingers and untangled it, fastening it neatly around her throat. She liked the look of his fingers there. The way he had held her throat before…

A flush spread across her cheeks, and his gaze traveled across it, turning heated.

“Mina,” he said, his voice low, and the sound of her name, the shortened version of it, sank through her to pool, liquid and hot, at her core.

She turned in his arms. “How much time do we have?”

“Not enough, I’m afraid.” He hesitated, his gaze moving over her face as though he could read her thoughts through her features alone. “Have you had any more nightmares?”

At the question, she paused, a little of the heat dying. “About William?”

“About anything.”

“No, not since…” Since the time he had woken her up. “They have always happened sometimes. I suppose…” I suppose I’m damaged. “I can’t forget Percy, Andrew. It will always affect me.”

“I know.” He bent to kiss her cheek and tucked her hand neatly in his arm. “Just as the war will always affect me. But we should be aware of the challenges we each face. And with William.”

“I can look after myself,” she insisted.

“I know that too. And you can look after William, too. You’ve proven that. I just don’t want anything to get in your way.”

Silence sat between them, suddenly heavy. William had smiled at her today; he had looked at her with such love, and he had smiled at her, and now Andrew’s affection had turned into concern about what might happen to William if anything were to happen to her.

Did that extend to them? Was there a them, or was he merely acting this way in order to support her?

She opened her mouth to ask, then closed it again. If the answer were a negative one, better she didn’t know.

If all he would ever offer her was this, then she’d take it, and she would learn to live with it.

Andrew handed her into the carriage, and the journey to Irene’s house was a short, mercifully quiet one. If he knew he had said something untoward, that had crushed her feelings a little, he made no sign of it, and once again, his fingertips brushed the small of her back.

Jessamine took William from Lucy’s arms, and the butler showed them through to the drawing room. It had been weeks—months, even—since Jessamine had last been here, but it still struck her as so familiar. And so was her sister’s embrace.

“Do you mind if Andrew knows?” she murmured to Irene the moment they were alone, sending a meaningful glance at Irene’s stomach.

Her dress today hid the slight bump, and Jessamine knew Irene wanted to keep the news from the ton at large. Even now, there were so many things that could go wrong, and this was a secret that belonged to them.

But Irene merely took Jessamine’s hand. “Tell him if you would like. And tell me how things are progressing? He looked so smitten with you in the park, Jessie. Like you were your very own happy family. Like William was his.”

Jessamine’s heart squeezed a little. “I think he really does love him as a son. And a second cousin.”

“Oh, it’s confusing, of course. But the fact is—dearest, you have a taste of happiness. It’s within reach.”

Jessamine glanced over to where Andrew was speaking with Henry. Both men were relaxed, a glass of brandy in their hands.

“I think Henry likes him,” Irene said under her breath. “And you know Henry, he doesn’t like everyone. But Andrew is one of the good ones. You could have found a husband corrupted by gambling or some other vice.”

“I’ve never seen Andrew gamble,” Jessamine confirmed. “In fact, I’m not sure what vices he does have.”

“All men have vices. I suspect your husband’s might be a little more subtle than most. Has he talked to you about the war?”

Jessamine shook her head. “Very little. I understand he trained in various locations across England and went to France.” She recalled the vehemence in Baron Lorthey’s voice that one time he had approached them. “I think he might have lost some soldiers there.”

“Ah.” Irene breathed out slowly. “And then he came back, and he had lost his entire family all at once.”

Jessamine blinked. She hadn’t quite considered it in those stark terms. No wonder sometimes his expression went blank when something reminded him of a world he would rather have forgotten. And no wonder he was so angry with himself for not saving Rebecca when he had lost so much.

No wonder he was afraid of compromising William’s future, or putting her in a position where she could no longer care for William the way she had been doing.

“Go to him,” Irene said, giving Jessamine a little nudge. “And—oh, don’t mind us. Kiss him. Show him how very much you care.”

Jessamine needed no more encouragement. What they shared, she couldn’t put her finger on, but she needed him to know—right now, in this moment—that she saw him. That his pain was her pain, and that she would sit in it with him until he finally forgave himself for Rebecca’s death.

He glanced up at her approach, a question in his eyes. Although he was relaxed—for Andrew—he couldn’t compare to the easy way Henry slouched. And he straightened as she approached.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say,” she said, reaching for him, cupping his face in her hands and holding him as close as she dared, “that I see you.”

Then she kissed him.

Andrew held on to Jessamine in a daze, unsure what was happening. All he knew was the soft warmth of her mouth as it coaxed a response from him. And he had spent far too much time wanting her for there to be any doubt about his response, or the force of it. He briefly forgot about their company, the room, or anything but the fact that Jessamine was here, kissing him, and she had told him she saw him.

He doubted that. His soul was far too blackened for anyone as sweet and innocent as his Jessamine to truly see. But he appreciated the gesture all the same.

When she broke away, he almost followed her down, chasing the taste of her lips. He stared at her, attempting to parse her expression. Then he glanced up at the duchess, who watched them with an indulgent expression.

“It must have been so hard,” Jessamine whispered, “coming back here after everything. Your father, your brother… We haven’t spoken about them, but I see you.”

I see you.

That phrase again.

“Losing my father is the natural way of things and not as much of a blow as you think,” he said, acutely aware of the duke just feet away. “And my brother was a blow, but we were not close. Don’t pity me, Jessamine.”

“I am not pitying you. I am seeing you.” She slipped a hand through his arm and squeezed. “I just never thought about it before. When you first approached me about William, I never considered what you had returned from. All I’m saying is… I’m thinking about it now.”

He patted her hand. “Later,” he told her, and glanced at the duke. “I think I heard the bell. Shall we go in for dinner?”

Dinner was, to Andrew’s relief, a lighthearted and easy affair. The duke and duchess did not stand on ceremony, instead addressing Jessamine like a sister, even now, and treating him like a long-lost brother.

“When I was at Oxford,” the duke said, “I used to climb up the window to my rooms after a long night out.”

The duchess folded her hands on the table. “I beg you would not tell me what you were doing during those drunken nights, Henry.”

“Nothing you would disapprove of, my dear.” He grinned at her, affection clear in every gesture. “I would never have dared.”

“You didn’t know me then.”

“And yet, my instincts led me true.”

Andrew grinned down at the table. Jessamine nudged him. “What about you?” she demanded. “Where were your instincts when you were dancing with other ladies during your training?”

“Dancing is not what I was afraid of,” the duchess said with emphasis.

Jessamine’s brows both rose, and Andrew let his head sink into his hands. “Thank you, Setton,” he groaned. “For drawing attention to my past behaviors and encouraging my wife to pry into my affairs.”

“Once you marry,” the duke said, “all your affairs become your wife’s business.”

“Even the less palatable ones,” his wife added with an indulgent smile. She rested both hands on her stomach, and although no one had made any explicit reference to her state, Andrew was beginning to suspect he knew the situation. “That is one of the joys of marriage.”

“Joys?” Jessamine queried, raising a brow.

“Learning everything there is to know about your spouse is a particular sort of privilege,” the duchess said with a small smile. “And I would call that a joy. Even if what you learn is not always palatable.”

“Irene,” the duke protested, though he was fighting a smile. “Stop casting such aspersions on my character in front of our guests. The last thing I’d want is for our new brother-in-law to think I’m a reprehensible character with a murky past.”

“I could never think that,” Andrew said. There was an oddly warm feeling in his chest at the sight of this easy conversation and lighthearted bickering. No wonder Jessamine loved her family this much—if she had been exposed to this sort of casual affection on a daily basis, then that would inform the way she thought.

It was as though he had opened a door into her mind. This was part of her lived experience, and it had shaped him. Just as his lived experience had shaped him, now they came at the same problem—William—with different solutions.

“See?” the duchess demanded, pointing at Andrew. “He said he could never think that. Also, Andrew, you must call me Irene. We stand on no ceremony here, you know, and we are family.”

“And in family, there are very few rules.” The duke—Henry, Andrew supposed he ought to call him—winked. “And plenty of insults to go around.”

Jessamine was watching him, a shade of anxiety in her eyes, and he realized that she was scared he might insult her family. Not in the way they had intended, but by insisting on a layer of formality.

The first time they’d met, he had been new to this mantle of authority and responsibility, reeling from Rebecca’s death, and determined to do right by her son, something he felt as though these people were obstructing.

But in reality, they were just trying to do right by Jessamine. And having met her—having met them all—could he blame them for that? This was a tight-knit family the likes of which he had never been a part of. They shared a love and bond that he could never imagine belonging to, and yet which he now desperately wanted to be a part of.

“I have been unfortunate enough to have lost my own family,” Andrew said with a slight cough, nudging Jessamine’s leg with his foot under the table. He needed her to stop gawking at him. “And it would be a privilege to be part of this one. Although I am less familiar with insulting those one loves.”

“Oh, it becomes as natural as breathing,” Irene assured him. “We are a little rambunctious at times, but it’s all in good fun.”

“And good faith,” Henry added. “We would never pick at something anyone is genuinely troubled by.”

Irene nodded. “For example, we would never poke fun at William or his place in your household. We both know he is very prized and loved.”

“He most certainly is,” Jessamine added, glancing into the corner where William was, praise be, still sleeping.

It transpired that babies often slept a great deal, and that except for his brief bout of colic, he was a particularly easy baby to manage.

Andrew didn’t want to imagine what life would be like with a baby that was challenging to manage.

“And on that note,” Irene said, leaning forward, “I suppose it’s time to bring you up to see with our latest development.”

Jessamine grinned so wide, Andrew wanted to laugh at her delight. A strange, new feeling.

“I am with child,” Irene said. “William will soon have a playmate.”

So, he had been right. “Congratulations,” Andrew said, and he realized he meant it. “I truly am happy for you.”

“We are happy for us, too,” Irene said. “The world doesn’t know in an official capacity, although of course everyone closest to us is now aware.”

“It’s her least well-kept secret,” Henry said with rolled eyes and a smile. “But she insists on telling people as though they are oblivious.”

“You were oblivious, were you not?” Jessamine prompted Andrew, and although he had not been precisely oblivious—if nothing else, his training made him observant, even if this was not what his commanding officers had in mind—he found he could not quite deliver the truth.

“It came as a delightful surprise,” he said.

Henry raised a skeptical brow, but Jessamine beamed, and he found himself glad that he had offered her a slight lie.

“We have some news of our own,” Jessamine said, and Andrew looked at her sharply, worried she might tell them something entirely too private. But then, as he ought to have known, she followed it with, “William smiled at us the other day.”

“Well,” Andrew corrected, “he smiled at you. I doubt he knows who I am yet.”

“Of course he does!” Jessamine turned to Irene as though determined to defend his honor. “William often stops crying if you put him in Andrew’s arms.”

Irene seemed highly amused by this piece of information. “Do you rock your second cousin to sleep, Your Grace?” she asked.

“Andrew. And yes, on occasion.”

She turned to her husband. “I expect nothing less with our child.”

“I am a man of many talents,” he said, “and I think I could probably manage some of that.”

As though on cue, William awoke and started half-heartedly crying. Jessamine went to the bassinet, picked him up, and deposited him in Andrew’s arms.

Andrew stared down at William’s face. The worst of the newborn tightness had left his features, and his eyes were wide and blue. Lucy had informed him that all babies’ eyes started out as blue, but Rebecca had the same depth in her blue eyes, and Andrew couldn’t help hoping William would retain that piece of her.

“See?” he vaguely heard Jessamine say to the rest of her family. “William adores him. I suppose he can sense they’re related.”

Andrew rocked William slightly, the way Jessamine had taught him all those weeks ago. There was an odd tightness in his chest, an emotion he didn’t know how to process or express.

All he knew was that he would kill; he would do dreadful things over and over, all for the sake of the tiny child in his arms.

And, when he glanced up at Jessamine…

He realized that he would do the same for her sake, too.

And with that, Andrew hoped that Rebecca was looking down on them all now and was pleased with what she saw.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jessamine lay alone in her bed, wishing Andrew had come to visit her again.

She had thought he might after the dinner, but after giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, he had told her to get ready for bed and that he would come up later.

So far, later had not arrived.

She was fairly certain he had not come upstairs at all; she had been listening out for his footsteps.

And so, as the clock chimed three, she clambered out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and crept out of the door. After checking on William, who was contentedly having a feed, she slipped downstairs through the darkened house. Over the weeks she’d been there, it had become so familiar to her that she could move about within the hallways and rooms without the aid of sight.

It came as no surprise to her that Andrew had closeted himself in his study. When he was missing from their life together, that was often where she saw he had gone.

Tonight, however, she intended to disturb him. Largely because he ought to have come up to bed. He’d had very little sleep the night before.

And because he’d told her later.

Later was now. Later had well and truly arrived, and she wanted her answers.

A light shone under the door, and she didn’t bother announcing herself as she pushed it open. The hinges squeaked, sending his head jerking up, and his red-rimmed eyes met hers from behind the desk. He sat in his chair, looser than he ordinarily sat—ordinarily, he moved through the world with a deadly sort of precision.

A half-empty bottle lay before him.

“Drinking?” she asked, shutting the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

A line appeared between his brows. “Why are you here?”

“You never came to bed, so I wondered where you had gone. And I discovered you were here.” She clicked her tongue. “Is something the matter?”

He stared at her as though he could not believe she was here. And so she approached, skirting the desk and placing herself in his lap. Once, she would never have dared be so bold, but things had changed between them. Perhaps not as much as Irene had wanted, but enough that they had a chance of being a real family.

Slowly, she told herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

His breath smelled of whiskey.

“What’s the matter?” she asked again, gentling the words.

He shifted, putting his arms around her. “Jessamine,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. “Why are you here?” His tongue flicked across her collarbones, and despite herself, she gasped a little. “Why are you always here?” He turned his attention to the other side of her neck. “You are a torment. A delight. I have not needed anyone the way I need you.”

She dug her fingers into his hair. “Why are you drinking?”

“Sometimes… the nightmares come too fast and too strong. If I drink enough, I can outrun them for a short period of time.” He kissed his way up the column of her neck. “And you.”

“You can outrun me?”

“Sometimes I want to,” he murmured. “Do you think that’s terrible? Sometimes, you scare me so much, I wish I could hide.”

“Andrew—”

“But then I know I would never see you again, and that would be worse. So much worse.” His arm curved around her waist, holding her to him. “What am I to do with you?”

From the way he was still kissing her neck, she suspected he had some ideas.

And she wouldn’t have been against him, except for the fact she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Andrew,” she said again, cupping his face in her hands and looking down at him.

His face had softened, even his blue eyes gentler and less focused than they usually were. She traced the line of his mouth with the tip of her finger, feeling as though she were being more daring than she ever had been in her life before.

“You said you would tell me about your father and your brother.”

The curve of his lips flattened into a hard line. “Sometimes the past should die, and we should let it.”

“Remember what Irene said? That it’s a privilege to know all your husband’s secrets, even the less palatable ones?” She slid her fingers through the softness of his hair, and to her delight, he leaned into her touch. “Or you can tell me more about your nightmares.”

“Mm. No.” He closed his eyes as she used her nails to scratch his scalp. “There are some things you should never know.”

“That only makes me more interested to learn.”

“All the same. That’s fine, Jessamine.” His eyes fluttered open, spearing her, and he took hold of her chin, bringing her face to his so he could kiss it. “Am I awake?” he murmured.

“As awake as I am,” she whispered back.

His huff was half of laughter and half of another emotion she couldn’t identify. But he adjusted her so that she was seated more comfortably on his lap, and reached past her for the whiskey. “Fortification,” he told her, and took a swig.

“Andrew, no. Enough.”

“That was the last one, I promise.” He replaced the bottle on the table and wrapped that arm around her, too.

Under ordinary circumstances, he was not nearly as tactile with her—including all the brushes against the small of her back—but she could only gather these were not ordinary circumstances.

“My father,” Andrew said with a sigh. “He was a cruel man. I suppose you think I inherited a lot from him. He had strong expectations about how his heir and spare ought to behave. We all had a very specific place in his life, and he taught us how best to fulfill his expectations.”

Jessamine rested her head against his shoulder. She could practically feel the hurt humming through him, even if he never directly acknowledged it. “So, you never had freedom?”

“I never expected freedom. Neither George or I could ever have hoped for freedom. No man or woman in this world is wholly free. I knew, as the second son, my role would be to find my own way through the world one day. I could not afford to be profligate or selfish, because I required an occupation. My father was not the sort of gentleman who provides his son with an allowance merely by dint of being his son. And George… Well, he was the heir, and Father always expected him to act as worthy of that title. In some ways, he had more freedoms, more financial security, but in other ways, he had less. He was required to receive endless lessons on comportment and how best to run an estate. Some of them… the penalties for failure were harsh. My father’s brother, Rebecca’s father, was much the same… And Rebecca…” He closed his eyes.

“You don’t need to tell me about her,” she whispered, wrapping her arms more tightly around her neck. “I know how much you loved her.”

“We were each other’s confidants,” Andrew said. “Then… I was not the same man I am now, Jessamine.”

“I know.”

Although now she knew him better, Jessamine could understand why Rebecca had always spoken of him so warmly. There was a softness to him, one that she’d been forced to dig for.

Perhaps when they were children, that side of him was more accessible. Rebecca had certainly known it.

“Rebecca was always expected to marry well,” he said. “We all knew it, and she knew it, too. All her life, governesses had prepared her to be the perfect lady. But when the time came, we never thought—we had no idea that the man my uncle would pick would be that man. George had already left for London, and he knew little of this, but I was at home, and I knew everything. I’ve told you the rest.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jessamine murmured.

“So, to answer your question about my father: he was a cold man. I always respected him a little, but it was fear, not love, that regulated my behavior as a boy. All the same, it prepared me for what was to come.” His hand came clumsily to her cheek. “That is why I wanted structure for William. So he might be prepared for the world.”

Jessamine caught his hand, holding it against her cheek. For some reason, her chest ached.

“I know,” she said. “And we will do everything to ensure that he has the best start in life. You know that’s what I want, too. I just also want—oh, you know what I also want, Andrew. I want him to feel secure and loved, too. I don’t want him to feel about us the way you feel about your father.”

He snorted. “With you as a mother, how could he?”

She smiled at him as she stroked his hand. “Tell me about your mother.”

“I remember nothing about her. She died shortly after my birth. My father might have loved her. I hardly know. That was not a language he ever spoke.”

“The language of love?”

“Affection was weakness in his eyes. He may have loved my mother, but he more so saw her as a necessary component of his life. He had a duty to provide for her, which he did, and she had a duty to give him sons, which she did. When she died, both their duties were, in essence, discharged.”

His words sent pain through Jessamine’s chest. Such a callous way to speak about his parents. As though duty were the only component of a life.

“Is that what you believe?” she asked, holding herself a little straighter in his arms. “That duty is the most important part of one’s life?”

“I think it’s an important part,” he said at last, tilting his head so he could look at her. “You were always my duty, love.”

The endearment speared her, and she took a deep breath. “When you married me, yes. And now?”

“Now, I have duties toward you, and William, and everyone else who expects things of me now that I’m the duke. If anything, I have more duties than before. My freedoms are both greater and lesser than before. And I must ensure—if I can—that I can step up to fulfill them.”

She knew how much obligation filled his life. That was another reason he spent so much time in his study. And yet the concept couldn’t help but sting a little.

“Am I nothing but a duty?” she asked, frowning.

“You,” he said, and laughed. “Come, kiss me,” he told her. “Kiss me until I tire of it, if such a thing were possible. No more talk of nightmares.”

Jessamine placed a hand against his chest. “Come to bed instead.”

“Bed?” His brows rose, and his eyes slid across her face, turning heated. Then he frowned and looked away. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

“Not too much, I should hope.” She slid off his lap and tugged at his arm. “Come, Andrew. Enough about duty. Let’s look forward to better things.”

“Is there a higher power than duty?” he asked as she tugged him to her feet. “Does a man have any greater obligation than what he owes to himself and others?”

“He might, if he were to think about it sober,” Jessamine said firmly.

She led him to her bed and laid him down, helping him out of his coat and waistcoat, and tugging his boots free. Before he slept, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“I should know better,” he murmured against her hair. “Tell me this is merely duty, Jessamine.”

“Would that make you content?”

A pause, as though he was truly contemplating the idea. “Yes.”

“Then yes. This is duty.” The duty that was owed to a husband and wife, where they treated one another with affection and intimacy.

But…

Jessamine wanted what Irene had with Henry. She’d seen the way they behaved together. And although for a long time, she had worried about William, the closest she got to Andrew, the surer she was that she could have both.

William could have both. Andrew had never been given a good role model in his father, but she could help him. They could explore all the wonders that could come when one opened one’s mind to the possibility of love.

Could she love him? Did she love him?

These were all questions for the morning. For tonight, she would answer her husband’s.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Andrew woke with an aching head and the disconcerting sense that his bad dreams were lingering just a thought or two away. But right before him, closer than a thought, Jessamine lay in his arms, her hair tangled by his nose.

He froze, hard and wanting behind her. She made everything feel so impossibly easy and difficult all at once.

He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted her, and he had never been so afraid.

Oh, he’d been afraid of losing his men’s lives, and that had happened. But that was a different sort of fear. Most of the men in the army knew of the dangers of war before they set foot in France. They knew there was a chance they might not emerge alive.

But Jessamine… She was everything that was sweet and innocent. She believed that with enough faith and love, anything was possible.

For William, innocent as he was, perhaps that was true.

But how could that ever be true for Andrew? How could someone as broken as him ever contrive to deserve someone as beautiful—as wonderful—as her?

It was impossible.

He was fundamentally damaged. He had killed in the war, and he had let his own cousin die. His friends had died. Last night, he had drunk enough to avoid the nightmares, but what of the other nights?

Men like him did not deserve to have beautiful, loving things in their lives because the temptation was to crush them. The damage was so easily done, and so very long-lasting.

He would never forgive himself if he hurt her. And if he allowed this closeness to continue, the hurt would be unavoidable.

This was a marriage of convenience.

Yet here she was, sleeping peacefully in his arms, oblivious to all the thoughts running through his head. He looked down at her, at the tiny freckles that dusted her nose, the luscious sweep of her lashes against her cheek. Sleep rendered her face soft and innocent, more so than ordinarily.

How could he have this and no more? Was it worth pursuing something else, or should he just accept what he had?

Keep her this close and no closer?

Another impossibility. He wanted her too much.

And by wanting her, he risked crushing her entirely.

“I think,” Jessamine announced over breakfast, “that we should host a masquerade ball.”

Andrew, who had been trying very hard not to think about his wife in any inappropriate attire all morning, started. The image of her wearing the clothes of a shepherdess or Marie Antoinette, or Aphrodite, or any other of the common costumes ladies enjoyed, seared through him.

How was he supposed to resist her if she kept packaging herself in such irresistible ways?

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Because I’m a duchess, and strangely enough, I would like to host. We went to Lady Marwich’s ball, and I think that did a great deal to cement our place in the world, but we should host our own. William will grow up in a household that is well-respected by the ton.” She sipped her tea. “And a masquerade ball will be the event of the Season.”

Andrew almost wanted to refuse. Not to deny her, but because it had never been his desire to host the ball of the Season, and certainly not to invite the ton into his home en masse so they could gawk at everything.

Then again, she made an excellent point. This was not about him.

William’s future did not wholly rely on their societal standing, but that did make a difference.

And they had done so much to forward that goal; why should they not do more?

“All right,” he said. “When?”

“I was thinking in ten days. That way, everyone has a chance to anticipate it, and we give the servants time to prepare.” She offered him a sunny smile. “What do you think?”

“I can deny you nothing,” he said honestly.

“Excellent. I shall use that wholly to my advantage.”

“I have no doubt,” he murmured, but he found himself unable to bite back his smile. Her joy was infectious. “Do you have a list of invitees?”

“Oh, yes. All the most notable gossips will be there, you may be sure. Anyone who is anyone. And if they insulted us, then we will treat them with particular kindness.”

Andrew felt his entire body go still. At the thought of someone entering his home and insulting either Jessamine or William, rage threatened to swallow him.

“If someone dares come to insult you in my house, then they will not be in my house for very long, Jessamine. You may be sure of that.”

“Oh,” she said merrily, “one look at your face, and they would never dare.”

“I mean it, Jessamine.”

“I know, but don’t you see? Those are the people we must win over the most.”

“No. Those are the people whose opinions will be least likely to change. What they want is a source of gossip, something they can spread among their friends and that will ideally cause some sort of stir when they announce it. Approving of us—liking us—is simply not something that benefits them.”

She reached across the table to lay a hand over his. He glanced down at the contact, half unable to believe that she had done such a thing. Every time she reached out to him, he had to resist the urge to take and take and take.

“These are just the kinds of people who will think to benefit from a connection with us. You forget, we are a duke and duchess now. If there’s something shocking we have done, such as adopting William, then of course that’s sensationalist enough to spread. But once they understand how firmly the ton is on our side, and how much we like and approve of one another, they will begin to give other factors more weight. And they will be eager to befriend us for their own gain.”

The idea of allowing anyone who had insulted them—who befriended them merely for their own gain, who thought to use them with the same breath as they had offended them—irked him almost beyond belief. But he restrained himself from saying anything of the like.

Jessamine looked too happy for him to interfere with that happiness.

“Do as you would,” he said, wishing he had not over-indulged as much and that his head ached a little less. “I trust you.”

Her answering smile was almost enough to quieten the guilt in his chest.

He had failed Rebecca; he had failed everyone else in his life, but so long as he kept his distance, he would not fail her.

Jessamine threw herself into the preparation for the masquerade. Ten days passed like sparkling jewels. Andrew was at times both distant and attentive, but she chalked that up to his dislike of grand social events.

No doubt that went against his philosophy as a soldier.

Never mind. This was more important. She wanted to be accepted. Until coming here and marrying Andrew and being William’s mother—for all intents and purposes—she hadn’t known how much fitting in mattered to her.

It was important that the world came to accept her. They had accepted Rebecca, and Rebecca had entrusted the care of William to her.

More than that, she had been sent to a remote corner of Scotland because her father no longer wanted to deal with her, and although everyone had been kind, she had always been the odd one out. The stranger.

No more. This would be the best, most extravagant masquerade ball the world had ever seen, and everyone would be talking about the event for days to come.

In a fit of generous spirit, she even sent an invite to Baron Lorthey. Perhaps his biggest problem was his lack of acceptance, too. Perhaps all he needed was a little kindness, and he would come to view Andrew with⁠—

Well, perhaps not friendship.

But peace.

And so, when the day of the masquerade finally came around, she felt as though she had done everything right. Things with Andrew were good, and she had created the event of the Season. Everything was as it should be. She had invited all the gossips, everyone who would cast judgment over them, and she had even extended a peace offering to their only known enemy.

Rebecca would be proud.

She dressed with especial care that evening, her maid doing up the back of her black, lacy gown. A mask lay beside her. She was Hel, the Norse goddess of death. She could have gone as someone beautiful, but somehow—she’d lost a brother, her mother, a friend - but the child in the next room was proof that death could bring renewal as well. The goddess of death felt appropriate.

Andrew had not told her who he had chosen to go as. She looked forward to seeing him.

Her Andrew.

They had still not fully consummated the marriage, but what did that matter when they were so together? He read her some extracts from his newspaper in the mornings, and he shared in the caring of William. At night, she lay in his arms, and sometimes they slept, and sometimes they pleasured one another, and sometimes she woke to cold sheets and knew he’d had another nightmare.

One day, he would be free of even those.

Tying her mask around her head, she descended the stairs and through to the ballroom. Andrew had yet to descend, but she wanted to check on all her preparations.

The servants were ready, the footmen prepped with silver trays and glasses filled with lemonade and wine. Vibrant flowers from the hothouse gave the room a heady fragrance, and she had ordered vines to be tied around the pillars that framed the edges of the room, giving a bohemian touch. The doors to the balcony were thrown open, letting in a little air.

Everything was perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

The air shifted behind her, and she felt rather than saw Andrew enter the room. Somehow, over the course of the past few weeks, she had become attuned to where he was. If he was in the same room as her, she knew. And if he was absent from the house, she knew that too.

She turned with a welcoming smile and found a man dressed humbly as a shepherd. But not just any shepherd; she gathered from the pouch of stones slung at his belt; he was dressed as David from the story of David and Goliath.

As he took her in, a line appeared between his brows.

“Hel,” she said in explanation. “The Norse goddess of death.”

“Unconventional.” He spread his arms. “What do you think?”

“Far too regal to be a mere shepherd boy.” She stepped closer, into his arms. They closed around her. “Who is Goliath?”

“What, rather.” He pulled away her mask to kiss the very tip of her nose. “Fatherhood is my Goliath. I volunteered to fight, and I will defeat it.”

She laughed. “Fatherhood is not something to defeat.”

“Every obstacle in life is something one might defeat,” he said. “I’m not trying to say I’m waging war against William.”

“Well, if fatherhood looks like this on you, then I say all is well.” Jessamine pressed a kiss to his throat, feeling his pulse increase.

Desire swirled in the air between them. For all the times that they wanted one another, they had thus far done little to assuage that need.

“Are you looking forward to tonight?” she asked.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you slay the gossips of London.”

“You’re still stuck in Rome,” she teased. “This is no gladiator battle. There will be a disappointing lack of slaying involved.”

“You are the goddess of death,” he pointed out.

“And I have power over it. That is the point.”

His face softened. Like always, he seemed able to see through her bravado to the very heart of her fears. She had not been able to save Percy, and she had not been able to save Rebecca, but she would ensure that no harm came to William.

“He’s safe,” Andrew murmured, sliding his arms down to her waist and locking his hands at the small of her back. She loved it when he held her against him like this, as though nothing could ever harm her. “Everyone is safe. They are healthy, and no harm will come to them.”

“I know. I know that. I just…” She took a deep breath. “I know it’s foolish, but being like this—dressing up like this—feels as though it gives me some small semblance of power and control over it. If something happened to him, I don’t know how I could ever live with myself.”

He stroked her cheek. “Then allow me to protect him.”

That was always how it was supposed to be. She would give William love, and Andrew would give William protection and safety.

Except, somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, something had changed. They both now offered protection and safety, and they both offered William love. Jessamine had seen it multiple times as Andrew held the tiny baby, cradling him close to his chest.

Still, the offer touched her, and she smiled, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the mouth. As always, he responded with perfect politeness, his body tensing with coiled energy, with need that she knew he felt for her.

Just let go, she wanted to beg. Show me what you want. Take what you want. Stop holding back.

Then she chided herself for wanting more when he had given her so much.

She would be happy. This was more than she could ever have asked for. This was enough, and in time, even if she didn’t have access to his love, she would have access to that other side of him.

The need.

Yes, she would take that.

“Well then,” she said, leaning back and aching at the expression of ravenous hunger on his face before he blinked and it smoothed into that impassive mask he so often adopted. “Shall we greet our guests?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Andrew did his best to take his eyes from Jessamine as she glided about the room, but he found it almost impossible. In a room filled with ladies dressed to impress—some as nymphs, some as fairies, some as queens—he found nothing more compelling than the sight of his very own wife.

His Jessamine.

There was something so graceful about the way she moved, as though she drifted through life instead of putting her feet on the ground like any other mortal. The severe black of her dress made her skin glow in comparison, and the feathering lace made him think of negligees and all the things he desperately—desperately—wanted to touch.

He didn’t deserve her. That fact stood solid and immovable between them. She dreamed of stability and certainty, and he brought nothing but uncertainty into his life. Almost every night, he woke beside her in a sweat, needing to escape to be in the cool air and finally to breathe.

He was a man haunted, and she was…

Well, she was a goddess.

She tilted her head, laughing, as someone spoke to her, and placed her hand lightly on their arm. Connection. Every time she moved or said anything, she sought connection. And he had been trying to give her what she needed without risking breaking her, but now he feared he had only made everything worse.

Nicholas sidled up beside him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Hm?”

“She’s right there.” Nicholas nodded at Jessamine. “And you’ve been staring after her like a lovesick hound for the past twenty minutes.”

Andrew scowled, flicking one of the vines around the pillars away. The room looked like it belonged in a fairy bower, and he would have expected to hate it, except for the fact that it only made Jessamine stand out in contrast all the more. The ladies were dressed like butterflies, and she was the solitary spot of darkness amongst them all.

“The first dance is beginning soon,” Nicholas said. “You should ask her to dance before someone else does.”

The thought of Jessamine in another man’s arms made Andrew growl under his breath.

“Precisely,” Nicholas said, nodding as though Andrew had said something profound. “And that is why you should act on your impulses instead of sitting back here and pretending they don’t exist. Have you so much as bedded her?”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “That is none of your business.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then. Really, Andrew? A lady as beautiful as that? Look, there, she’s smiling at you.”

Andrew did look, and the sight nearly brought him to his knees. Jessamine had a particular way of smiling when she meant it, with her entire body. Such a thing ought to have defied nature itself, and yet, somehow, it did not.

Ordinarily, she directed that smile at William, but today she had aimed it at him.

He sucked in a breath. His legs moved even without intending them to. He’d intended to give her the run of the ballroom without his interference. After greeting the guests with her, as convention dictated, he had let her flutter about with well-timed compliments and observations. She played the guests like a fiddle, and he had been much better suited to watching.

Not any more. He needed to be by her side, her little hand in his, her face upturned. By God, he needed her more than he had ever needed anyone.

“Your Grace!” A hurried through the crush, coming to stand beside him. He stopped, feeling the eyes of the assembled on him.

“Yes?” he asked curtly.

“It’s William, sir.” The maid’s eyes were wide, afraid. “He’s gone.”

Jessamine watched as Andrew strode from the room, a lump in her throat. She’d employed all her feminine wiles to tempt him across the room toward her, and she had thought it was working.

Until now.

It would have worked, she was sure, if something more pressing had not come up. But it felt as though every time they became closer, something came up. Something unavoidable that he could not escape. And he inevitably chose that.

A small worm of worry coiled in the base of her stomach. Could something be wrong? The maid had gone to Andrew, which suggested the issue involved him, not her. She’d instructed Lucy to let her know if there were any issues with William.

Still…

Temperance touched her arm. “Is everything all right?”

“I should go and see, I think,” Jessamine said, and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Do you mind dancing the next without me?”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on partnering with you, anyway,” Temperance teased, and shook her head. “You should go.”

Jessamine didn’t need telling twice.

Andrew burst into William’s nursery. Lucy lay on the floor, breathing but unconscious. The cradle was empty.

A cold calm washed over him. He cast another glance about the room, instructed the hysterical maid to tend to the nursemaid, and left. He sprinted back down the stairs, almost colliding with Jessamine. She gripped his arms.

“I saw someone going toward the garden.”

Andrew disentangled himself and tore for the library door, wrenching it open and sprinting across the lawn. Light from the windows spilled golden across the foliage, and dew soaked his shoes.

There. Movement, directly ahead. Andrew threw everything he had into running. All thoughts cleared from his head; only anger remained. No, not just anger—he had been angry before, and it had been nothing like this.

Because he knew who the culprit was. He recognized the gait, the gleam of his brown hair in the lights.

Baron Lorthey.

Rage rose in Andrew. An overwhelming need to do the man damage, images of blood spattering and the crunch of breaking bone. Violence. He’d felt the urges out in battle-ravaged France, but he’d thought he’d left those feelings behind, exchanging them for the veneer of civilization. But now he knew those things were still inside him.

Then he realized the baron held William, and everything stopped. There was no way of doing damage without harming the child.

The rage stilled. Withdrew. Not gone, merely… waiting.

He stepped out in front of the man, allowing his height and width to do the talking for him. “What,” he started, his voice low and dangerous, “the devil do you think you’re doing?”

Baron Lorthey stopped, clutching the squalling baby to his chest. “Isn’t it obvious?” he demanded—spat, rather. “I’m taking away the one thing you care about. Just like you did to me.” He held William even tighter, and Andrew’s fists clenched. “You cost me my brother! You took my family. I will take yours!”

“My own brother died too,” Andrew said with false calm. “Or have you forgotten that fact? I am the duke because my brother and father died. My cousin died giving birth to the child you hold in your arms. If you want revenge, then consider it taken.”

“It’s not enough!” In the faint light from the house, it seemed as though the baron’s face turned dark with an angry flush. “You could have saved Harry! You should have!”

Ever since that day, Andrew had been plagued with nightmares that told him the same thing. But…

“There was nothing I could do,” he said, and the words released a little of the tension in his shoulders. This was true. “He was my friend. If I could have saved him, I would have, but there was nothing.”

And Andrew hated himself for it. He hated himself for every life lost under his leadership. But that was a fact that Baron Lorthey didn’t have the right to.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Andrew said, still in that voice of soft calm. “Give me the baby, Lorthey. Why hurt an innocent child over this? Is that what Harry would have wanted?”

Behind Andrew, a crowd was forming. And Jessamine, the person he would have tried to protect the most, stood at the front, her hand over her mouth.

Baron Lorthey spat on the ground by Andrew’s feet. “It’s your fault Harry died. If it weren’t for you, he’d still be here. You owe me a brother. This baby will do well enough. I’ll raise him as my own, and he’ll know to hate you.”

There could be no reasoning with him; he’d lost reason somewhere along the road of his vendetta. Andrew couldn’t hope to reach him with words alone.

Fortunately, he had more than words at his disposal. Andrew kept perfectly still until he pounced. Baron Lorthey hadn’t been expecting an attack, and he was briefly undefended.

William tumbled from Lorthey’s arms as Andrew planted his fist in the baron’s face. Blood splattered. Too late, he twisted, trying to catch the falling infant, only to discover Jessamine on the ground beside him, William in her arms. Her dress had torn.

Guilt plagued him as he bent, catching her elbow and pulling her to her feet. William screamed, red-faced, and she murmured shaking reassurances to him.

Lorthey, his hand clamped over his nose, glared at them both.

“Send for the constable,” Andrew instructed Jessamine quietly. “And the magistrate.”

The ghost of a smile appeared across her face. “I instructed James to do both before I ran out here.”

James was their head footman; if she’d asked him, he would have jumped to do it. The magistrate and constable would be on their way.

He looked at William. “Is he unharmed?”

“I think so,” Jessamine said, cradling him against her chest. She turned her gaze to Lorthey. “You thought to harm us, but you failed,” she said, her voice strong and authoritative. “Consider what you have done and repent.”

“You stand by him even now?” Lorthey demanded, one hand pressed against his nose. “Even knowing what he has done?”

“Your brother was a victim of the war, not of Andrew,” Jessamine said, and Andrew’s chest felt too tight. She was defending him in a way that no one had ever defended him before.

No one had ever defended him before.

She loved him; she had to.

The realization swept through him, and he could have laughed with the giddy force of it.

But now was not the moment for a realization such as this, or to glory in the proof that his wife loved him. She loved him of all people, when he had long ago determined that he must be unlovable.

He pushed the sensations deep within himself, turning everything on his face gentle as he turned to her. “Go back to the house,” he murmured. “For William’s sake. Find Lucy and see if she is well. Send for a physician if one hasn’t been sent for already. Care for the boy.”

He squeezed her hands around the baby. He had to be the priority; they both knew it.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, but much as he wanted to turn his back on his duties and tend to his family, he was the duke, and he could not renounce his obligations.

He would do anything to protect her.

“Go,” he murmured.

Without another word, she left, the crowd parting for her as she hurried to the house, William safely in her arms.

Andrew turned back to Baron Lorthey, whose head hung down. “I don’t expect you to see how entirely twisted your way of thinking has become,” he said coldly. “But I hope a session in gaol will help with matters. You tried to take an innocent child in full view of the ballroom. If we don’t go ahead with a trial, you will still be tried and found guilty by the court of the people.” He leaned down closer still. “If Harry were still here, he would be ashamed. He was one of the best men I knew, and I mourn him every day. I will not have you spewing forth your poisonous lies that I was responsible for his death.”

It had taken him months to come to terms with the fact that he could do nothing to help, and he still woke in a sweat thinking about it.

He still couldn’t help wondering if he had just made different decisions, if he had been wiser, if he had known, though it defied the bounds of reason that he could ever have known, then perhaps all this could have been avoided.

Andrew stayed out with Baron Lorthey until finally the magistrate came with two constables and led the man away. With his plot thwarted, it was as though the man had lost his will to fight. He made no attempt to escape or leave, merely kneeling in the wet grass until finally he was taken away.

Andrew walked back to the house. The guests had dispersed, and the great rooms felt empty. Servants rushed about, clearing away the worst of the mess from the aftermath of the ball. He ached from head to foot, weary in a way he had not felt since he had returned from the war.

All this was his fault. If he had not been himself, if Jessamine had married someone else, or if Rebecca had entrusted the care of William to another man; if George had still been alive, then none of this would have happened.

No other man had a trail of bodies running behind him. None other had reason for a man such as Baron Lorthey to give metaphorical chase. This was entirely his doing, and in being who he was, he was the reason William had been in danger.

William deserved better.

Jessamine deserved better. He thought of her now, his beautiful wife, as his body ached and his soul hungered for peace. She had been such a bright light in the gloom of his life, but he was a blade poised to fall, and if he put her in the way, then the damage could be untold.

How he hated himself. There was a pit in his chest, a space where the remainder of his heart ought to be, and nothing but blackness filled it. A hollow sort of emptiness that had more presence than any other organ in his body.

As he should have known, he found Jessamine in the nursery, looking over William.

He had failed to protect her and William. He’d promised her that he would keep William safe, and he had failed in his promise. In his house, William had been snatched from his bed, and if it hadn’t been for Jessamine, Andrew might not have caught him.

Jessamine caught sight of him in the doorway and beckoned him forward, reaching out a hand to him. Out of sheer habit, he took it, allowing her to draw him nearer. With her other hand, she stroked William’s soft cheek.

Andrew couldn’t bear this. The gentleness with which she received him, when he ought to be received with anger. Blame, rightly aimed, fired like a spear.

Not this. Never this.

“You know,” she said, looking tenderly down at William, “I always thought I would make a terrible mother. In Scotland, I mean. There were always so many children running about, so many mothers carrying babies that did nothing but scream, and I thought—I was certain—that I could never be one of them. But now I’m here, with a little person who trusts me so much, I think I understand.”

Andrew didn’t understand why she had ever thought she would make a terrible mother. “Rebecca must have known.”

“I suppose she did. I think she knew a lot. She knew that I would step up and become better for him.” She glanced shyly up at Andrew, though he was unable to decipher her expression. “And I hope, someday, to give him a little brother or sister.”

Andrew froze, the implications of that running through him.

A brother or sister.

She wanted a child of her own. A family. Things that he had always known he didn’t deserve. If he gave her those things, he would hurt her more.

And a family…he didn’t deserve a family.

Baron Lorthey was wrong that he was the reason Harry died, but he had seen too much pain and suffering to ever be free from it. He had made bad decisions that had caused the death of good men, and the weight of those deaths now sat on his soul.

William, he would do everything for, but future children needed more than a father who was plagued with nightmares. They deserved more than a father incapable of defending them the way they ought to be defended.

He had almost lost William. Where was the proof that he could protect and defend?

His Goliath now was not fatherhood but rather his own weakness.

None of this was fair. He couldn’t be blessed with a family, with Jessamine, when he had done so little to deserve the honor.

She touched his arm, no doubt sensing his stillness. “Andrew?”

He drew back from her. The empty space in his chest swelled to encompass all of him.

“This is a marriage of convenience,” he said as coldly as he could. She had taught him warmth, and now he remembered all her lessons. “That was what we agreed upon, Jessamine.”

She stared up at him, a furrow between her brows. He desperately wanted to smooth it with his fingers, but he had just told her that he must keep his distance, in as few words as possible. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I…” He bit his tongue before he could tell her the turmoil on his mind. This was not her burden to bear. “We both knew what this would be when we entered our arrangement, and it can be no more. I hope it’s enough for you.”

She retracted her hand, hurt flaring in her eyes. She always showed every emotion in those pretty brown eyes of hers, every feeling trapped in amber. He could have stared into them forever. “What about you?” she demanded. “Is it enough for you?”

Andrew clenched his jaw. He had wanted too much and too far. That was his error, and now he must pay for it. “It has to be,” he said, and left the nursery before he could do or say anything more that he would regret.

The last thing he saw before he closed the door was the pain on her face like an open wound, and the sickening knowledge that he had been the one to put it there.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dawn came and went in a burst of gray light that faded into color. Jessamine sat with William, watching his steady breathing. The fear from the previous night had dissolved into a deeper sort of hurt, the kind that sank into her bones and settled there to live indefinitely.

This is a marriage of convenience.

I hope it’s enough for you.

It had not been enough for her for a long, long time. Even longer than she had realized. Since before they had kissed for the first time. And now, she had come to rely on him more than she had ever relied on another person.

Everyone in her life left her, one way or the other. Her mother, her father, her aunt. Her sister, in a way—having a child was not the same, but it did change things—and now her husband.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” she murmured to the sleeping infant.

He was so much larger now than he had been a few weeks ago, putting on weight so solidly that she felt as though if she only watched him long enough, she would see him grow.

“I will have you for years. You will always be Rebecca’s, but you are also mine,” she added.

He didn’t so much as stir.

The door opened, and Lucy crept in, a small bandage around her head.

“The doctor said I should be fine so long as I don’t move anything heavy for a day or two,” she whispered, her face creasing. “I am so sorry, Your Grace. He was in my care, and I failed him and you. I understand if you would rather someone else take over my duties.”

She hung her head, and Jessamine realized that Lucy, too, had come to care for William.

He had had so much impact on so many people’s lives, and he slumbered in ignorance.

“You could never have foreseen this,” Jessamine said, shaking her head and returning her gaze to William’s face. “We could all blame ourselves, but we are not responsible for what happened. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, ma’am, thank you for asking. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Lucy stopped, her keen eyes traveling over Jessamine’s face. “If you don’t mind me saying, ma’am, I wonder if that might be a good idea for you, too. I can call someone else to watch over him with me for the time being, if that would make you more comfortable.”

Jessamine dragged a hand down her face. Somewhere in the house, Andrew was sleeping, apparently perfectly content with the way he had ripped her heart into shreds. If she retired to her bedchamber now, all she would do is see the absence of him in it.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said at last. “His Grace has told me—well, he has said that we are not to have a marriage of any sort. All this ever was, all it ever has been, is a means to an end. A way of providing for William the way his mother would have wanted.” She braced her arms over her bent knees and rested her chin on them. “I knew that was all we would ever have, and I still wanted more.”

Lucy took a seat beside her. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“Are you married?”

“I was, ma’am. He passed away in the war.”

“I’m sorry.”

“These things happen. I’m not the only widow left. It’s why…” She gestured around herself. “Nursing mothers are hard to come by, so there’s always work, and I’ve been nursing since I weaned my eldest.”

“How old is he?”

“Five.” Lucy smiled fondly. “He’s a mischief-maker. Like his father.”

“Do you ever…” Jessamine struggled to find the words. “How does one ever navigate marriage? Nothing seems as simple as it ought to be.”

“Well, that’s because it’s not, ma’am, if you’ll forgive me saying. Marriage is hard, and it takes work. I loved my husband, but there were times when I wanted to toss him out on his backside and let the night frosts have him!” Lucy laughed. “But he’s a man. What else can you expect other than a little stupidity at times? They pretend to be complex creatures, but really, they’re simple. At least, my husband was. He just sometimes wanted things he didn’t know how to ask for.”

The opposite was true here: Andrew had very directly asked for what he wanted, which was not her. In fact, he wanted the very opposite of her. A marriage of convenience.

“Talk with him,” Lucy urged, then caught herself. “At least, that’s my advice, Your Grace. You’re welcome to take it or leave it.”

Talk to Andrew.

That sounded easy in principle, but Jessamine had kept trying, had kept talking with him. She’d confessed her desires, and he had shut a door in her face.

If Andrew wanted to speak with her, he would have to be the one to approach her. And if he didn’t, then… well, that would be the beginning of the sort of marriage he so clearly asked for.

One where they did not care for each other at all.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kate tugged on Jessamine’s hand. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course.” Jessamine relinquished William to Kate, making sure the younger girl was sitting comfortably.

William stirred and made a fretful cry, but Kate merely jiggled him with a soothing motion that seemed to come naturally.

Irene watched on with such proud warmth on her fact that Jessamine found hard to look at. In the five days since the attack on William, she and Andrew had not spoken once. Yet again, he was avoiding her in her own home, and only spending time with William when she wasn’t there.

It was like being married to a ghost.

“She is such a darling,” Irene said fondly. “I wasn’t sure how I would feel about living with my husband’s younger sister, but it’s utterly delightful. And thanks to William, she will have some experience with babies before this one comes along.”

She patted her stomach, which looked as though it had become more rounded by the day.

“How are you faring with the pregnancy?”

Irene made a face. “There is nothing good I can say about the experience, except that it will eventually result in a child. If I could have my way, I would never go through this again, and just have a child. You did it the right way around.”

Jessamine pressed a hand to her own flat stomach. She knew she ought to feel that way, but instead she just felt… empty at the thought. There was nothing she wanted more than a child of her own. No matter how much she loved William, and how much he was her child, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to create one of her own, a baby who was half her, half Andrew.

“What is it?” Irene asked, a frown descending over her face. “What was that look for?”

Jessamine shook her head, stepping away from Kate and William to stand by the window. “It’s nothing,” she said.

“Nothing would not look like that on you,” Irene said. “I may be with child, but that doesn’t mean I stop having eyes, or stop wanting to be there for you. Has something happened? Something more, I mean.”

“I told you about the attack on William?”

Irene nodded, although she had probably heard the story from about five different sources by now, anyway. What Jessamine had intended as the event of the Season had been overshadowed by this tragedy. Now all anyone could discuss was Baron Lorthey and the fact that Andrew had seen his brother die.

And William.

Jessamine closed her eyes. “I spoke to Andrew that night, when William was safe and sleeping again. I mentioned how I would like a child of my own—our own—one day. A family. I always thought that was the plan. William is Andrew’s heir, but it’s always sensible to have more than one, just in case.” Even though the thought of something happening to William made her feel sick. “But he just… It was like the question pulled a lever inside him and changed everything. He told me that this was a marriage of convenience and nothing more, and that he didn’t want a family with me.”

“He said all that?” Irene asked, her brows pulling together.

“Well, not in so many words. He said a marriage of convenience and no more would have to be enough, which is almost the same thing.”

“I would beg to disagree,” Irene said. “It sounds as though he wants it to be enough, whether it is or isn’t.”

“Well, what difference does that make? Whether it is or not, he wants it to be. And that means I will never get a family.”

Irene wrapped her arms around Jessamine. “I’m sorry, dearest. He should have known better than to do something like that to you. I thought things were getting better.”

“So did I. He made me…”

He made me love him.

“Oh, Jessie,” Irene sighed.

“Jessie?” Kate raised her head from the other side of the room, her attention diverted from William for the barest of moments. “What’s happening?”

Jessamine pasted a smile on her face and hurried back to the young girl’s side. “Nothing important. I was just thinking about what might happen to William if we don’t watch over him.”

“He is very small,” Kate agreed seriously. “And babies can’t do anything for themselves. Not like other animals. Foals and calves stand up and can walk very shortly after birth, but babies need years before they can do that.”

“It’s not very sensible,” Irene agreed, coming to sit by Kate’s other side. “It’s why we must look out for our children so much. And also why we love them so much. We always love things we have to care for.”

Jessamine’s heart gave a little pang. How true. She loved William like her own son, and she loved Andrew more for all the ways they had looked out for one another over the past few months.

She loved him. And now there was nowhere for that love to go.

“And I will look after your baby,” Kate said seriously. “Which means I will love him or her, too.”

“That’s right,” Irene said, casting a worried glance at Jessamine.

Jessamine did her best to summon a smile, little as she was feeling it, but even as she did her best to pretend for the sake of her sister, all she could do was think about how lonely the empty years of the rest of her life spread.

William needed her now, but he would not always need her, and without him…

What did she have?

Andrew tossed the brandy back and settled in the chair. His head spun, and he closed his eyes. Not seeing was preferable, anyway. When he looked, all he looked for was Jessamine, and that was hardly helpful in his current predicament.

If he could, he would drink enough to forget, but he’d tried that while in the army, and stealing tomorrow’s joy always came back to bite him.

Better he just learn how to live like this. A half-life.

“There you are,” Nicholas said as he settled in the armchair beside him. “I should have known better than to seek you out at your own house.”

“You tried looking for me there?” Andrew’s eyelids fluttered, but he couldn’t seem to summon the energy to look at his friend.

“Briefly. Your butler informed me you were out. I don’t believe I disturbed the lady of the house.” There was a meaningful pause where Andrew’s heart contracted, and he did his best to pretend he felt nothing. “Who, I believe, is also ignorant of your location.”

“When you’re married, you’ll understand.”

“Forgive me, Andrew, but I think I never want a marriage if it looks like this.”

Andrew snorted and finally opened his eyes, finding the room more or less where he’d left it. White’s, a place where plenty of men came to drink and play their sorrows away in the company of fellow men.

“I think I would never have wanted a marriage like this if I’d known,” he said. “Everything would have been easy if she wasn’t…” If she wasn’t her. “If I didn’t care what she thought,” he finished lamely.

“But you do,” Nicholas said.

“How could anyone not? I didn’t realize it the first time we met, but she’s an angel, near enough. And I’m…” He gestured at himself. “This.”

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

“She thinks she wants me, but that’s only because she doesn’t know how messed up my head is.” Andrew looked Nicholas straight in the face. “I see them every night. Everyone who died under my command. Sometimes I relive the moment of their death. It’s always horrific and bloody, and then I think about how I could have saved them if only I had behaved differently.”

“And Baron Lorthey made you feel like this a thousand times more,” Nicholas said, for once finding nothing amusing in the situation.

“He reminded me that I can never move past it. I can never live past it. The best thing for us all is for me to take a step back from my life here. William will have everything I can give, but Jessamine is safer if she stays away. What if my proximity brings more people determined to bring harm to the people I—” He stopped himself from saying love at the last moment. “I failed Rebecca. I failed the people under my command. How can I know that Jessamine will be any different? How can I best protect William when my record is such a failure?”

“You didn’t fail Rebecca,” Nicholas said, his voice sharper than Andrew had ever heard it. “And saying so is disrespectful to her memory. She was your cousin, and you know her better than anyone else. She made her choices, and life happened the way it does. You could not have altered the hand of fate and prevented her death. If she had not fraternized with Lord Debley, she would not have gotten with child, and she would not have died birthing him. Are you to take blame for that, too?”

“I—” Andrew stopped.

True, it had been her decision to engage in an affair with a much older man, although he felt tempted to place the blame on Lord Debley rather than Rebecca. She had not been young, precisely, but she had been vulnerable, unhappy in a marriage with a man who disrespected her.

If Andrew had prevented the marriage from happening in the first place, perhaps none of this would have come to pass, but he’d been a child.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he could accept that.

So all he could do now was look forward.

“Rebecca would have wanted nothing more than for you to take care of her son, whom she entrusted to your care,” Nicholas continued. “And Jessamine’s. She is the godmother. Marrying her was the right thing to do for that. And then, consider, caring for Jessamine as part of that is only going to be more of the right thing.”

“Hurting her⁠—”

“You protected her from Baron Lorthey, and you saved William. Are you to take the blame for Lorthey’s actions? He lost his brother, but so did you. You lost everything upon returning to London, but you did not go around trying to kidnap small children and take some twisted sort of revenge. His actions are his own. As for his brother…” Nicholas poured himself a glass of brandy and raised it to the ceiling. “I wasn’t there, but I know you, and I know you would have gone out of your way to save him if he could have been saved. So, are you going to blame yourself for that, too?”

Andrew scowled at his friend. “I see what you’re trying to do.”

“You are using the concept of failure to avoid confronting the fact that you have no idea how to be happy. You’ve spent your life avoiding it. But you can be happy, you can deserve to be happy, and I am determined to help you see it.” Nicholas folded his arms. “So you might as well accept that now. And go back to the wife waiting for you.”

“I doubt she’s waiting for me.” Andrew groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “How can I face her after telling her this is nothing more than a marriage of convenience?”

“An apology would be a good start.” Nicholas sighed. “The poor girl loves you, Andrew. The least you could do is admit that you love her in return and vow to be there for her. No one is perfect, and even if you see the faces of your dead comrades every night, I expect she would rather you were in her bed to see them.”

“She doesn’t know⁠—”

“Then tell her. And if by the end of it all, she doesn’t want you, then you may come crying to me. But not before.” Nicholas patted his shoulder. “We both know you want nothing more than to be with her.”

Nothing more was a strong turn of phrase. And yet Andrew couldn’t deny it was true.

“It’s what Rebecca would have wanted,” Nicholas said. “I didn’t know her well, but she was a woman who never gave up on love even when it was denied to her. She wanted you to care for William, and I expect she would have wanted you to love the woman you married. Who, I might add, was also her best friend. So, will you do it? Will you tell her?”

Andrew dragged a hand through his hair. It was both harder and easier to contemplate a life separate from her. Then, he would never have to open his heart.

But it wasn’t worth it.

None of this was worth it.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Even if it kills me, I’ll do it.”

Chapter Thirty

By the time Andrew got back to the house, it was dark, and everything was quiet. Lucy must have retired for the night.

As he did every day, he moved through the darkened house and went straight to the nursery.

Lucy spent her hours caring for William, but there were a few times she wasn’t there, and then he would pick up the babe and cradle him close and remember Rebecca and all his obligations. William always responded well to the affection. More proof that Jessamine was right; children needed affection and love in order to be able to prosper. Not merely routine and structure and the expectations that came with being the heir to a great estate and heavy title.

Andrew had never felt the burden as greatly as he did climbing the stairs to his son. Though he knew he was not the sire, he could not help feeling as though he was William’s father in every respect that mattered. Just as Jessamine was William’s mother.

Jessamine, who wanted more children of her own. He would never know that same urge, not having the same response—his body never carried a child within it, and although he would love any child that they created, it would feel similar to William for him.

Except that a child with Jessamine would have her eyes or hair or smile. They could have a girl and give her the childhood Jessamine had always wanted and missed out on.

Something stirred in him at the thought—a hunger he had been denying himself for so long. Perhaps he deserved a family, or perhaps he didn’t, but he wanted one. He wanted to look Jessamine in the eyes and tell he everything that was wrong with him and beg for her forgiveness.

He finally reached the nursery and held the candle out to illuminate Lucy in the small bed at the corner of the room, and Jessamine slumped in the armchair, her legs curled up under her as she slumbered.

The affection in his chest could not be contained. He ached with how very much he loved her. Even now, when their marriage had become so very shaky, she was still here, keeping watch over William.

After glancing into the crib to ensure William was sleeping well, with tiny rasping breaths as his hands curled into fists, he crouched by Jessamine.

“Hey,” he murmured as he rubbed her arm. This was the most they had touched in five days, and by God, he had missed her. “It’s time to return to bed, sweetheart.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked at him without seeming to see his face. “Andrew?”

“I’m here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you.” But perhaps tonight was not the right time. She was tired, probably sore after sleeping curled up in that chair for so long; perhaps he should wait for the morning for her sake. He’d waited this long, so he could wait a little longer. “But first, I think you need to sleep.”

She blinked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

“William is safe here with Lucy. No one is coming into the house. You can go to bed. If you need me to, I can stay with him.” He tugged at her arm, and finally she came, rising to her feet. He noticed she was in her nightgown, probably having slipped into the room after a nightmare about something happening to William.

A nightmare she had to face alone.

No longer.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her from the room. Her body, so close to his. He could feel her heartbeat, and his own body responded to her proximity.

Not now.

Now was very much not the time for those thoughts, even if it was tempting to imagine⁠—

No!

“I don’t understand,” she protested as he shouldered her bedroom door open. “I thought you wanted to avoid me.”

“What I wanted to do and what I did are two entirely different things.” He placed her carefully down on the bed, and she still bounced a little. “But I’m sorry, Jessamine. I shouldn’t have needed that time, and I certainly shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. You made me…” He shook his head. “But we can discuss this tomorrow.”

She sat up, placing a finger against his lips. “You said you wanted to speak to me.”

“I did, but it can wait for the morning. You’re tired.”

“I was tired,” she corrected. “I am no longer tired, thanks to you coming in and waking me up and informing me that you wish to speak to me. About what?”

This was not quite how he had imagined this conversation going. He dragged a hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed.

“About us,” he said. “The truth of the matter is I’ve been a fool, blind to what’s in front of me, and so caught up in…” He blew out a long breath. “I am not a man who is predisposed to happiness. Not from my childhood, and especially not after going to war. You must understand that… You will never be able to understand what that was like for me. I carry the remnants of the war around with me always. I lost good men out there, and I will never be able to look in the mirror and wonder what the world would have looked like if they had been the ones to return and not me.”

Her hand moved to his as though by instinct, her fingers wrapping around his. “Oh, Andrew.”

“I’m not saying that so I might benefit from your pity, but that you might understand why I… Why I have felt my entire life as though I am not deserving of the other joys my fellow men might experience. Marriage for me was never anything other than a duty, and our marriage was a means to an end. I meant to provide for William in the best way I knew how, but that way never involved affection until you. Of course, I harbored affection for him, but it was an affection born of duty, not oh…”

“Of love,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “You do love William, Andrew. No matter what happens between us, you have been consistent in that.”

“I do, but I learned how to show it because you showed me. All this time, you have been so patient as I have been putting the pieces of my life back together. I see that, and I recognize it, and I appreciate it. But what you have never been able to see is just how… how broken I am, Jessamine. You want a husband, but I felt as though I could never step up and be that husband for you. What’s more, I felt as though I could never deserve to. I have failed more times than I can count—Rebecca and my friends and then you and William. The people most important to me, I have habitually failed to keep safe.”

“But that is not your burden alone, Andrew.” Jessamine sat up, placing both hands on his cheeks. “This may be a marriage of convenience and duty, but then let us both play our part in that duty. Let me care for you, just like you care for me.”

“That’s the thing, Mina.” He wrapped both hands around her one small one. This was not how he’d imagined the conversation going—he ought to have led with this. “I never intended to; I never thought I could in all honesty, but I love you. I am so in love with you, I can barely think about anything else. Keeping apart from you has almost killed me these past few days. I’m still scared of what might happen in the future, and all the ways I could fail you, but for the first time, I want to try.”

He looked at her, waiting to see if she would respond in any respect.

She merely looked at him, biting her lip. As though she could not quite envisage how this could be real.

“You love me?”

“Desperately. So completely, I can do nothing else.”

“But…” She fought for words. “You say you now finally want to try?”

“I should have come to that conclusion so much earlier, but I was a fool, my darling,” he said. “I was afraid of failing you, of hurting you, and I still might. You know a little of how broken I am. That may yet leak out and impact your life as well as mine. But if you are prepared to try, if you want to, then I am prepared to be here with you, too.” He gripped her fingers. “What do you say?”

She shook her head as though in a daze, like a dog shaking water from its ears. “You’ve been afraid?”

“Terrified,” he said wryly. “Does that strike you as foolish? I assure you, it strikes me as more so. I used to pride myself on being afraid of nothing, and yet here I am, being afraid of my wife and my adopted son.”

“No.” She shook her head, her hand squeezing his again, and a small smile dawning across his face. “You were never afraid of me, Andrew. You were just afraid of yourself.”

“Then I have become still more of a fool. The one thing a man ought never to be afraid of is himself.”

He took her hand in both of his, looking at her earnestly.

A weight had lifted from his chest. Finally, he’d given voice to all the things he’d been fighting for so long. Even if she decided not to accept his apology and not to allow him back into her life, at least he had tried. At least he had said his piece and told her exactly how he felt.

The blankets shifted, and she wrapped both arms around his neck. “Andrew,” she said, her voice catching on a sob. “I thought it was me that you didn’t want.”

“Jessamine. Mina.” He held her close. “You were never the problem. I’m sorry for making you wait.”

She pressed her face against his neck, and his stomach bottomed out in relief. “I ought to make you wait in return,” she told him. “I ought to make you grovel and beg.”

“Is that what you want?” He pulled back and sank to his knees before the bed.

The candles had almost guttered out, but they held enough light for him to look up into her perfect face, mahogany hair falling around her cheeks in loose curls, her mouth softly parted, her eyes dark and fathomless.

If he hadn’t already known he adored her, he would have known then.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up into her face. “I should have done better by you, and I regret not doing so. I would do anything to make it up to you. Anything at all. If you would make me kneel before you all night, then I will. All week.”

She half-laughed, covering her face. “Andrew.”

“You are the only woman I have ever wanted to share my life with, and I will do anything I can to make that life better. I love you, Jessamine. Every inch of you, for every second. Forgive me.” He hesitated. Begging did not come easily to him, but he had already offered her so much of himself; what was a little more? “I beg you.”

She reached forward and caught his wrist, holding his hand in her lap. “You said we would not have a family.”

“I…” He took another deep breath and turned his hand so their fingers linked. “I was afraid of that, as well. I thought a man like me, who had caused so much death, did not deserve to be the harbinger of new life. I was afraid that whatever darkness is inside me might become inside a son of ours, too.”

“Oh, Andrew,” she whispered.

“But I regret that stance now. And I do not uphold it. If you want children, Jessamine, then we will have them. Tens of them if you would like.”

She cupped his cheek, and it felt like redemption. “Perhaps not tens. But one or two might be nice. So William can have siblings growing up. I always wished for a sister when I was a girl, and now I have Irene. Let’s give William a brother and sister at least.”

An heir and a spare, just like every good duke ought. But this was no longer about succession or logistics; this was about a family whom he could love, and who could all love one another.

This was for Jessamine.

“When?” he asked, looking into her face. “There is no guarantee of anything, of course. But thus far…”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know you have been avoiding the possibility of children.”

“Those days are over, so long as you are prepared to become with child. Is that what you want?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Now?”

Desire stirred in him, just as it had before, but like wildfire this time, almost impossible to ignore. “I want a family, Jessamine,” he told her. “But only with you.”

She tugged at his wrist. “Well, then,” she said, her voice turning throaty. “It strikes me we ought to get started.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Jessamine watched Andrew as, in the guttering firelight, he removed his coat. Every movement he made was methodical, done in a specific order. That was the way he liked things—for them all to be done exactly as he believed they ought.

At the beginning of their marriage, she had seen that inflexibility as an impediment. A problem. Now, she understood him better. That inflexibility, adhering to his morals and beliefs, had both kept him alive and hindered his growth.

He had needed to hold tight to the things that mattered. Survival in the war had been about doing things precisely right all of the time. If he didn’t, people died. Discipline, for him, was the backbone of life and society.

But she wanted to introduce a little flexibility into his life. Especially when it came to William. And her.

His gaze rose slowly to hers, the heat inside it setting fire to her own nerves. How sweet it was to burn. She would never have known if she had not cracked Andrew’s icy shell.

“I have been waiting for this for longer than you could ever know,” he said gruffly, his voice sending shivers through her. Such need—she didn’t know how she could ever have incited it in him.

She never wanted to lose it.

“Tell me,” she said.

He hesitated. This never came easily to him, opening himself up like a clam for her to harvest. The only time he felt safe was when he kept everything vulnerable tucked away. But for them to have a future, he would have to open himself up to her, if no one else.

“Since before we kissed,” he said gruffly, folding his coat carefully and placing it on a chair. He turned his attention to his waistcoat. A now-familiar bulge decorated his breeches. “Since our wedding night, truth be told. I never thought…”

“You never expected to want me?” Jessamine asked, toying with the ribbons at the bodice of her nightgown.

“Precisely.” His nostrils flared as he watched her.

Time to put on a show.

Forgiving him had been easy. She’d forgiven him the moment he had taken her into his arms and carried her into her bedroom. As soon as he admitted his wrongdoing and that he wanted to pursue a life with her, she had completely and utterly forgiven him.

But she could not forget.

One did not simply forget. His dismissal of her had hurt, and she did not want to repay pain with pain—that was one of the first issues that came from warmongering—but she was more than happy to make him suffer in other ways.

Leaving the nightgown where it was, she drew her fingers up her thighs, sliding the skirts up to reveal bare skin. His gaze locked on it immediately, fingers stilling on his buttons.

“I am a novice,” she said, unable to help the breathiness in her voice. “Explain to me precisely how this shall go. What will you do to me once you have the opportunity?”

His hands went to his breeches, and she shook her head, even as she spread her legs as though readying herself for him. Instead, she dipped a finger between her thighs. The wetness she found there astounded even herself, and she bit back a sigh of pleasure.

Andrew let out a strained groan that sounded almost like pain.

“Explain it to me,” she said, finding her entrance and circling her middle finger there before dipping it in.

Every muscle in her body tightened at the intrusion, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough. She didn’t merely want her own unpracticed fingers, but his. She wanted all of him, the way she knew she could have him.

She wanted him to stretch her fully.

Oh, all the things she wanted.

His throat worked as he watched her with a feral intensity, but he brought his hands back to his waistcoat buttons.

“When I’m naked,” he said, fumbling with the buttons, “I will touch you. Finally.” His voice rasped the word. “And bring you to your peak.”

“And then?”

“I will guide you to touching me.” He brought his hand to the bulge in his breeches and palmed himself as though unable to stop himself. “And when you are good and ready, I will lie you on your back and lie over you and we will take it slowly as I…”

He released a shuddering breath and hurried through the remaining buttons.

“As you what?” she prompted, dipping her finger inside herself. Her back arched in pleasure, and she bit back a gasp.

Andrew released a growl. “And I will take you as my wife.”

He removed his waistcoat, folding it hurriedly, and removed his shirt. That received the same treatment, and then he finally turned his attention to his breeches. A few moments later, his length sprang free, almost purple with need.

Jessamine looked at it greedily, drinking in the sight, her hand working more quickly between her thighs. His desire made her own more potent. This was enjoyable in and of itself, but it was rendered far more enjoyable by the way he watched her.

As she watched, he took himself in his hand and pumped once.

“Then I will thrust inside you,” he said, his voice dark with promise. “And you will like it, Mina. I will work you until you come apart around me, and when I’m done, I will give you my seed.”

She throbbed with need, aching and empty in a way she was entirely unfamiliar with. “Do you want me?”

“More than you will ever know.” His gaze was fixed on the movement of her hand. “May I touch you?”

She considered, putting her desire to one side for a moment. He had not taken her consent for granted, holding himself back and asking, and there was a lot to be said for that.

But he had not waited for her long enough. Not nearly long enough.

“This is your punishment,” she told him, eyeing the bead of eager moisture at the end of his member. “Sit down on a chair and watch me. Guide me toward my first peak. You may not touch yourself.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and she wondered if he would submit to her. A man like Andrew submitted to no one. That was the way of things. The way he had built his world.

This was not merely about punishment, but about how much he was willing to offer her. She wanted everything; she would not settle for less. If he refused her now, she would still move forward in the marriage with him, would still accept his offer of a family and of love, but she would hold a piece of herself back. Protecting herself against the potential of being hurt again.

But Andrew moved back and sat himself in the armchair by the fire, turning so he might see her. He placed both hands on the arms of the chair and directed his burning gaze back at her.

“Does this satisfy you, my love?”

My love. She thrilled at the endearment. “It does. Tell me what to do next?”

He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling through his nose, then opened them again, turning his attention once more to her hand between her legs. “Your instinct has guided you well. But you may benefit from both hands. Don’t be afraid, Jessamine. Spread yourself for me. One finger inside, and the other hand above.”

She felt down herself with her other hand, dragging it slowly down her stomach until finally she reached her damp curls. “Here? Like this?”

He made a sound that might have been agreement, or might have been torment. “Like that. Find your bud. There will be a place that is especially sensitive. You will want to touch that. Rub it gently. Find what feels best. Listen to your body.”

Her body was clamoring for his input, but she tried to pay attention to the sensation of her fingers, the sparks of pleasure that came from the contact. She was so very wet, almost slippery, but that merely aided her movements.

There, that must be her bud. A place where sensation seemed to stem. When she ran her fingers over it, her body jerked entirely out of her control.

In the end, as Andrew watched, she almost stilled the hand inside herself—it was so much less than she felt she wanted—and concentrated on the fingers sliding through her folds. As the pleasure grew even greater, drawing her toward her peak, she felt her own coordination lessen even as the sensation grew almost too overwhelming. She pressed her knees together, trapping her hand.

“Andrew,” she moaned.

The leather creaked as he sat on the very edge of the chair. “Open your legs, my love,” he said, or rather, begged.

Her Andrew, begging her.

She would never have enough of that.

“You’re close,” he told her. “Open your legs and keep going. That will get you there. Please.”

She did as he commanded, opening her legs and pressing right against her bud, right where she needed it the most.

And after an excruciating few seconds as she felt her climax building, she finally exploded.

It did not quite feel like the same climaxes she’d had with Andrew before. Then, he’d been holding the reins, and he’d been able to continue touching her the way she needed the most. This time, her own fingers held her in place, and she was unable to maintain the pressure she needed.

When she opened her eyes again, once the final flutterings had passed, she opened her eyes to find Andrew on the very edge of his chair, his fingers white-knuckled on the arms.

“Jessamine,” he said.

She could wait no longer; she wanted to wait no longer. She opened her arms to him. “Come.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. In a heartbeat, he was across the room and crawling over her, pressing her back into the bed.

“You do not know what waiting did to me,” he said against her neck. His length twitched against her, hot and demanding.

Jessamine smiled at the ceiling. “I can guess.”

“Will you do that to me often?”

“As often as I please. Will you do as I request often?”

“As often as you request it,” he said, and he kissed her, pressing her back against the pillows. “Though it may kill me.”

“I hope it doesn’t.” She tilted his face to hers. “I hope it is the sweetest torment.”

“It is that.” He kissed her back, deeply, claiming her mouth with more desperation than usual.

As though he felt the need to prove to the world—to himself, to her—that she belonged to him.

And Jessamine, no longer wishing to be held apart, yielded to him entirely.

“I love you,” she said, pressing a hand against his heart. His entire body stiffened, and she smiled up at him. There was a first for him, too.

“How long?” he asked hoarsely.

“Mm, a little while. Perhaps since the first ball we attended together, although I didn’t know until later. It’s been some weeks.”

“Weeks,” he repeated, kissing the sensitive spot below her ear. “You have loved me for weeks? Even as I have been?”

“Love doesn’t choose.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, relishing the sensation of him on top of her.

Though she sensed his urgency, she appreciated that he hadn’t attempted to ravish her immediately. They had the space for this moment.

She could tell him what she needed to.

“I love you,” she said, pressing her face to his neck and inhaling. His familiar scent—though she didn’t know when it had become so familiar—sank through her. “But you can never retreat from me again. No more taking time making up your mind. I will forgive you this time, but another time it will take me longer to do so. At some point, I will no longer forgive you at all.”

His breath rasped free. “I deserve nothing less.”

“Now,” she said, smiling against his skin, “why don’t you show me how much you love me?”

“I thought you would never ask.” He slid his arms underneath her and rolled, seating her atop him, her knees on either side of his stomach. “Since today is about you, I have found a way for you to take control here, too. This way, you may decide how quickly or slowly you would like the pace, and if it hurts, you will know and can stop.”

She linked her fingers with his, which were splayed across her stomach. “Will it hurt?”

“Possibly. I don’t know. This is my first time taking a virgin.” He said the words with utmost sincerity. “All I know is what I’ve heard, which is an imperfect guide. Men’s talk is not the most reliable source.”

“I expect not.” She reached down, found him, and stroked. His entire body went rigid underneath her.

Oh yes, there was definitely something to say about this position. He watched her with that same feral intensity, the same suggestion of coiled power and almost frustrated need. A sense that he would wait as long as she needed.

Well, she did not need long. Her need was almost as strong, and although sated in some ways, almost as frustrated as his.

They needed each other. They needed this.

“This is not what you told me would happen,” she said, one hand still on his length, still stroking, as she held his gaze.

A tiny half-smile crossed his face. “I changed my mind. Do you want me to tell you what to do?”

“I think I grasp the basics.” She squeezed and felt him flex in her hand in response. “Here we go.”

She sat up a little, leaning back as she placed him at her entrance. Andrew’s hands clenched in the blankets, but his hips remained still. She pressed a little. He was larger than her own finger, larger than she could have imagined, and for a moment, she wondered how on earth she would ever fit him inside her. It seemed an impossibility.

Then, with a rush of pleasure, his head slipped inside. He grunted, his knuckles turning white once again, and she let out a breath.

So this was what it meant to be full, and she didn’t even have him the whole way.

She sank down on him a little further. Further again. And again. The stretch turned into a burn, but the pain melted into the pleasure until she didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

Then finally she was seated fully on him. Sitting with him wholly inside her. He was watching her with the kind of hushed awe one might reserve for church. Then again, this did feel like a religious experience. Something that one might attribute to a higher power.

His fingers swiped reassuringly over her hipbones. “You’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick.

This was it; they were one. United. She had never felt closer to anyone, as though more than their bodies alone had melded. Their souls had, too.

Everything merged.

He reached up a hand to steady her, and she linked her fingers with his as she moved once more. Again, again. He held still until finally she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Move, Andrew,” she said. “I want you to touch me.”

It was as if he had been waiting for that one invitation. His hands came to her breasts, her hips. He touched her as though he worshiped her, and he held her with unshakeable reverence.

She loved him more than she could ever have put into words, and she knew he loved her, too. There could be no doubting it; he said it with his mouth as he kissed, with his hands as he caressed her with unspeakable tenderness. With every breath, she drew closer into him.

When her movements became choppy, he took over, rolling them once again so he lay atop her, one hand pushing her knee up and away, spreading her legs for him. His thrusts became faster, quick and sure. The moment for her control had gone, leaving nothing but his domination in its wake.

And he did. She opened her body and her heart to him, and he took everything she had.

When he brought her to the edge, he held her there with slow, purposeful strokes, until she felt as though her entire body tingled with pleasure and frustration. And then, finally, he brought a hand to her bud, and that was enough to tip her over the edge.

This peak was far greater than her previous, made all the more intense by the slow, methodical way he moved inside her, sending so much sensation through her, she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was hold on as he rode her through it, and when the last wave faded into soft, peaceful bliss, he stiffened and emptied himself inside her.

Jessamine watched pleasure move across his face and held him tight and knew then that she would have done anything to live in this moment. Anything at all.

He stroked her cheek, damp with sweat, and kissed her forehead.

“And that,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, “was what I had been waiting for so long to do.”

Jessamine laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed, holding Andrew safe the way she had always wanted.

And inside her, for the first time, was the potential for new life.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Andrew woke in his wife’s arms. For a long moment, he lay quiet, listening to her soft breathing.

They were just as naked as they had been when they’d finally slept, exhausted and sated. And it was already morning, light streaming through the closed curtains.

Morning.

He’d not had a single nightmare.

They’d slept together before, yes, and they’d even enjoyed a level of intimacy, but this morning brought… peace.

Not everything had been fixed—of course it hadn’t—but his body was tired and satisfied the way it hadn’t been in a long time, and she loved him.

Jessamine loved him.

He turned his head, taking in her dark hair tangled on the pillow, and the faintly blue tint to her closed eyelids. Her mouth was slightly open as she breathed, and he bent, kissing her on the very tip of her nose.

She didn’t so much as stir.

Gods, he felt years younger. Like the optimistic, sprightly young man he’d been when he’d been sent to the army for the first time. Before the world, and grief, had broken him.

The sun made its progression across the wall, and after perhaps another hour had passed, Jessamine’s eyes fluttered. She looked at him blearily, as though half unable to believe he was lying right beside her, her head on the crook of his shoulder, his arm curled around her, holding her against his body.

“Andrew?” she asked groggily.

“I’m here.”

“You stayed.”

“I’ll always stay. So long as you want me.”

She made a humming sound at the back of her throat, rolling over him more firmly. “I would never ask you to leave. This is nice.” She dropped a kiss on his chin. “How did you sleep?”

“Remarkably well. You?”

“Like a baby.” She grinned at him. “Although between us, I think we slept better than William.”

“I imagine so.” Andrew hesitated. “I wondered if we could speak about him.”

Jessamine’s entire body went stiff. She attempted to push back, but he held her in place. “What is it?” she asked, her voice tight with suspicion.

“Nothing bad, I assure you.” He ran a reassuring hand up and down her spine. “I have adopted him, but I thought we might refer to him as my son. And you as his mother. Once he grows up, he will know nothing else. Yes, we will tell him about Rebecca when he’s old enough to understand, but…” He hesitated. “I would hate for him to feel lesser compared to his siblings if we refer to them as our children but him as our second cousin.”

Tears drenched the sparkle in Jessamine’s eyes. “You would like me to be his mother?”

“Well, you are in essence anyway. And truly, I think Rebecca would be honored. We’ll never lie to him. But…”

She wrapped both arms around his neck, and he released a breath of relief that she had taken this so well.

“I would love to,” she said, the words catching on a sob. “I always thought… I thought that perhaps because I was never the bride of your choice, that because you were forced to marry me, that you would not want to name me as his mother. I would never want to tread on Rebecca’s toes.”

The familiar grief touched his consciousness, but instead of dragging him under, it just settled as an ache behind his breastbone.

“Rebecca is dead,” he said gently. “There are no toes to step on. I know that more than anything, she would want her son to feel as though he belonged.” He tilted her chin to his. “And so we are clear: there is no other woman I would rather have as my wife,” he said firmly. “And there is no other woman I would rather see as William’s mother.”

She greeted this statement with a kiss, and hooked one leg over his hip.

“Well then,” she said, affection drenching her voice. “Shall I show you how much this means to me?”

Andrew was the one to suggest they make an outing as a family: William, him, and her. A walk through Hyde Park.

Lucy would come too, of course. But after everything that had happened, it was important to show they were both united, and still unafraid to move on with their life. To the best of Andrew’s knowledge, there were no more gentlemen who despised him to any great degree.

And so, one would hope, there would not be anyone attempting to kidnap William or do them any harm.

“That is not to say there is no one outside my knowledge,” Andrew had told her wryly as they were preparing for their walk. “Harry was not the only man who died under my watch.”

Jessamine had squeezed his hand sympathetically. In time, he would open up about everything he had been through in the war. Until then, she would approach him with love and allow him to excise his demons in his own time.

“But Lord Lorthey was the only man to my knowledge who blamed me for it,” Andrew continued. “So our chances of being attacked are, naturally, lower. But I will, of course, be prepared.”

“Just in case,” Jessamine said, only half teasing.

“Well, as experience has proven, one can never be too careful.”

And so now, as they strolled in the sunshine, Jessamine knew that her military husband was on high alert, scanning the crowd for threats. And even though Andrew had blamed himself for his failure to anticipate and defend William from the threat that was Baron Lorthey, Jessamine felt perfectly safe.

Fancy that. She felt perfectly safe. After everything, out and about with William, she felt safe enough to walk through the park with no fear of what might happen after.

She slipped her hand through his arm, and felt rather than saw him smile down at her. Andrew, so stoic, hardly ever smiled, except for her. It felt as though their happiness was beaming off them.

“Jessamine!”

Jessamine glanced around to find Temperance waving at them. She and Irene were walking together, along with Lady Marwich. She looked up at Andrew. “May we?”

“Be my guest.”

Jessamine headed for her friends, beaming at them. “Hello.”

Irene looked her up and down. “Well, don’t you look happy.”

“Sickeningly so,” Jessamine agreed.

“Your troubles are all resolved?” Irene looked meaningfully at Andrew, who had immediately been collared into conversation with Lady Marwich.

“They are,” Jessamine said serenely. “And really, I was a fool for not seeing the signs. He does love me, sister.”

“Of course he does,” Irene said.

“Did you truly ever doubt it?” Temperance asked with a sly smile. “The question was never did he love you, but did he realize he loved you?”

“And was he prepared to put aside his scruples to be with you?” Irene said. “I’m delighted that the answer to all this is yes.”

“We had a good conversation last night.” Jessamine’s cheeks reddened as she thought about the conversation, and what followed.

And what they had done again this morning. What she very much hoped they would do again when they returned home.

“Ah yes,” Irene said, raising both brows. “A conversation.”

“A conversation.”

Irene nudged her in the ribs, making her laugh. Lady Marwich clacked her stick on the floor. “I hope to see you at the Minerva Club again soon,” she said to Jessamine. “Or had you forgotten we meet on Wednesdays?”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Jessamine said, resisting the urge to throw her arms around the ornery older woman. Her heart swelled with affection for these people. “I can’t promise I will attend every session, but I will be there more from now on, I promise. So long as William behaves himself.”

“He will, if he knows what’s good for him,” Lady Marwich grumbled.

Jessamine leaned against Andrew, who put his arm around her waist, briefly squeezing her to him. “All right?” he murmured.

“More than all right,” she whispered back.

They all agreed to walk together, and Jessamine chatted with Temperance about inconsequential things. Andrew invited everyone for dinner, and Jessamine couldn’t help marveling at how much her life had changed in what felt like a few short minutes.

One moment, Andrew was utterly standoffish, barely allowing himself to be integrated into her life at all. The next, he was making an effort to be a part of everything.

Lady Peterborough, one of the more prominent dowagers and, more importantly, one of the largest gossips in London, was the next to wave them to a stop.

“My,” she said as she took in the group. “What a glorious picture you all make together. How fond I am of such family portraits.” She flicked a limp wrist. “And you came with your… second cousin, is it? I’m afraid I lose track of these things.”

“He is our son,” Jessamine said firmly, a thrill going through her at having announced this fact so plainly. “And we are his parents.”

“Oh!” Lady Peterborough, a lady with more angles than curves, and an aristocratic nose that presented itself as the focal point of her face, withdrew her fan from her reticule and fluttered it at her face as though in shock. “How very… singular.”

“I hardly think so,” Andrew said in that icy, authoritative voice he saved for people such as Lady Peterborough.

When he was with her, he was nothing but gentle and kind, but in moments like this, she could imagine how terrifying he would be to face on a battlefield.

Lady Peterborough must have seen it, too, the stony anger in his face, a storm that could build to rage. She gave a weak smile. “Of course it makes sense,” she said in a soft, affected voice. “You would want to formally and fully adopt him, of course.”

She glanced at Jessamine, but although there was pity in her gaze, Jessamine hardly felt it.

She knew the truth, and now the rest of London would know this version of her truth, too—that she and Andrew were a unit, and that William was her son in every facet of the word.

They could think what they wanted about William’s origins, but Jessamine suspected that most people believed the story that they had put about—helped, of course, by the way she had so openly accepted and loved him. And now, as he was known across London as their son, the rumors and stories about his true parents would be forgotten.

William would know, of course. And they would never forget Rebecca. Jessamine sometimes felt a pang of guilt at the thought of being known as his mother. But when she looked at Andrew standing beside her, she knew she was doing the right thing in choosing her future.

No one would ever take it away from her.

Andrew slid his hand in hers, squeezing gently. She squeezed right back.

I love you, his touch said.

Right there, in front of everyone.

Temperance was chattering away, Lady Marwich was struggling to keep her smile from her face, and Irene had a hand on the subtle curve of her stomach as she walked.

Home. Family. Safety.

Jessamine wouldn’t exchange it for the world.

Epilogue

THREE MONTHS LATER

Jessamine whisked into the garden, where perfectly starched, impossibly white linen tablecloths were being spread across tables. Footmen carried platters of cold meats and cheeses and bread to the table, and Jessamine’s stomach rumbled at the sight.

Later, she told herself.

Recently, she had become increasingly peckish. Andrew, when he noticed, had been assiduous in his attentions, and the poor kitchen staff was probably rushed off their feet with her newfound cravings. Once, she had craved goat’s cheese so badly, a boy had been sent off in the middle of the night in the hopes some other household might have some for her.

At the memory, she chuckled.

“What do you think, Your Grace?” the butler, Foxwell, asked, coming to stand beside her.

It had taken time to soften him, but somehow she’d managed it. Perhaps it was her dedication to William. Old retainers were hard to come by, and he had served the family well.

Either way, they had formed a special sort of bond over the past few months, united in their goal of encouraging Andrew to take a little more enjoyment in the usual Society events.

One day, Jessamine was certain, they would succeed. For now, he grumbled, he delayed, he rolled his eyes, but he came and stood on the fringes, smiling as he watched Jessamine.

It was a beginning.

“I think it’s wonderful,” she said honestly, looking over the arrangements for the garden party.

The musicians had arrived and were standing in the shade of a pavilion, tuning their instruments. Andrew might not have had a privileged life in many ways, but he was truly privileged now.

Strange to think she had come so far, from the very depths of the Scottish Highlands to here, in one of London’s grandest homes.

“We are determined to ensure everything is to Your Grace’s tastes,” Foxwell said stiffly.

Jessamine patted his arm. “And you have always done a wonderful job. Where’s His Grace?”

“I believe he’s in the study. Preparing.” Foxwell gave Jessamine a significant glance.

They both sighed, but Jessamine’s sigh was affectionate rather than exasperated. Much as she loved her newfound status in London, especially now even the unfriendliest gossips had accepted her as one of their own, Andrew still prized his alone time.

“The guests will arrive soon,” Jessamine said. “I’ll fetch him.”

“Allow me,” Foxwell said.

“Really,” Jessamine said, stopping him with a grin. “Do you think me incapable of walking through a few rooms? I promise you I will not struggle to find him.”

Then, before Foxwell with all his care, could prevent her, she danced away.

Just as Foxwell had said, Andrew was in his study, fingers steepled as he examined papers on his desk.

At her entrance, he glanced up, and his face softened into a smile. “Mina. What are you doing?”

“Coming to collect you.” She perched on his knee. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing to interest you. Just some letters from tenant farmers.”

“Ah.” Jessamine curled her foot up his leg, rubbing his calf. “And you would rather be doing this than engaging with the garden party?”

His arm slid around her waist. “Why would I worry about it when my capable wife has everything under control? My tenants deserve timely replies.”

“And there is no other time to be doing it?”

“Mm.” He pressed a kiss to her neck, pretending to think, as though he was playing for time, though she knew he wasn’t. Just as he knew they would, shivers ran down her spine. “And what if I lost track of time and didn’t have to make polite conversation? What a shame that would be.”

“They are our friends.”

“And I like them very much, in small doses.”

“Lady Marwich isn’t so bad.”

“I have never been more terrified of a woman,” he said mildly, pressing another teasing kiss to her neck. “She frightens me more than any of the men I faced in battle.”

“Perhaps that was because you had a gun.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “Or perhaps it’s because she is the most intimidating, terrifying woman to ever cross the land.”

“You are being ridiculous,” Jessamine said, even as she laughed.

Most men found Lady Marwich intimidating, largely because she never took any of their nonsense. And Andrew, she had been suspicious of since the beginning; he was, after all, the prodigal who returned only after his cousin had perished.

“Besides, you won her over when you brought her to the Minerva Club that night,” she added.

His eyebrow curved. “Are you sure? She put me through my paces, and she has never failed to test me since.”

“Oh, well, she could never permit you to behave badly with me,” Jessamine said, kissing him soundly.

That seemed to be the only answer, and for a while, she lost herself in him. He guided her to straddle his lap, and even made a motion to clear his desk of all the precious tenant letters.

Jessamine pushed her hair back from her face and exhaled deeply. “We can’t.”

“I beg to differ. We most certainly can.”

“But we shouldn’t,” Jessamine said, climbing off his lap and spying the telltale signs that he most definitely could be tenting his breeches. “And what would your tenant farmers think about your lack of respect?”

“I lied. My tenants have no claim on my time. Now come back here.” He caught her arm and brought her wrist to his mouth, kissing the tender skin there with unwarranted tenderness. “Are our guests nearly here?”

“Yes. And you know we can’t be late.”

“We can,” he said with a crooked grin, but he rose and adjusted himself with a sigh that went right to her core, before finally following her out to greet the first of her guests.

Andrew lounged back in the sun, half listening to the conversations around him. The wine left a gentle haze across his vision, and the heat threatened to lull him to sleep.

June was a heady, lazy time, and they would shortly all be retiring to their respective country houses. He would have the opportunity to show Jessamine to the home he had grown up in, and she would step into her place as mistress.

And as another role entirely.

He watched, half-lidded, as she sipped her lemonade, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. This was what she loved, being surrounded by her friends, knowing she had a home and was accepted no matter where she went. Andrew didn’t mind the other two so much, but he did very much want to be part of her family.

And if this was what made her happy, then he was perfectly ready to oblige.

Even if the tenants’ letters did require an answer.

They could wait. And she, simply put, could not.

She looked across at him and raised her glass. “Attention, everyone,” she said, holding their gazes to ensure they listened. “I have some exciting news.”

“I think,” Nicholas said from beside Andrew, his eyes half-closed, “we can already guess.”

Andrew nudged his friend. Now wasn’t the time.

Irene clapped her hands together. “Tell us!”

Jessamine beamed. “I’m with child!”

Irene shrieked, throwing up her arms and waiting for Jessamine to lean down and embrace her. Andrew knew very little about the process of pregnancy, or really what it entailed at any level, but he was surprised that Henry had allowed her to attend.

At his wife’s excitement, Henry smiled indulgently and helped Irene to her feet, her rounded stomach in full view. There were still a couple of months left to go, but already she looked terribly large.

The sight alarmed him in a way; he knew Jessamine would soon grow that large, a baby inside her, and he was already worried about what it would mean for her health.

The moment she’d informed him that she might be with child, bending over a chamber pot as she vomited in the middle of the night, he had been delighted. And petrified. He’d immediately consulted with a physician, who assured him there was nothing he needed to worry about, and that Jessamine was already doing very well. And that if things went smoothly, and there was no reason that they should not, then there would be nothing to worry about.

“As I expected,” Nicholas said, one eye shut against the sun. “You sly dog.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “One day, you’ll marry, and then you’ll see.”

“Oh, and I shall eat my words, no doubt. I will be humbled, and I will come crawling to you for advice on how to be a father, and how to manage a beautiful wife.”

“You won’t like my advice.”

“Why, will you parrot my own advice back at me?” Nicholas rolled his head to bring Andrew in view. “Are you happy?”

“With her? Always.”

“What a change of tune. I like it.” Nicholas stretched, lazily. “Now go and stand by your wife and convince Lady Marwich that you are eager to have this child you’ve conceived.”

Andrew didn’t need telling twice. He rose from the blanket, into the sunshine, and brought Jessamine down on his knee.

“Stop standing so much,” he told her, nuzzling her neck.

His hands found her stomach, although there was nothing there yet to feel. She had assured him that such things took time, and there would be something to feel in the not-too-distant future.

All he had to do was be patient.

For a man accustomed to patience, he found himself largely without it now.

She laughed, placing her hand atop his. “Am I banned from standing now?”

“I don’t want to tire you out.”

“I have many more months before I will be significantly impeded,” she said. “Even now, Irene can get out and about.”

“She ought to be at home,” Henry said affectionately. “But she told me she would walk if I didn’t take her in the carriage, and so I decided I would take the path of least resistance.”

“As well you should,” Irene said, nudging his leg with her foot. “I knew there would be an announcement of this nature coming soon.”

On his lap, Jessamine’s cheeks pinked. “How did you know?”

“Well, as soon as I knew matters between you both were repaired, it wouldn’t be long until an update of this nature was on its way. After all, Henry and I are in a very similar situation. Oh, and you complained of feeling sick these past two weeks, and I just knew.”

“I’ve also been craving all sorts of odd things,” Jessamine said. “Clams, most recently. Do you know, it’s near impossible to buy clams in the middle of the night?”

Andrew groaned. “Not for want of trying.”

“He has been very patient with me, and he will have to be a good deal more patient, because I am not nearly done making a fuss.” She laughed, twisting around to drop a kiss on his cheek. “And you will grumble through it all, pretend as though it’s a great inconvenience, and provide me with a great many things I never even thought to ask for.”

“That is my plan,” he said wryly, holding her a little more tightly. “Except, you know I don’t begrudge you anything.”

That was the moment William chose to wake from his nap. Until just now, he had been sleeping in Kate’s arms, and she’d been blind and deaf to all the party, entranced by his tiny face and soft breaths. Andrew understood the feeling, although it wasn’t something he intended to admit to anyone.

But upon waking, William decided Kate was not the mother he had hoped to find, and let out a squall of indignation.

“Oh, my darling,” Jessamine cooed, sliding off Andrew’s lap and going at once to her son.

There could be no doubt about it now: William truly was her son. At the sight of her, his crying stopped, and he watched her with strangely serious eyes.

Jessamine returned to Andrew, climbing back onto his lap. He held them both close, all three of them if one counted the child in her belly.

“Now then,” Jessamine said, addressing him as though he were a fully grown adult. “What was all that fuss about, hm? You know Kate and you like her. There’s no need to be so fussy.”

“It’s a hard life,” Irene said. “Being a baby. He doesn’t understand the world yet. All he knows is you.”

Jessamine stroked her finger down William’s cheek. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered. “We will always be there for you.”

William’s face twisted. First one side of his mouth, then the other, curled up, until his gums were exposed and he was offering Jessamine a delightful, impish, adorable smile.

“Oh, my darling!” Jessamine glanced at Andrew, her eyes wide and her smile breaking across her face. “My sweet boy. Do you like looking at your mama? Do you know I love him?”

She tickled his sides, then dotted kisses over his face. He gurgled something that could, if one were being generous, be called a laugh.

Andrew took one of William’s hands, and the way the baby’s fingers curled around his own never failed to awe him. This tiny being trusted him implicitly. Perhaps William didn’t love Andrew as much as he loved Jessamine, but that was all right. Andrew could wait until the boy was older, and then they would bond over other things. Andrew would ensure William had the life he never got, and was prepared for whatever the future would entail.

Andrew would never ever treat his son the way his father had treated him.

“Did you see that?” Jessamine demanded in a whisper. “Andrew, did you see that?”

“I saw it,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of William’s tiny, soft hand. “He smiled.”

“His first smile!” Jessamine rested her head against Andrew’s shoulder.

It was a small gesture, but he would never stop taking the small gestures for granted. They meant she loved him, and that was more precious than words.

That, and William’s smile.

Irene and Lady Marwich tugged everyone away so Andrew and Jessamine could sit in this moment a little longer, William balanced on her knee.

“I’m so happy, Andrew,” Jessamine said with a sigh. “Sometimes I think it’s too much.”

“I think it’s just enough,” he told her. “Exactly as much as you deserve.”

“And no more?” she teased.

“You can have as much as you like.”

Her hand went once again to her stomach. “Do you know, Andrew,” she said, her voice hushed. “I really think I will.”

Jessamine stared at her naked reflection in the full-length mirror, her hands going to her stomach. The moment she had first discovered she was with child, she had gone to the mirror, half expecting to see a change. But although she felt different, there was nothing to be seen as yet.

Irene hadn’t started to show at all until four months, so Jessamine expected she would soon start to see a very something.

Or was that the slightest curve above her pelvis? Once again, she ran her hand over herself. Inside her womb, somewhere, was a child. Or at least, the beginnings of one.

Andrew came up behind her, wrapping both hands over her waist and splaying them across her stomach as though there was something to hold. In a way, she supposed there was, even if it lurked invisibly there.

“I hope it’s a girl,” she said, watching his face to get a sense of his disappointment.

But he merely pressed a kiss to her neck. He wore only his breeches, slung low on his hips, and she adored these moments where he did not feel the need to be his usual starched-up self.

“A girl?” he asked distractedly, finding a sensitive spot of skin just below her ear. “Why is that?”

“Because then we can pick out gowns together and I can accompany her during her very own London Season and she can find a husband and… Oh, won’t it be exciting?”

“A little girl with your hair and eyes?” He considered this for a moment, his hands sliding across her skin in the most delicious of ways. “I like the sound of that.”

“Maybe she’ll have your nose.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“And your chin.”

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “If we have a son, he can take both my nose and my chin, but I would not wish them on a girl. Let her have your nose and your chin.”

“But if she already has my hair and eyes,” she protested, laughing, “what of yours will she have?”

“I’m content so long as she is ours.” He held her more tightly against him, his arousal making itself known, insistent against her back. “She can have all your features. In fact, what greater thing?”

“Are you not worried about what people might say if she did?”

“Darling, have I not made it clear that you care for such things, not me?” His gaze met hers in the reflection, and he sank a hand between her legs. “Watch me,” he commanded.

Everything in Jessamine thrilled to obey. She spread her legs a little, giving him access, and as he fondled her breasts with one hand, he toyed with folds. Since getting with child, she had become even more sensitive there, even more hungry for him, and he seemed more than happy to oblige.

Like this, he was able to bring her to her peak in a matter of moments, and she sank back against him, crying out as his arm, an iron band around her waist, held her upright.

Once the final waves of pleasure faded, he withdrew his hand and, still holding her gaze in the mirror, suckled on his fingers. The erotic nature of the gesture made her gasp.

“On the bed,” he said, and she hurried to obey, her legs still weak.

Sometimes, when the occasion called for it, he allowed her to take control. But mostly, he took charge, telling her what he wanted and how. Often, what he wanted related to what he thought she might want, and he always addressed her pleasure before his own.

What was there to complain about?

As far as Jessamine was concerned, absolutely nothing.

“Hands and knees,” he said, and she did as she was told, crawling onto her hands and knees and presenting herself for him.

He grunted a brief note of approval, and his hand caressed her buttock before delivering a stinging slap. The pain evolved, turning into pleasure, and she buried her face into the pillow, biting back a moan.

“You look so perfect, all bared for me,” he said, finding her entrance again with her fingers.

He worked her for a few moments more, until she was biting her moans into the blankets once again. Ready for him, her slickness spread across her thighs, he positioned himself behind her.

This was one of Jessamine’s favorite positions. The way he entered her, as he did now, with a quick thrust that sent shivers down her spine, hit the most perfect angle. It would take him very little time to get her to another peak, and he knew it, his fingers slipping through to her folds again.

Jessamine squeezed her eyes closed, lost to the most perfect pleasure.

This was all she needed. Everything.

Andrew’s thrusts slowed, holding her right on the edge. “I love you,” he told her.

“I love you,” she replied.

She reached a hand back to him, and his fingers interlocked with hers as he reached his own climax, spilling inside her, just as he had done the night he had given her the most perfect life inside her. Her own climax chased his, and all through, they held onto one another.

Just as she knew they would do for the rest of their lives.

The End?

Extended Epilogue

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Preview: Stolen by the Heartless Duke

“You’re made to be adored, little bird. Let me show you what it feels like to be taken care of.”

To save her kidnapped brother and keep her family off the streets, Lady Jane accepts help from enigmatic Duke Hector. Yet the longer she spends searching with him, the more she yearns for his searing touch…

Chapter One

“You have not smiled once tonight.”

Lady Jane Deverell smiled sweetly as she accepted another glass of champagne from a passing servant. “I am smiling now. I also smiled when Lady Barrington compared Lord Maltby’s dancing to a wounded goose.”

Beside her, Lady Lavinia Pratt nearly choked on her own drink. “That doesn’t count. That was cruelty to all those watching.”

Jane smirked at her best friend. “She was accurate, at least.”

The music from the orchestra swelled at the far end of the ballroom, strings drifting beneath the glittering chandeliers of Wynten House. June heat pressed against the tall windows despite the late hour. The scent of roses drifted in from the gardens below. Inside, guests laughed, gowns shimmered, and jewels flashed beneath candlelight.

Everything was beautiful. Everything felt exhausting.

Lavinia eyed her carefully. “You truly mean to go through with this…this charade?”

Jane followed her gaze across the room to Lord Maltby, who stood beside a cluster of gentlemen looking immensely pleased with himself. He was certainly handsome, in the polished, forgettable way fashionable men often were. Blond hair. Fine tailoring. An agreeable title.

A practical match. Nothing more.

“He is respectable,” Jane replied. “My mother approves. Colin approves. The estate requires stability after my father’s passing. There are far worse fates.”

“That is not an answer,” Lavinia chided.

Jane took a sip of her champagne. “Love is a luxury, Lavinia.”

“And yet most women still hope for it,” her friend said.

Jane looked back toward Lord Maltby just as he laughed too loudly at something one of the other men had said.

Hope had very little to do with anything.

Before she could reply, movement near the ballroom doors caught her eye.

Her brother Colin stood there speaking to two older gentlemen. He was dark-haired and broad-shouldered, his expression animated in a way it rarely was during political discussions. Even from across the room, Colin carried an easy warmth that drew people toward him.

Relief loosened something tight in her chest. At least he looked happy tonight.

“Your future husband is staring,” Lavinia murmured.

Jane turned just in time to see Lord Maltby approaching. He bowed over her hand with practiced precision.

“Lady Jane,” he said smoothly. “You have abandoned me to the wolves.”

“You seem to be surviving admirably, my lord.” Jane contorted her features into a smile that she hoped did not look like the grimace she felt inside.

His mouth twitched, though she could tell he disliked the remark. Maltby preferred soft-spoken women who gazed at him adoringly. Jane had never pretended to be one.

“I was just telling Lord Harrington that we should depart for Brighton after the wedding,” he continued. “The sea air may improve your… erm, temperament.”

Lavinia’s eyes widened, her brows knitting at once.

Jane folded her fan and stepped forward, as though to shield Maltby from Lavinia’s oncoming wrath. She reminded herself that this whole marriage was one of duty, and she knew how to do her duty well.

“How fortunate for me,” she ended up saying, though she felt the buzz of Lavinia’s anger from behind her.

Maltby either missed the dryness entirely or chose to ignore it. “You will enjoy being away from London. Society becomes tedious at this time of year.”

“Hmm.” Jane made a noncommittal noise.

A faint crease appeared between his brows. “You are unusually quiet this evening, my lady.”

“I am at my own engagement party, my lord. I fear I exhausted my conversational abilities greeting two hundred guests,” Jane said.

“That’s fair.” He glanced around the ballroom. “Though I must confess, I expected your brother to make more effort to speak with me tonight.”

Jane stiffened slightly. “Colin has spent the entire week arranging this evening.”

“Yes, but…” Maltby began, but stopped.

A thunderous crack split the air, interrupting him.

The music stopped mid-note.

For one long second, nobody moved.

Then screaming erupted across the ballroom.

Jane spun toward the entrance as masked men stormed through the doors. This was not a masquerade. One held a pistol raised toward the chandelier above them, smoke curling from its barrel.

Another shot exploded. Glass shattered somewhere behind her. Women cried out in fear. Guests stumbled over one another in panic. A violin screeched horribly as a musician dropped it.

“Where is Lord Wynten?” a masked man barked.

Colin. What do they want with Colin?

Jane’s heart slammed painfully against her ribs. She wasn’t sure what she should do. Everything felt slow and sluggish, as if it was moving through water.

The leader of the masked group stepped farther into the ballroom, pulling the black cloth so that it was covering the lower half of his face.

“Forgive the interruption, ladies and gentlemen,” he drawled. “I do hate breaking up such a romantic gathering, but we simply must have a chat with Lord Wynten.”

He grabbed a nearby vase of flowers and smashed it on the floor. More screams rose into the air.

Jane turned frantically through the chaos. “Mother?”

There was no answer.

Bodies surged around her. A gentleman knocked into her shoulder hard enough to cause her to stagger backward.

“Mama!” she called again.

Lavinia grabbed her arm. “Jane, come on! We have to get to cover.”

“But my mother—” Jane protested.

Another gunshot shattered one of the tall windows overlooking the gardens. The room instantly quieted. Broken glass rained across the marble floor.

The masked man lowered the pistol slightly. “There, now. Much better.” His voice sharpened. “Lord Wynten. Present yourself.”

Jane’s blood rushed through her ears, so that she could only hear the roar of her pulse.

Where was Colin?

Then she saw him. He emerged slowly from the crowd near the center of the ballroom, his hands raised carefully in surrender. Candlelight caught the stark tension in his face, though his voice remained steady.

“I am here.”

Jane stopped breathing.

Colin looked directly at the intruders. “Take whatever money you want. Jewels, silver, the safe upstairs. I do not care. Just do not harm my family or my guests.”

One of the masked men laughed.

Another crossed the room in three long strides and punched Colin viciously across the face.

Jane gasped.

Her brother hit the floor hard enough to rattle the nearby table.

“Colin!” her mother screamed.

The Dowager Countess of Wynten surged forward from the crowd before Jane could stop her, terror twisting her features. “My son!”

A pistol swung toward her instantly.

“No!” Jane lunged between them without thinking.

The movement happened so quickly she barely registered it.

Still, that didn’t stop Jane from jumping in front of her mother, shielding her with her body, her chest heaving and her hands trembling violently at her sides.

The man aimed straight at her heart.

Jane let out a shaky breath.

The ballroom went deathly still.

Behind her, she heard her mother’s sharp, frightened breaths.

“Please,” Jane managed, “Please do not shoot her.”

The masked man tilted his head. For one horrifying moment, Jane thought he might pull the trigger anyway.

Instead, he laughed. “Brave little thing, aren’t you?”

Another man beside him snorted. “Or stupid.”

Jane forced herself not to step back. Fear crawled beneath her skin, sending ice through her veins. She held the gunman’s gaze. If she moved, if she faltered…she didn’t want to find out what would happen.

Her mother clutched the back of Jane’s arm hard enough to hurt.

The leader sauntered closer, his boots crunching over shattered glass. “Well,” he said, looking Jane over slowly, “this explains why Wynten was so eager to cooperate.”

Jane wanted to spit at him. Instead, she said, “Please, let our guests go. We can discuss this like civilized people”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, sweetheart.”

He gestured lazily toward Colin, who was still dazed on the floor. Two men hauled him upright by the arms. Colin groaned softly, blood visible at the corner of his mouth. Something inside Jane nearly broke.

Her mother sobbed behind her. “Please! He has done nothing wrong.”

“Quiet!”

The leader did not even raise his voice, yet the word sliced through the room. Lady Wynten flinched, becoming immediately silent.

Jane swallowed past the lump growing in her throat. “If you tell us what this is about, we will cooperate.”

“Will you, now?” The man gave her a hard look.

“Yes.”

He studied her for a long moment, amusement glinting in his eyes above the cloth. Then he sighed theatrically. “Unfortunately, my lady, explanations are dreadfully inconvenient.”

Behind him, Colin tried to pull free from the men restraining him. “Do not involve them,” he snapped. “This is between you and me.”

“Oh?” The leader sounded entertained. “Then perhaps you should have thought of that sooner.”

The man looked at Jane and took a slow step closer. “Tell me, Lady Jane, does your brother often meddle in matters that do not concern him?”

Jane frowned. “What?”

“Sometimes people must pay for what they do,” the man said.

Jane’s stomach tightened. What on earth did that mean?

“Please let him go…” her mother whimpered from behind her. “Let us all go. This is all so terribly wrong⁠—”

Another shot exploded into the ceiling, cutting her mother off. Guests screamed again, and Jane pulled her mother close, still covering her body with her own. Dust drifted down from above as the masked man slowly lowered his pistol.

“Listen carefully,” he announced to everyone in the ballroom. “If anyone follows us, they die.”

Silence ensued. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe.

Jane looked desperately at Colin as the men dragged him toward the doors. His eyes found hers across the room. Apologetic. Terrified.

“Jane,” he called roughly.

She took a step forward instinctively.

A gun clicked.

She froze.

“Careful,” one of the masked men warned her.

Her mother broke then, trying to run after Colin despite everything. “You cannot take him!”

Jane caught her around the waist. “Mama, no!”

“They will kill him!”

“It’ll be all right.” Jane’s throat burned with unshed tears. “Please stay by my side. If you don’t, they will shoot you.”

“I do not care!” Her mother’s wail filled every corner of her soul.

Jane cared, though. Dear God, she cared. She could not lose both of them tonight. The masked men dragged Colin across the ballroom toward the entrance. Guests scrambled backward to clear a path, terrified of drawing attention to themselves.

At the doorway, Colin twisted once more, looking frantically through the chaos. When their eyes met, there was something awful in his expression.

It wasn’t fear. It was guilt. And suddenly Jane felt cold all over.

The masked men disappeared through the ballroom doors with Colin between them. Then they were gone. Only the echo of boots and distant shouting remained as they vanished into the night.

For several seconds, nobody moved. The ballroom looked unreal now. Overturned chairs, shattered glass glittering across the floor, and guests pale with shock. Somewhere nearby, a woman began crying hysterically.

Then everything dissolved into chaos. People rushed toward the exits all at once.

“Oh, God.”

“Did you see?”

“Where are my gloves?”

Lady Wynten sagged in Jane’s arms.

“Mama?” Jane said tentatively.

Her mother’s face had gone frighteningly white.

“Fetch water,” Jane said sharply to the nearest footman. “Now.”

Her mother clutched at her sleeve with shaking fingers. “They took him,” she whispered. “Dear God, they took my boy.”

“It will be all right,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. “We’ll find him.”

Jane had no idea whether that was true, yet she said it anyway. Anything to assuage her mother’s worries. Anything to get her to a better place. If she could keep her mother calm, then everything would be okay.

“What if they hurt him?” Her mother wrapped her fingers tightly around the sleeve of Jane’s gown.

Jane could not answer that, because the truth was already gnawing viciously at her mind.

Those men had not come to rob the house. They had come specifically for Colin, which meant this had been planned. Intentional. Personal. Fear coiled tighter around her ribs.

“Mama,” she whispered, stroking trembling fingers through her mother’s hair. “Please breathe.”

Lady Wynten only shook harder. Then, suddenly, all the strength went out of her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Jane barely managed to hold onto her as she fainted.

“Mama? Mama? Help!” Jane called sharply. “Someone help me!”

Two footmen hurried forward immediately. Together they lifted Lady Wynten carefully while Jane steadied herself enough to think clearly, if only for a moment.

“Careful,” Jane ordered. “Take her upstairs. To the blue sitting room. Send for a physician immediately.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The servants hurried upstairs, carrying her unconscious mother between them carefully. For a moment, Jane stood frozen, watching them go.

Jane called one last time. “Mama.”

Lady Wynten did not stir. The doors closed behind them.

For a moment, Jane simply stood there. She took one deep breath and then another.

The ballroom seemed unreal now. Only an hour ago it had been filled with music, laughter, and polite conversation. She had been feted, even if it wasn’t something she had been particularly happy about.

Candles still burned in their crystal sconces. Half-empty champagne glasses remained scattered across tables. The musicians sat frozen near the stage, too shocked to continue playing.

And everywhere she looked, people were staring, whispering, and watching. Those that had stayed anyway. Many had already fled. She could feel eyes on her, but when she glanced in their direction, no one would meet her gaze.

A chill crawled down her spine. The scandal had already begun. Tomorrow, every drawing room in London would be discussing tonight’s events. Lord Wynten kidnapped by masked gunmen. Shots fired at the engagement ball. The Deverell family ruined.

Jane pressed trembling fingers against her temple. She tried to calm her racing thoughts.

My brother is gone.

The word echoed relentlessly inside her mind. She kept expecting Colin to emerge from somewhere and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Lady Jane.”

The voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned. Lord Maltby approached through the crowd. His dark coat was immaculate. Not a button out of place. Not a hair disturbed.

Jane felt an odd flash of relief. At least someone familiar remained. Surely, he had come to offer support or to ask after her mother. Something. Anything. They were engaged after all.

“My lord.”

He bowed stiffly. “May I have a word?”

They moved toward the edge of the room, away from the departing guests. Maltby folded his hands behind his back.

Without preamble, he said, “I believe our engagement cannot continue.”

Jane stared at him. The words barely registered. “Pardon?”

“In light of tonight’s events…”

For a moment, she honestly thought he meant postponing the wedding. It seemed reasonable enough. Everything had changed the moment the gunmen had entered the ballroom.

“We can discuss that later,” she said tiredly. “Naturally the wedding should wait until my brother is found.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed his face. “No. You misunderstand me. I mean the engagement itself.”

Jane stared at him, not comprehending what he had been saying. “You wish to end it?”

“Yes.”

Jane blinked. Of all the things she had expected tonight, this had not been one of them. Though, if she were being honest with herself, she had never felt the remotest romantic feeling toward Lord Maltby.

Their match had made sense. He possessed a respectable title. She possessed a respectable family. Both parties had approved.

“My brother has just been kidnapped,” Jane said, wondering if Lord Maltby had missed that small detail.

His jaw tightened. “I am aware.”

“My mother collapsed.”

Maltby gave a curt nod. “I know.”

“And you choose this moment?” Jane could hear the hiss entering her voice and fought to control it.

Maltby sighed. “My lady, please try to understand.” The use of her given name suddenly felt inappropriate. “This situation creates difficulties.”

“Difficulties?”

Maltby had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Your family is now connected to a criminal investigation.”

Jane stared at him. The sheer selfishness of the statement left her speechless.

“Surely you understand my position…” he mumbled.

She didn’t. Perhaps she should have. Perhaps this was who Lord Maltby had always been. A man who measured everything according to convenience. A man who could witness tragedy and immediately calculate how it affected him.

“You fear gossip.”

His silence answered her.

A strange calm settled over her. She was not heartbroken over this revelation; she was disappointed. She saw him clearly now. She had assumed that the respect she felt for him would eventually grow into affection. Now she knew she could never respect him.

“Very well,” she said.

Maltby frowned. “Very well?”

“What exactly did you expect me to do?” Jane asked.

“I merely wished to explain—” Maltby stammered.

Jane cut him off. “You’ve explained quite enough, my lord.”

His expression hardened. “I am trying to be civil.”

“I wish you well, my lord. Now, please leave my home.”

The dismissal was unmistakable. For a moment, he seemed uncertain. Then he bowed.

“Good evening, Lady Jane.”

Jane watched him disappear into the crowd. Oddly, she felt lighter. Not because the engagement had ended, but because she knew she had escaped something. A lifetime with a man who would abandon her whenever circumstances became inconvenient.

“Jane!”

She barely had time to turn before Lavinia wrapped her arms around her. Jane hugged her back automatically. The familiar warmth nearly unraveled her composure.

“Oh, thank heavens you’re unharmed.”

“So far.”

Lavinia pulled back immediately. “What happened? Has anyone found Lord Wynten?”

Jane shook her head. “No.”

Fear flashed across her friend’s face. “Oh, Jane.”

Jane swallowed. “Maltby just ended our engagement.”

Lavinia froze. “What?”

“He said he cannot be associated with this scandal.”

For one brief moment, Lavinia looked genuinely speechless. Then outrage flooded her face. “That absolute bastard.”

Despite everything, a startled laugh escaped Jane. “Lavinia!”

“I mean it.” Her friend planted her hands on her hips. “What sort of man abandons his fiancée immediately after her brother is kidnapped?” Lavinia said, “He wasn’t worth marrying anyway.”

Jane sighed. “That may be true.”

“It is true.” Lavinia squeezed her hands. “You deserve far better.”

“I need to see my mother,” Jane said resolutely.

“Of course.”

Jane hesitated. Then she squeezed Lavinia’s fingers.

Lavinia’s expression softened. “We’ll help however we can.”

Emotion tightened Jane’s throat unexpectedly. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

The certainty in her friend’s voice nearly made Jane cry. Instead, she hugged Lavinia one final time.

Then, she left the ballroom.

Servants moved quickly from room to room. Jane climbed the staircase two steps at a time. When she reached the blue drawing room, she pushed open the door.

Her mother was awake. The relief hit so suddenly that Jane nearly stumbled. Two footmen stood nearby waving a fan. The housekeeper hovered protectively at Lady Wynten’s side.

The moment her mother saw her, tears flooded her eyes.

“Jane!”

Jane hurried forward. Her mother grabbed both her hands. “Where is he?”

Jane felt her own eyes sting. “We don’t know yet.”

Lady Wynten began crying again. “Oh, God.”

Jane sat beside her. “We’ll find him.”

“What if they hurt him?”

Jane’s stomach twisted painfully because she had been trying not to think exactly that.

“We don’t know that they will,” Jane said, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“They pointed guns at him.” Her mother’s voice rose as she verged on hysteria.

“I know.”

“What if he’s frightened?”

Jane closed her eyes briefly. She pictured her brother, but she couldn’t picture him scared. He would be brave, come what may.

“We’ll bring him home,” she said firmly.

Her mother clung to her hands. “What if they kill him?”

The room fell silent. Even the servants looked away. Jane refused to allow herself to imagine it.

“No.”

Her mother blinked. She looked as if someone had slapped her.

Jane forced herself to soften her voice. “We are not giving up on him.”

Lady Wynten nodded shakily. A footman shifted nearby. The movement caught Jane’s attention. A plan started to formulate in her brain.

“You,” she said.

The servant immediately straightened. “My lady?”

“Help Mrs. Watkins manage the departing guests,” Jane said. She wasn’t used to being in charge, but someone had to be.

“Yes, my lady.”

“And send for the authorities immediately.”

The footman nodded. “They’ve already been summoned.”

“Good.”

The servant hurried away. Jane returned her attention to her mother. Lady Wynten looked exhausted, terrified, years older.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

Jane wished that she knew. Instead she squeezed her mother’s hand.

“We wait for the authorities,” Jane said.

“And then?”

Jane wanted to say that then they would find Colin, and everything would be okay. She couldn’t promise her mother that, though, so she kept quiet as she weighed her options for what to say.

Her mother suddenly frowned. “Where is Lord Maltby?” she asked.

Jane froze. For a moment she considered telling the truth. Then she looked at her mother’s trembling hands, her tear-stained face, her eyes full of fear, and decided that tonight was not the right time. Her mother could only survive one disaster at a time.

“He… left with the other guests,” Jane said, which wasn’t precisely a lie.

Lady Wynten looked disappointed. “Oh.”

Jane quickly changed the subject. “Try to rest.”

Her mother nodded weakly. Jane patted her hand and turned toward the window. She could not see out into the darkness, but it didn’t matter.

Her mind kept returning to Colin. The masked men had known exactly who they wanted. They had ignored everyone else. It had been planned. But by whom?

A terrible certainty settled over Jane. Whoever had taken Colin had not done so for money. There would be no ransom demand.

If they wanted something else, then her brother was already in far more danger than any of them could imagine.

Chapter Two

“We will begin making inquiries immediately, Lady Wynten,” he said. “Road checkpoints have already been alerted.”

The last of the authorities finally departed a little after midnight. Jane stood in the entrance hall with her mother beside her as the senior investigator gathered his hat and gloves.

Jane folded her arms tightly across her chest. “And if someone saw where they took him?”

“We shall find them.”

It was not an answer. She could tell from his expression that he knew it as well. The man offered a stiff bow.

“If we learn anything, you will be informed at once,” he said. Then he and his companions left.

The front door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Silence descended over Wynten House again.

Jane stared at the closed door.

“They’re not going to find him quickly, are they?” Her mother sounded small and frail.

Jane looked over at her mother. Lady Wynten had dark circles beneath her eyes, and she had not stopped trembling.

“We don’t know that,” Jane said.

Her mother attempted a smile. “Oh, Jane.” The tears returned instantly. “What if he’s frightened?”

The question struck directly at Jane’s own fears.

She had spent the last hour forcing herself not to imagine Colin alone somewhere, bound and injured. The worst images suddenly flooded her mind, and she couldn’t drive them away. Instead, she slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders.

“We will find him,” she said again.

Lady Wynten nodded weakly, though neither of them sounded convinced.

A maid appeared at the foot of the staircase. “My lady?”

Lady Wynten sighed. “I think I should retire.”

Jane squeezed her hand. “That’s probably best.”

Her mother hesitated. “I don’t wish to sleep.”

“I know, but you need rest,” Jane said as gently as she could.

“What if news arrives?” Lady Wynten fretted.

“I’ll wake you immediately,” Jane promised.

Lady Wynten searched her face, then finally nodded. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Her mother kissed her forehead—a gesture that suddenly made Jane feel twelve years old again. Then Lady Wynten allowed the maid to escort her upstairs.

Jane remained in the hall until she’d disappeared. The moment her mother was gone, the carefully maintained composure she’d been holding together all evening began to crack. Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned back against the wall.

There was no way that she would sleep tonight. Slowly, she made her way toward the parlor. The house seemed almost deserted now. Most of the servants had retired after cleaning the aftermath of the engagement party. Only a few lamps remained lit. Their warm glow did little to chase away the darkness.

Once inside the parlor, Jane crossed to the bell pull and rang.

A maid appeared moments later. “My lady?”

“Tea, please.”

“Of course.”

The maid disappeared.

Jane sank onto the sofa. The room smelled faintly of roses and beeswax polish. Usually, she found it comforting. Tonight, it only reminded her of how swiftly the evening had changed from ordinary to chaotic. Hours ago she had been engaged. Now she was not.

Oddly, she still felt almost nothing about Lord Maltby. Perhaps she should, but every time she tried to think about the broken engagement, her thoughts returned to Colin.

Colin mattered.

Maltby did not.

The tea arrived shortly thereafter. Jane wrapped both hands around the warm cup. The heat seeped into her cold fingers.

Outside, summer rain had begun tapping softly against the windows. Her father always used to say that June storms arrived when least expected. The memory made her heart ache. She missed him terribly. Especially now.

Her father would know what to do about this situation. He had always known what to do. Without him, Colin had taken over that role. Now…who would?

Jane had lost track of time. Her tea had gone lukewarm when a knock sounded at the door.

She looked up.

“Come in,” Jane called, her voice hoarse with emotion.

The butler entered. His expression was unusually uncertain.

“My lady,” he said.

Jane frowned immediately. “What is it?”

The older man hesitated. “You have a visitor.”

Jane blinked. “A visitor?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“At this hour?” Jane asked. It had to be nearly one o’clock in the morning. “Who?”

Before the butler could answer, another figure appeared in the doorway.

Jane’s breath caught. For a moment, she simply stared. The man was tall—exceptionally so—with powerful, broad shoulders, his dark coat hugging the muscles of his arms perfectly.

Rain glistened upon his dark hair. The shadows in the room sharpened the strong lines of his face and highlighted his piercing eyes. His jaw looked like it had been carved from stone. He was the most striking man Jane had ever seen.

She set down her teacup. “What are you doing in my house?”

The question came out sharper than she intended.

The stranger remained completely unbothered.

His gaze met hers, steadily. “I apologize for the hour.”

His voice was deep. It was the sort of voice people listened to.

“Who are you?” Jane demanded. At this hour of the day, niceties were not foremost in her mind.

The man inclined his head. “Hector Lockwood.” A brief pause. “Duke of Sunderford.”

Jane blinked. A duke. Standing in her parlor. At one o’clock in the morning. For several seconds, she could think of absolutely nothing intelligent to say.

The Duke of Sunderford. Everyone had heard of him. One of the most powerful men in England. Notorious for being private. Rarely seen in society except when necessary. And currently standing, uninvited, in her house.

Jane cleared her throat. “Pardon my directness, Your Grace… but what are you doing in my house in the middle of the night?”

The duke stepped fully into the room. “I came because our situations may be connected.”

Jane frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My brother disappeared.”

The statement instantly captured her attention. She sat straighter.

The duke continued. “Several days ago.”

Jane stared. “I’m sorry… I hadn’t heard.”

“Most people haven’t.” His expression remained unreadable. “Unlike your brother’s disappearance, my brother’s attracted little attention.”

“What does that have to do with Colin?”

The duke regarded her carefully. “I would like to discuss that.”

“Oh. Well, Your Grace, you can call tomorrow morning, when my mother is awake. It isn’t proper for us⁠—”

“Lady Jane,” he cut her off, “this is a serious matter. Far more serious than propriety.”

Jane gulped. Yes, this was a man, standing alone with her in the parlor. Yes, this would cause a big scandal if it came out.

But Colin was missing. Her engagement had been broken.

Jane needed something, anything to help with this situation. Even if it came in the form of this dark stranger.

After a moment, Jane gestured toward a chair. “Very well.”

He sat.

Though, somehow, it felt less like a guest accepting hospitality and more like a commander occupying territory.

Jane looked toward the butler. “Please, bring His Grace some tea.”

The duke immediately shook his head. “No tea.”

Jane arched a brow. “No tea?”

“No.” Silence stretched. Then he added, “I would prefer total privacy.”

Jane nearly laughed. “Total privacy?”

The duke didn’t blink. “Yes.”

“At one o’clock in the morning.”

“Correct.”

“In my house.”

“Also correct.”

Jane stared at him.

He stared back.

The audacity was remarkable. “You cannot seriously expect me to dismiss my butler.”

“I only intend to speak to you.”

“That is hardly the point,” Jane said. She felt like she might be delirious from lack of sleep and the shock of the evening.

A flicker of amusement appeared in his eyes. It vanished almost immediately. “I assure you, Lady Jane, your reputation is safe.”

“My reputation stopped being safe the moment armed men shot up my engagement party,” she said.

The duke inclined his head, as though he was conceding the point. “Fair.”

Jane glanced between him and the butler. Then she sighed. “Very well.”

The butler looked scandalized. “My lady…” he began.

“I’ll be fine,” Jane insisted.

Reluctantly, he bowed and withdrew. The door shut behind him. Immediately, the room felt smaller and more intimate. Jane disliked that sensation. She folded her hands tightly in her lap.

“You are risking my reputation further by being here.”

The duke nodded. “I came through the servants’ entrance.”

Jane blinked. “You what?”

“No one important saw me.”

She almost smiled despite herself. “That’s hardly reassuring.”

The duke spoke quietly. “I was discreet.”

She pursed her lips. “I imagine every man caught sneaking into a lady’s house claims the same.”

That earned the faintest twitch of his mouth.

Jane studied him. “What exactly makes you believe our brothers’ disappearances are connected?”

The duke leaned back slightly. “Lord Wynten and my brother were well acquainted.”

Jane snorted softly. “That’s a generous way to describe it.”

The duke’s gaze sharpened. “They argued.”

“Frequently,” Jane said.

“They disliked one another.”

Jane nodded. “Exactly.”

The duke remained silent for a moment before speaking again. “I want to know about your brother.”

Jane frowned. “What about him?”

“His routine.”

The question caught her off guard. “His routine?”

“Where he went. What he did. Who he met. That sort of thing,” the duke said. “What time does your brother rise in the morning? Does he frequently leave London? Who handles estate matters?”

“That’s quite a lot that you are enquiring about, Your Grace,” Jane said.

The duke didn’t seem to hear her, for he continued, “Does your brother have any gambling debts? Mistresses? Business partners? Any secret investments that he might have confided to you?”

The duke leaned forward. “Does he keep personal ledgers?”

Jane’s patience snapped slightly. “Of course.”

“I should like to see them.”

She stared. “You would like to what?”

“The ledgers.”

The audacity of the request left her speechless. “I’ve already given those to the authorities.”

His jaw tightened. “I see.”

“And even if I hadn’t… Pardon me, Your Grace, but they are not yours to inspect.”

The duke regarded her steadily. “Was there anything unusual in them?”

Jane’s irritation surged. “No, not that I know of.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

The relentless questions made Jane angry. They felt accusatory in some way that she could not pinpoint, as though the duke was building a case against Colin. She couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out why he would do that.

She rose to her feet.

The duke looked up. “Lady Jane?”

“My brother has been kidnapped.” Her voice was icy.

The duke stood as well. “I am aware.”

“And yet you’ve spent the last half hour speaking about him like he’s a criminal,” Jane said.

His expression hardened. “I’m attempting to find answers.”

“By implying Colin is responsible for your brother’s disappearance?” Jane asked.

“I implied no such thing,” said the duke.

“You practically demanded evidence.”

The duke took a step forward. “I asked questions.”

“You accused him.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know your brother.”

“No, you don’t.” Jane’s pulse hammered.

She was exhausted, frightened, and heartbroken about Colin. She would not sit here while a stranger questioned his character. Even if that stranger happened to be a duke.

She pointed toward the door. “You should leave, Your Grace. The hour grows late.”

The duke didn’t move. Jane’s anger sharpened further.

“Your Grace, it has been a long night. I would like to retire.”

His gaze remained fixed on her. Jane had the distinct feeling that the conversation was far from over. And something in the duke’s expression suggested he had no intention of walking away.

The duke did not move. Jane had never understood how some men could dominate a room merely by standing in it. She understood it now.

“And I told you,” he replied evenly, “that I am not leaving.”

Jane stared at the duke. His gaze lingered on her intently, and it seemed that he might be trying to stare straight into her soul. The longer they stared at one another, the warmer Jane felt. Her cheeks heated and she could feel a light perspiration breaking out on her upper lip.

Surely, she should look away, she thought, as her blood pounded through her ears. And yet, she could not. His jaw moved subtly from side to side as if he was chewing on the problem.

The fire crackled softly in the grate, but it sounded absurdly loud in the silence.

“What precisely do you mean by that?” she asked.

His jaw tightened. “I mean I intend to discover what happened to my brother.”

Jane folded her arms. “Then I suggest you continue your inquiries elsewhere.”

“I intend to.” His gaze sharpened. “But I also intend to discover what your brother got mine into.”

Outrage flared through her. “There it is,” she scoffed.

The duke arched a brow. “There what is?”

“The accusation.” She took a step towards him. “I knew that was what this was truly about.”

His expression did not change. “You know nothing, my lady.”

“Oh, I know quite enough, Your Grace.” Jane lifted her chin in defiance. “You arrive uninvited in the middle of the night, demand access to my brother’s papers, question his character, and imply that he is somehow responsible for your brother’s disappearance.”

“I implied no such thing.”

“You practically shouted it.”

The duke exhaled slowly. “I am speaking as a man looking for answers.”

“You are speaking as a brother looking for someone to blame.” The words landed harder than she intended.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then he said quietly, “You think me unfair.”

Jane gave a humorless laugh. “That is the politest description available.”

His brows knitted, and he tilted his head to the side. “You have a very sharp tongue, my lady.”

“So I have been told.”

“I imagine often,” the duke said.

“Only by men who deserve it.”

His mouth twitched.

The duke took a slow step forward. “You speak with remarkable confidence for someone who knows nothing about my brother.”

Jane refused to retreat. “And you speak with remarkable arrogance for someone who knows nothing about mine.”

His eyes darkened. “I have spent years cleaning up after fools.”

“And Colin has spent years managing an earldom.” Jane folded her arms.

“A man can manage an estate and still make foolish decisions.”

Jane scoffed and looked straight at him. “Oh, yes, of that, I’m certainly sure.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed in on her, and heat crawled unexpectedly up her spine.

Good heavens. The man should not have been permitted to possess eyes like that. Or shoulders. Or a voice that sounded as though it belonged in sinful places.

Jane immediately resented herself for the thought.

The duke seemed to notice her brief distraction. His gaze lowered. Just slightly. Enough to make her aware of herself. Enough to make her pulse stumble. Then his eyes lifted again. Slowly. The movement felt entirely inappropriate.

“Careful, Lady Jane.” The words were soft, much softer than before.

Jane’s stomach tightened. “Careful of what?”

“Of assuming you know everything.”

She stepped closer. Close enough that propriety had already been abandoned. Close enough that she could see faint shadows beneath his eyes.

The signs of sleepless nights. The signs of worry. Of fear. Perhaps even grief.

It unsettled her. Because suddenly he seemed less like an infuriating duke and more like a man desperately searching for someone he loved.

Just as she was.

“No man is a saint.” His gaze sharpened. “Not even your brother.”

She stiffened. “There is not a single thing you could tell me about Colin that would make me believe he deserves whatever happened tonight.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he stepped forward. Jane held her ground, which was a terrible mistake because now there was so little distance between them that his cologne enveloped her senses.

“I did not say he deserved it,” the duke said.

Her pulse raced. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. Then rose again.

Jane forgot what she had been about to say. The realization irritated her immediately.

The duke’s gaze swept over her once more. Heat bloomed beneath her skin. She hated that he noticed. And she hated even more that he seemed to enjoy noticing.

“Very well.” The duke straightened. “I will get my answers. Whether you help me or not.”

Jane forced herself to regain some dignity. “I have told you everything I know, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps.” He turned toward the door. “Or perhaps you simply do not know which answers matter.”

Before she could formulate a response, he was already moving. Jane followed him through the parlor’s threshold as he opened the door.

For a moment, he paused. Then he looked back at her. The moonlight caught the hard lines of his face.

“We will speak again, Lady Jane.”

It sounded less like a possibility and more like a promise. Jane folded her arms.

“I hope not; it will not be required.”

His gaze lingered long enough to make her pulse stumble again. Then he inclined his head and moved into the corridor, where the butler was standing.

“Your Grace,” the butler bowed, and escorted him to the back of the house.

Silence rushed into the corridor.

Jane remained exactly where she stood. Only when she was absolutely certain he was gone did she finally release a long breath.

Good heavens.

Her heart was pounding as though she had sprinted across Hyde Park. She pressed a hand against her chest. The rapid rhythm beneath her palm refused to slow.

Her brother was missing. Her family was in crisis. Her engagement had collapsed.

And yet… her mind was drawn back to the duke demanding answers just as much as she did.

The following morning dawned gray and heavy over Wynten House. Jane had slept for perhaps two hours. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Colin being dragged across the ballroom floor. Every time she drifted off, she’d hear the gunshot.

By breakfast, her nerves felt scraped raw. Her mother looked little better. Lady Wynten sat in the morning room clutching a cup of tea with trembling hands. The dark circles beneath her eyes seemed more pronounced than they had the previous evening.

Jane was attempting to coax her into eating a piece of toast when the butler appeared in the doorway.

“Lord Zachary Deverell to see you, my lady.”

Her mother’s face brightened immediately. “Zachary?”

Jane’s stomach sank. Of all the people she wished to see that morning, her uncle ranked near the bottom.

“Show him in,” Lady Wynten said.

A moment later, Zachary Deverell strode into the room. He was a tall man in his late forties, broad around the middle, with thinning dark hair, and sharp features that always reminded Jane of a fox eyeing a henhouse.

“My dear sister-in-law.” He spread his arms dramatically.

Lady Wynten rose at once. “Zachary.”

He kissed her cheek. “I came as soon as I heard.” His expression shifted into one of practiced sympathy. “What a dreadful business.”

Jane watched him carefully. Her uncle had always possessed a talent for sounding sincere while meaning very little. He turned toward her.

“Dear Jane.”

“Uncle.”

For a moment, he looked appropriately grave. “I was horrified when the news reached me.”

Lady Wynten dabbed at her eyes. “I cannot bear to think what may have happened to Colin.”

“Of course not.” Zachary sighed heavily. “Poor boy.”

Jane nearly frowned. Poor boy? Colin was thirty years old. The earl. Yet Zachary sounded as though he were discussing a troublesome child.

Her uncle wandered toward the window. “Such shocking circumstances.” His gaze traveled around the room. Jane immediately disliked the look in his eyes. He was assessing. As though he were taking inventory.

“Has there been any word?” he asked.

“No,” Lady Wynten whispered.

“Nothing at all. A pity.” His tone struck Jane as odd. Not sad or worried, just…thoughtful.

He moved toward the mantel and examined one of the clocks. “Hmm.”

Jane’s suspicion deepened. “Uncle?”

He glanced over. “Yes?”

“Is something troubling you?”

A smile flickered across his face. “Only the state of this house.”

Jane blinked, confusion infusing her words. “The house?”

“Indeed.” He ran a finger across the mantel. “Honestly, Colin never did understand proper management.”

The room went still. Lady Wynten frowned. “Zachary?”

“No, no.” He waved a hand. “I am merely being truthful.”

Jane stared. Her brother had been missing less than a day, and already Zachary was criticizing him.

“Colin managed the estate quite well,” she said.

Zachary snorted. “Did he?”

“He did.”

“Perhaps that explains why armed men carried him away in front of half the ton,” Zachary said.

Lady Wynten gasped.

Jane’s blood heated instantly. “How dare you.”

Her uncle shrugged. “It is hardly my fault.”

“He was kidnapped,” Jane said.

Zachary said, “And one must wonder why.”

Jane stood. Her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Colin has done nothing wrong.”

“According to you.”

“He is a good man,” Jane said.

Zachary laughed. A short, unpleasant sound. “Good men are rarely dragged away by criminals.”

“Enough.” The word escaped before Jane could stop it.

Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

She had come this far, so she felt she must continue. “I said, enough.” Jane stepped forward. “You have been here five minutes, and already you are insulting Colin.”

“Jane,” her mother said nervously.

“No.” Jane lifted her chin. “If Uncle wishes to discuss my brother, then he can do so respectfully.”

For one long moment, Zachary simply stared at her. Then his face darkened. “What an unfortunate habit.”

“What?” Jane asked.

Her uncle said, “Speaking when wiser people are talking.”

Jane’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. The room seemed to shrink. Her uncle took a step toward her. Then another.

“You always were too bold,” he said.

“And you always were too cruel.”

The movement came so suddenly that Jane barely registered it. One moment Zachary’s hand was at his side. The next it was rising.

Lady Wynten cried out and threw herself between them. “Stop!”

Zachary froze. His hand remained suspended in the air. The sight seemed to embarrass even him. Slowly, he lowered it.

A dangerous silence followed. Then his expression twisted. He grabbed Lady Wynten’s arm and shoved her aside. Hard enough to make her stumble.

“Mother!” Jane rushed forward.

Lady Wynten caught herself against a chair.

“How dare you touch her?” Jane demanded.

Zachary ignored the question entirely. Instead, he smiled a cold, cruel smile. The sort that made Jane’s skin crawl.

“You truly do not understand the situation,” he said.

“What situation?” Jane demanded.

“The obvious one.” His gaze sharpened. “Your brother is not coming back.”

The words struck like a physical blow. “No.” Jane shook her head immediately. “No.”

“He was abducted by armed men.”

“That does not mean—” Jane began.

“It means precisely what you think it means.” His smile widened. “If his body turns up in a ditch somewhere, I shall not be surprised.”

Lady Wynten made a broken sound. Jane feared she would collapse again.

“Stop.” Jane’s voice shook. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Because he is alive,” Jane insisted.

Her uncle’s smile grew. “You do not know that.”

“I do.”

“Wishful thinking,” he said.

Jane wanted to strike him. The urge shocked her. She had never wanted to hit another human being before. Yet, at that moment, it seemed entirely reasonable.

Zachary walked toward the window. His hands clasped comfortably behind his back. “As tragic as it is, life continues.”

Jane stared. “What does that mean?”

He looked over his shoulder. It was the look of a man revealing a delightful secret. “It means that when Colin is declared dead, the title passes to me.”

Jane felt ice flood her veins.

“The title is Colin’s.”

“For now.” He smiled again. “But not forever.”

A horrible realization began to dawn. “You’ve been waiting for this.”

Zachary’s expression did not change. The lack of denial was answer enough.

“You’ve actually been waiting for something to happen to him,” Jane said.

“What nonsense.”

“Then why do you look pleased?” Jane asked.

His eyes flashed. For a moment, the mask slipped completely. Jane saw naked ambition. Then it vanished. “I merely understand reality.”

Lady Wynten sank weakly into a chair. “What will happen to us?”

The question escaped her in a whisper. Zachary looked at her. Then at Jane. “That depends,” he said.

Jane hated the smile that followed. “On what?”

“On whether I decide to be generous.”

A stunned silence filled the room.

“You cannot mean that,” Lady Wynten said.

“Oh, but I do.” He adjusted his cuffs in a leisurely manner. “This house belongs to the earldom.”

Lady Wynten began crying again. The sight nearly broke Jane’s heart. “You would cast your own family aside?”

“If necessary.”

“You are monstrous.” Jane could not keep the words from escaping her mouth.

His eyes hardened instantly. Danger flashed there. “Careful.”

“Jane,” her mother whispered.

But Jane could not stop. Not now. Not while he stood there threatening them. “You are cruel.”

His expression became deadly calm. “And you would do well to remember something, niece.”

He stepped closer. Close enough to intimidate. Close enough that Lady Wynten visibly flinched. “I hold your future in my hands.”

Jane’s stomach twisted.

“I hold your mother’s future as well.” He let that settle. “Perhaps you should learn some respect.”

The room fell silent. No one spoke. Finally, Zachary straightened, apparently satisfied. “I shall await further news.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door. Halfway there, he paused. Then he looked back. That same smug smile returned. “If any arrives.”

The door closed behind him. Silence descended. Lady Wynten broke first. A sob escaped her. Within seconds, she was openly weeping.

Jane crossed the room immediately. “Mother.”

Lady Wynten clutched her. “What if he’s right?” The question shattered something inside Jane. “What if Colin is gone?”

“No.” Jane wrapped both arms around her. “He isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Her voice came out stronger than she felt. “He is alive.”

“Jane—” Her mother’s voice was pleading.

“He is alive.” She repeated it because she needed to hear it herself.

She needed to believe it, needed something solid to cling to. Because if she allowed herself to imagine otherwise… if she imagined Colin dead or Zachary inheriting the estate… if she imagined losing everything, she might break apart entirely. So she held her mother tighter.

Then she made a silent promise.

She would find Colin. Before her uncle got exactly what he wanted. And, for the first time since the kidnapping, Jane felt something stronger than fear.

The streets of London were already waking. Carriages rattled past, vendors set up stalls, servants hurried along pavements with baskets and lists. No one looked at Jane twice. A young woman on horseback was not so unusual at this hour.

But Jane felt as though every movement she made was deliberate, exposed, irreversible.

She rode first to Bow Street.

The building itself did not look impressive. It never did. That, she supposed, was part of its purpose. The Bow Street Runners were meant to blend into the city rather than stand above it.

Inside, the reception was exactly as she feared.

The man behind the desk looked up at her with the mild annoyance of someone interrupted mid-task. When she gave her name and purpose, his expression did not soften.

“Missing persons,” he repeated flatly. “Yes, yes. Lord Wynten. We are aware.”

“I need to know what progress has been made,” Jane said.

“You will be informed when there is progress, my lady,” he replied, already looking back down at his papers.

Jane stiffened. “I am his sister.”

“That does not change procedure.”

Another man nearby gave a short laugh under his breath, not bothering to hide it.

Jane took a step forward. “Last night armed men entered my home and abducted my brother in front of half the ton. Surely that accelerates⁠—”

“It does not accelerate anything, my lady,” the first man interrupted. His tone was weary now, as though she were the one being unreasonable. “These matters require patience.”

“Patience?” she repeated, incredulous. “My brother has been taken.”

“And he is being looked for.”

There was a pause.

Jane looked between them. Neither man met her eyes properly now. One of them shuffled papers. The other leaned back as though the conversation had already ended.

A hot, frustrated pressure built in her chest.

“And if it were your brother?” she asked quietly.

That finally earned her a look, but not the kind she wanted.

The man at the desk gave a thin smile. “Then I would be grateful for the assurance that professionals were handling it.”

Jane held his gaze for a moment longer. “My mother and I shall await your report. Good day, sir.”

Then, she turned sharply and left before she said something she could not take back.

Outside, the air felt colder.

She stood beside her horse for a moment, hands clenched in the reins, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

If Bow Street would not help her, then she would find someone who could not ignore her.

Without fully forming the decision, she swung back into the saddle.

The duke.

The thought came unbidden, and she disliked it immediately. But it persisted anyway, irritatingly logical beneath the emotion.

He had come to her. He believed there had been a connection. And whether she liked him or not, he was at least actively looking.

Jane tightened her grip on the reins and turned her horse north.

She did not go directly to his house. She was unchaperoned, and she’d risked too much already going to Bow Street alone.

So, instead, she’d go to him at night. Just like he had when he’d come to her house.

Late afternoon blurred into evening. She kept her distance near the route she suspected he would take, watching, observing, and telling herself she was being strategic rather than reckless.

When the carriage finally appeared, it was not ornate, nor the kind she would have expected for a duke. It was dark and unmarked, and moved with purpose.

Jane’s pulse tightened.

He was alone. Or at least unaccompanied in any visible sense. She followed.

Keeping her distance on horseback through London streets required careful timing. Just enough space to avoid suspicion, but close enough not to lose him. Jane’s focus narrowed until everything else blurred: the sound of hooves, the shifting light, the occasional glance from passersby.

Eventually, the carriage left the more respectable parts of the city.

The buildings grew closer together. The streets narrowed. The air changed. Jane slowed instinctively. This was not a district in which she belonged.

The carriage stopped near a side street that led into a darker cluster of buildings. A brothel sat prominently at the corner, its windows dimly lit, its entrance guarded by a woman who watched everything with tired, practiced awareness.

Jane hesitated.

Of all the places…

Her cheeks heated before she could stop it. Instinctively, she drew her cloak closer around her to make herself less visible.

The duke stepped down from the carriage.

He did not look around. He simply moved into the alley beside the building.

Jane’s hesitation lasted only a moment longer. She dismounted quickly and led her horse into a narrow side passage where she tied it loosely. Her hands were slightly unsteady now, but she forced them still.

This is necessary, she told herself.

The alley was narrow, damp, and smelled faintly of smoke and refuse. The sound of the city dulled here, replaced by something quieter, more intimate. Jane kept close to the wall, moving carefully, her boots barely making noise against the stone.

At the end of the passage, the duke was nowhere in sight. Jane frowned slightly.

Then a voice came from behind her. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Chapter Three

“My lady…” the voice hissed.

With that, Jane turned sharply. The duke stood a few paces away, half in shadow. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

His gaze moved over her, and something unreadable flickered across his face. Not anger, exactly. Something more complicated. Like disbelief tangled with confusion.

Jane lifted her chin immediately, reclaiming composure she did not entirely feel.

“That question,” she said evenly, “seems rather unfair coming from you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You followed me.”

It was not a question.

Jane’s pulse beat harder, but she refused to let it show. “I was already in the area.”

“That is a remarkable coincidence,” the duke said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I am not in the habit of explaining myself to men who refuse to explain anything to me,” she said. “Especially not when my brother’s life is involved.”

At that, something in his expression shifted, and he stepped forward just slightly. “Lady Jane,” he said, voice controlled, “this is not a place for you.”

Jane almost laughed. “And yet, here you are.”

His jaw tightened. “That is not the same.”

Jane was suddenly very aware of how close he was. Of how little light separated them. Of the fact that she was alone here with a man she barely knew, in a part of London she had no business entering.

“You need to leave,” he said quietly.

“I need answers,” she replied.

“You will not find them here,” he said.

Jane bristled. “And you expect me to believe that? That a man like you came to seek… to seek certain services… all the way out here?”

He raised an eyebrow, “A man like me?”

“I meant a peer,” she huffed. “I may be unwed, but I am not completely oblivious to what men of the ton choose to do at night, Your Grace. My brother was very clear to me about that.”

Before he could respond, a faint sound echoed from deeper in the alley. Footsteps and distant voices.

The duke’s attention shifted instantly. Jane followed his gaze instinctively.

“What?” she began.

“Quiet,” he said sharply.

She stopped. The sound grew closer. And, in that moment, Jane realized with sudden clarity that whatever this place was, and whatever the reasons for his being here might be, things were not as straightforward as they seemed.

The voices at the end of the alley faded just as quickly as they had appeared, swallowed again by the murmur of the city beyond. But the tension they left behind did not leave with them. It clung to the narrow space between her and the duke, sharp as wire.

He watched her. As if he had not just caught her following him into one of the worst parts of London like a reckless fool with no sense of danger.

Jane lifted her chin before he could speak again. “I went to Bow Street,” she said.

The duke’s gaze sharpened slightly. “And?”

“They were useless,” she replied, too quickly to disguise her frustration. “They told me to be patient.”

Something almost like disdain crossed his face, but he did not interrupt.

Jane pressed on, the words spilling out now that she had started. “They spoke as if Colin were misplaced luggage. As if I should simply… wait for him to be returned.” Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “I will not wait.”

The duke studied her for a moment longer than was comfortable. “You should go home,” he said at last.

Jane let out a short, humorless breath. “I need to find Colin,” she said more quietly, forcing control back into her voice. “Quicker than the authorities intend to move. I need help to do that.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You came here looking for me to provide it.”

Jane hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes.”

His gaze flicked over her face, like he was measuring something she could not see. “And you decided following me into a brothel alley was the appropriate method of request?”

Jane’s cheeks warmed at the reminder of where she was standing. “I didn’t follow you into the… brothel,” she replied, the last word becoming somewhat difficult to articulate. “I followed your carriage.”

“Which led you here,” the duke said.

“That is not the same thing,” Jane said.

The duke exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was restraining a comment that would not be polite. Then he said, “Go home.”

Jane’s jaw tightened. “No.”

His gaze locked onto hers, and Jane became suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

Too close for propriety. Too close for sense. Too close for a man she was meant to distrust entirely. And yet she did not move. Propriety had gone out of the window some time ago.

“You are very determined,” he said quietly.

“I am desperate,” she corrected.

His jaw clenched. “I might be able to use that. You are a woman in possession of information to which I do not have access.”

Jane stiffened. “And what information would that be?”

“Access to your brother’s world,” he said. “His habits. His acquaintances. His patterns.”

Jane scoffed. “You think Colin has a ‘world’ you can simply decode?”

“I think every man does,” the duke replied evenly. “Including your brother.”

There was something infuriatingly certain in his tone. Jane shook her head. “Colin is not like your brother. And your brother is not like mine.”

The duke’s gaze darkened slightly at that. “That remains to be seen.”

Jane took another step forward now, closing the space between them without thinking. “This is about my brother,” she said, her voice low. “Not yours. Mine.”

The duke did not move away. Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. Then back to her eyes. Jane felt it like a physical pull in her chest.

“And I want to find him just as much as you want to find yours,” she added sharply, forcing herself to keep her tone steady.

He said, “If your brother is not found…”

Jane held still.

“He will be found,” she stated. “He must be. Otherwise…”

She stopped. The duke was a stranger. She couldn’t reveal the hardship she and her mother were facing just because they shared a goal.

“Otherwise?” the duke prompted.

For a moment, something instinctive rose in her throat, her truth, sharp and unguarded. But she swallowed it down before it could surface.

“It is not relevant,” she said instead.

His brow furrowed slightly. “It is relevant if I am going to help you.”

“Your Grace. Let us focus on the search, all right? That is what matters now,” she replied.

Then, unexpectedly, the duke stepped back. Just slightly. Enough to re-establish a sliver of distance between them. Jane did not know whether to feel relieved or irritated by it. He glanced past her toward the alley’s exit, then back to her.

“Very well. I came here for my own investigation,” he said. “This establishment is a rather… sought-after destination amongst wealthier men in London.”

Jane blinked. “This place?”

His gaze flicked to her, mildly unimpressed. “Yes. This place.”

Jane’s face tightened. “Colin did not frequent… establishments like this.”

The duke looked at her as if she had just said something naïve. “He is a man,” he said simply.

Jane stiffened. “That does not mean⁠—”

“That means exactly what it means,” he interrupted. “If you intend to follow me into this investigation, you should understand that places like this are exactly where information is exchanged.”

Jane lifted her chin. “I understand that perfectly.”

“Do you?”

Jane straightened. “Yes.”

The duke studied her for a long moment. Then he said, “Very well.”

Jane blinked. “Very well?”

“I will show you,” he said simply.

Then, as if testing her, he tilted his head slightly toward the alley’s exit. “And, Lady Jane,” he added, his voice lower now, “if you are truly as curious as you claim, you may find that this place reveals more than just information about your brother.”

Jane’s throat tightened slightly at the implication, although she refused to show it. “I am not easily shocked,” she said.

The faintest hint of something like amusement crossed his face. “We shall see,” he replied.

And then he turned, gesturing for her to follow him toward the building’s entrance.

Jane hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, lifting her chin as if she belonged there far more than she felt she did, she stepped forward beside him.

“Lead the way,” she said coolly.

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned toward the door.

“Come then,” he said.

They stepped inside. The change was immediate. The noise of the alley vanished behind them as the door shut, replaced by a muffled hush that felt almost unreal after the roughness outside.

The interior was dimly lit, but not dark. Lamplight softened the edges of velvet curtains, polished wood, and figures moving with quiet efficiency.

Jane kept her cloak pulled tightly over her head. It felt ridiculous and necessary at the same time.

The duke did not look back to check on her. He simply walked forward.

A man near the front desk looked up as they approached. His gaze flicked over the duke first, then paused briefly on Jane, just long enough to make her acutely aware of every choice she had made that evening.

The duke’s voice was calm. “I need to speak with the madam.”

The clerk did not question him. He simply nodded once and gestured toward a corridor. “This way.”

Jane followed silently, her steps careful on the carpeted floor. She kept slightly behind the duke, although she was not sure whether that was intentional or instinctive. Either way, she found herself noticing how he always moved just slightly ahead of her, as if positioning himself between her and the world without acknowledging it.

They were led to a heavy door at the end of the corridor. The clerk knocked once, then opened it and stepped aside. The duke entered first. Jane followed.

The room inside was warmer and more private. A desk stood near the center. On it, papers were neatly arranged, and a small fire burned low in the hearth. The air smelled faintly of perfume and ink.

A woman sat behind the desk.

She did not stand immediately. Instead, she studied them with slow, deliberate attention, as though she had all the time in the world and intended to use it.

Her gaze moved first to the duke, then more slowly, to Jane. It lingered there. Jane resisted the urge to shift under it. Then the madam smiled faintly.

“Well,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk, “this is not my usual sort of appointment.”

Jane’s spine stiffened slightly. The duke did not react. The madam’s gaze flicked between them again, a little sharper now, and more amused. “I do hope I am not interrupting something intimate.”

Heat rose instantly in Jane’s face. “That is not,” she began, then stopped herself, mortified at how easily she had been flustered.

The duke spoke over her, unfazed. “We are not here for entertainment.”

The madam tilted her head slightly. “Pity.”

Jane pressed her lips together tightly. The duke stepped forward a fraction, subtly placing himself half in front of Jane without making a show of it.

“We are searching for information,” he continued. “A man who may have visited your establishment within the last week.”

The madam leaned back in her chair. “I’m afraid I cannot discuss my clients.”

The duke’s expression did not change.

Jane, however, felt the tension shift immediately like a rope pulled taut. The duke reached into his coat and placed something on the desk. Coins. A considerable amount.

The madam’s eyes flickered briefly to them, then rose back up. A faint smile returned.

“Tempting,” she said lightly. “But still no.”

Jane frowned. That had been too easy for her to refuse. The duke’s voice remained steady.

“I am not asking.”

The madam’s eyes sharpened slightly.

He continued. His tone remained calm but was now edged with something colder beneath it. “You may either assist us now, or be visited later by people far less polite than I am.”

Jane glanced at him sharply.

That was not a threat spoken lightly. It was precise. And it made something uneasy twist in her stomach.

The madam studied him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, she exhaled softly.

“All right,” she murmured. “No need for such theatrics.”

“Please,” Jane said quickly.

Both the duke and the madam looked at her. The madam’s gaze sharpened with renewed interest.

Jane swallowed once, then continued, forcing herself to ignore the heat still lingering in her cheeks.

“If possible,” she said, “we’d like access to the guest ledger for this month.”

The madam regarded her for a long moment, clearly recalibrating.

“Well,” she said slowly. “So, you do speak.”

Jane stiffened slightly but held her ground. The duke glanced at her briefly, as though noting something, but said nothing.

“Very well,” she said. “Since you asked so nicely.”

She took the duke’s money without further comment, and moved to a locked drawer behind her desk. From it, she retrieved a thick ledger bound in dark leather.

She set it down carefully. Then opened it.

The pages inside were dense with handwriting. It was the kind of record meant to be seen but not understood by anyone not already initiated into its meaning.

Jane stepped closer without thinking. The duke remained beside her, scanning the pages quickly. For a moment, neither spoke.

The madam watched them both, her arms folded, and her expression unreadable. The duke turned a page. Then another.

Jane felt a sinking sensation. Nothing obvious prompted it. Nothing that stood out at any rate. The duke exhaled slightly, as if already preparing to dismiss the entire lead. Then Jane stopped him.

“Wait.” Her voice was sharper than she intended.

The duke looked at her. Jane leaned in, pointing. “There.”

A single entry.

FOXGLOVE.

The duke looked at it, then back at her. “What is it?”

Jane hesitated for only a moment before answering. “When we were young, my brother and I invented a game,” she said quietly. “We used to play it at our country home. Foxes and foxgloves. We would look for them in the gardens during spring and summer. It was Colin’s favorite. It was mine too.”

The duke’s gaze shifted back to the ledger. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly.

Jane nodded immediately. “Yes. He would never use that word by accident.”

The madam, who had been listening with mild curiosity, now stepped closer. “Foxglove,” she repeated, as if tasting it.

Jane turned toward her quickly. “Who booked that entry?”

The madam studied the page. Then she looked intently at Jane and the duke.

Finally, she said, “A man.”

“Alone?” she asked.

“Yes. He had the complexion of a gentleman,” she added. “Nothing unusual at first glance. We have many such visitors.”

The duke’s expression did not change, but Jane felt the tension in him sharpen slightly.

“Did he request a woman?” Jane asked.

The madam shook her head. “No.”

Jane frowned. “Then why did he come here?”

The madam’s tone shifted slightly, becoming more observational. “He did not ask for company,” she said. “He only took a room.”

Jane exchanged a glance with the duke. He was listening now, with full attention.

The madam continued. “He paid in advance, but he did not stay long.”

Jane’s stomach tightened. “And?” she prompted.

The madam hesitated before adding, “He seemed to be waiting.”

The duke’s voice cut in immediately. “For whom?”

The madam lifted one shoulder slightly. “That, I cannot say.” She paused, and then added almost thoughtfully, “No one arrived.”

Jane felt a chill settle in her chest.

The duke’s gaze remained fixed on the ledger. “And then?”

“He left at dawn.” The madam closed the ledger slightly, as if she were done with it emotionally even though she still held it physically.

“He had the air of someone expecting a meeting that never occurred,” she said quietly.

Jane’s hands curled at her sides.

“Has he been here before?” the duke asked.

The madam shook her head immediately. “No,” she said. “Never.”

The duke closed the ledger slowly. For a moment, neither he nor Jane moved. Then Jane turned to the madam.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

It felt strange to say it here, in this room, but she meant it all the same.

The madam inclined her head slightly. “You are welcome,” she said.

The duke placed additional coins on the desk. “This is for your discretion,” he said simply.

The madam did not count them. She did not even look surprised anymore. She only nodded once.

“I am always discreet,” she said.

Then she closed the ledger and returned it to its place as though the conversation had never occurred. Jane felt the weight of what they had learned settling between her ribs.

Foxglove. A waiting man. A meeting that never happened. And Colin, wherever he is.

The duke turned slightly toward the door. Jane followed him without speaking. But as they stepped back into the corridor, she could not shake the feeling that something had just shifted. Somewhere ahead of them, whatever was waiting next no longer felt like an investigation.

It felt like a trap they had already stepped into without realizing.

They left the office without speaking.

The corridor outside felt colder than it had before, as if the warmth of the room had been shut away behind them. Jane followed the duke through the narrow passage, her cloak still drawn tightly around her shoulders, her thoughts no longer anchored to the physical space around her.

The brothel, the lamps, the faint perfume in the air—it all blurred together as something distant and secondary. What remained was the ledger. More specifically, the word written inside it: Foxglove.

It did not leave her mind. It clung there stubbornly, like something half-remembered from a dream she could not quite wake from.

They stepped back into the alley.

The night air hit her immediately—cooler, sharper, and real in a way the interior had not been. Jane paused just long enough to steady herself, her gaze instinctively lifting toward the building.

The brothel’s windows glowed faintly. Life continued inside as if nothing had changed. As if no answers had just been pulled from its records. As if Colin had not been reduced to a name in ink and speculation.

Jane’s fingers tightened slightly in her cloak. The duke stood beside her but did not interrupt her silence. For a moment, she simply looked at the building. Then she exhaled.

“Colin was here,” she said quietly.

The words felt strange in her mouth, as if speaking them made them more real than she was ready to accept.

The duke glanced at her. “Yes.”

Jane frowned slightly, still thinking. “He came to meet someone.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground briefly as she tried to piece it together aloud, as if speaking might make the pattern clearer.

The duke turned his head slightly toward her.

Jane continued, more certain now as she spoke. “The madam said he had never visited. So he did not come here as…” she hesitated, her cheeks warming faintly despite herself, “as a client.”

The duke’s expression did not change, but a faint flicker of amusement appeared at the edge of it. Jane ignored it.

“He was using it as a meeting place,” she finished.

A brief silence followed.

Then Jane added, thinking aloud, “If this one exists, there may be others. Other establishments like this. We could check them. Ask if anyone else saw him. If he used the same word elsewhere…”

The duke cut her off. “No.”

Jane blinked. “No?”

“I will not send you into every brothel in London,” he said.

Jane bristled immediately. “I did not suggest I would go alone.”

“You implied you would go at all,” the duke said.

“I implied efficiency,” she corrected sharply.

The duke’s gaze held hers. “It will not be efficient. It will be conspicuous.”

Jane opened her mouth.

He continued before she could interrupt. “I will send one of my men. He will ask the necessary questions.”

Jane frowned. “One of your men?”

“Yes.”

“And you trust him to know what to look for?” Jane asked.

“I trust him not to draw attention,” the duke replied.

Jane exhaled sharply through her nose. “And what do we do while we wait for him to report back?”

The duke studied her for a moment. Then he said, “You go home.”

“I am not leaving until I am certain we are doing this together,” she said.

His gaze sharpened slightly, as if he had not expected that phrasing or had expected it and disliked it all the same.

Jane pressed on before he could shut her down. “If we continue separately, we will miss things. We already have. The ledger proved that.”

The duke’s jaw tightened slightly at that. Jane took a small step closer. “You would not have recognized Foxglove,” she said.

“I would have found its meaning,” he replied immediately.

“How, precisely? I told you it was a game that only Colin and I knew about.”

His jaw tensed.

Jane continued, more quietly now, but with conviction. “And I would not have known where to begin in a place like that without you.”

The duke did not respond immediately. The tension between them shifted again. Jane held her ground.

Finally, he said, “You will do as I say when danger is involved.”

It was not phrased as a request. Jane hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Agreed.”

His gaze remained on her for a second longer than necessary, as if confirming she meant it. He said, “And you will not act independently in situations you do not understand.”

Jane’s lips pressed together. “I understand more than you think.”

“That is what worries me,” he said flatly.

Jane let out a breath, then nodded once. “Fine.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Fine?”

“I will do as you say when danger is involved,” she clarified. “And I will not act recklessly without informing you. Happy?”

He did not answer the question. Instead, he said, “You can send messages to me through your maid. Is she trustworthy?”

Jane nodded. “Anna is discreet.”

At the mention of a name, the duke’s gaze flickered briefly; an acknowledgment of logistics, rather than trust.

“She will pass notes,” Jane continued. “Anything you find. Anything I find.”

Then the duke said, “I will send instructions to my staff.”

Jane nodded once. “And when you are ready for the next step, you will contact me.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “You are giving instructions now?”

“I am establishing structure,” she corrected.

The corner of his mouth twitched, barely there, but unmistakable. “Very well,” he said.

Jane exhaled slightly, as if she had just won a point she had not expected to win. “And it will be less noticeable if you trail behind me.”

The duke blinked once. “Excuse me?”

“In a carriage,” she clarified quickly. “Not walking behind me like some sort of escort. That would be worse. If I leave first, and you follow at a distance, no one will associate us.”

“That is your solution,” he said slowly.

“It is a logical one.”

He studied her for a moment longer. “It is unconventional.”

“So are you,” she replied immediately.

That earned another pause. This time, the duke did not argue. Instead, after a long moment, he gave a single, reluctant nod. “Very well,” he said. “Carriage at a distance.”

Jane exhaled, satisfied in spite of herself. “Good.”

Without waiting for further objection, she turned away from him.

The decision, once made, felt strangely stabilizing, as if structure had been imposed on chaos. She returned to where she had left her horse.

The animal shifted slightly as she approached, sensing her tension. Jane stroked its neck briefly, grounding herself in something physical, something simple.

Behind her, she heard the faint sound of movement. The duke’s carriage was being prepared somewhere nearby, quietly and discreetly, exactly as he had promised.

Jane mounted her horse. For a moment, she hesitated. Then she glanced back.

The duke stood near the edge of the alley, partially obscured by shadow. He was watching her with the kind of attention that made her acutely aware of being seen.

Jane straightened slightly in the saddle, refusing to acknowledge the effect it had on her.

Then she turned forward and rode.

The streets of London opened around her again as she left the alley behind. The night had deepened, the gas lamps now brighter against the dark, casting long reflections on wet stone.

She did not look back at first. But she felt him behind her. The presence of the carriage at a careful, deliberate distance. Never close enough to be linked. Never far enough to be lost—as if the duke had decided that she would not be dismissed after all.

Jane kept her gaze forward, her grip steady on the reins. Eventually, her street came into view. Wynten House.

She dismounted quickly, moving with practiced silence, leading her horse toward the side entrance rather than the front. The household would not question her returning at this hour if she was discreet enough.

A servant would not be stationed here. Once she had secured her horse in the stable, she slipped inside through the back door. The house was asleep, or pretending to be.

Jane moved through the corridors carefully, removing her cloak as she went, folding it over her arm. Every sound felt amplified: the soft creak of floorboards, the distant ticking of a clock, her own breathing.

She reached her room without interruption. Only once inside did she allow herself to exhale fully. She crossed to the window almost immediately. Outside, the street was quiet. But there it was. The duke’s carriage stood across the street.

Jane stepped closer to the glass. For a moment, she could not see inside clearly. Then there was a faint shift. And she realized, with a slight tightening in her chest, that the duke was looking out, directly toward her window.

Even at this distance in the dark, their eyes met, and Jane felt something unfamiliar pass through her. Something between fear and comfort.

She did not move.

Then, after a moment that felt longer than it should have, the carriage began to move. Slowly at first.

She watched it leave as it turned into the street, disappearing into the night.

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Stolen by the Heartless Duke

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An Unwanted Temptation for the Duke

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About the Author

Born in sunny California, all Harriet Caves ever wanted was to become a doctor and save lives. During her sleepless nights working at the hospital, the Regency classics were her only solace. To no one’s surprise, her British descent led her back to England to discover her roots and where her hidden passion lay: the Regency streets of London.

After obtaining a degree in Creative Writing there, Harriet decided to never leave this magnificent place. A daydreamer and an avid reader herself, she loves spending her days exploring the British countryside or seeking stories under the pebbles of the historical London alleys.

Though she abandoned the hospital wards, Harriet now mends hearts by transporting people back to an era of passionate love. Allow her skilled pen to take you to a special place where souls sing of love and dreams come to life!