“Kitty, my son is not my own.” His face illuminated in the flickering light from the hearth was drawn, his cheekbones and jaw hard. The blanket came only to his hips, the masculine strength of his arms and chest taut with tension.
“Who is his father?” she finally whispered.
He turned his head and met her gaze. “My brother. And I had him murdered for it.”
Kitty’s heart turned over, and her stomach. “The duel?”
“I arranged it.” He looked again at the canopy above. “I meant only to frighten him. And, I suppose, to threaten him. I was insane with jealousy.”
“Then you did not—did not want him to die?” She knew the answer already. She would not love him so if he were capable of that sort of hatred.
“No.” He shook his head. “But he deloped. And as his opponent’s tricks with a pistol were well known to him, he chose to step into the shot intended to pass him by.”
For a long moment the only sound in the chamber was the soft hiss of flames in the grate.
“My wife disappeared shortly after that,” he finally said. “I think she feared for my sanity. She told her family she was going on holiday with me. But she was not. She left the baby in Scotland and came here to hide, I think. They found her two months later in the Thames. She had apparently been there for some time.”
A soft bluster of warm air rose from the hearth, sending the light dancing along walls and bedding and the man beside her who had told her a horror story.
“Does your son know?”
“No one knows. None among the living.”
“Why did you tell me?”
He shifted onto his side and took her hand. “Because,” he said roughly, “I would have no secrets between us. And because I am by nature a jealous man.”
“How jealous?”
His brow creased. “I should think that is now obvious.”
“You did not mind it when you thought I was flirting with Mr. Yale at the inn.”
“I did.”
“You did not.”
“Then he is an exception.”
“What about Mr. Cox?”
His face went still. “I was. Very much so.”
She wanted to tell him he hadn’t anything to concern himself over, that her heart was thoroughly his and no other man would ever touch it. But she kept her counsel. She was at least wise enough to know she must not continue to set herself in comparison to his adored wife.
She drew her hand away and tucked it into the coverlet against her chest.
“Kitty, I read the file on Poole.” His voice remained low. “He was a villain.”
She hadn’t thought she had any breath left to give, but a sound ushered forth, soft and short.
“I hope the man courting your mother is not as well.”
She nodded, swallowing past the tears gathering at the back of her throat. “Do you think this trap will work?”
“If he is guilty.”
“Must you really go there in the morning yourself?”
He nodded. Then, watching her, his brow furrowed anew. He leaned up on his elbow.
“Kitty, you are not thinking of going. Do not tell me you are.”
“Then I will not tell you. But I will be withholding the truth. I told Lord Chamberlayne I would meet him there.”
“No.”
“Yes. I must be completely convincing. What sort of self-respecting jilted woman would not wish to actually see her lover ruined? I cannot simply leave it to faith. That would be contrary to what Lord Chamberlayne knows of me, after all. What everyone knows.”
“He agreed to it?”
“I told him he hadn’t any choice.”
“Kitty, this is foolhardy.” His eyes looked intense. “If Gray’s suspicions are accurate, Chamberlayne cannot be happy believing I know the location of the ship’s cargo.”
“But I must know if he is guilty. Do you think this is easy for me, Leam? Betraying my mother so that I do not betray my country?”
“No.” He captured her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. “I know it cannot be. But if I believe you to be in danger, I will not be at my best.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, his words bittersweet. “It is too … complicated.”
He did not respond. Instead he cupped his hand around her face and kissed her. She reached for his arms, running her palms along his smooth muscles.
“Kitty.” He stroked the side of her breast. “Do you wish me to remain here for a while yet tonight?”
“Yes.” She could not lie. “More than I can say.” Good riddance, wisdom and circumspection! Her tongue would reveal her, after all, it seemed.
His thumb passed over her hardening nipple, sending a tingling ache into every part of her.
“Then promise me,” he whispered, “that you will not go to the meeting tomorrow morning.” His hand tortured, his hip shifting against hers.
“Blackmail does not become you, my lord,” she uttered, then gasped as he touched her between her legs. She had not known this was possible, to be roused so easily so many times in one night. But she was still hot from their lovemaking and so easily stirred by his touch.
“Promise me.” He caressed and she was lost.
“Yes,” she breathed. Then again, “Yes,” when he came inside her with his finger. And again, “Yes,” when he made her come with only his hand, slowly and beautifully, his mouth caressing her breasts, the need inside her now perpetually longing for him.
Then he gave her more. And he made it last even longer than before, until she was nothing but liquid pleasure to do with as he willed. Which she had been from the start, in any case, in a tiny inn in Shropshire when she had believed the worst thing in life could be surrendering her reason to a man who went about with great shaggy dogs.
When it was over, he settled her against his chest in the circle of his arm.
“I trust I needn’t repeat that you have promised.” He spoke against her hair, and it seemed so intimate and familiar.
“You blackmailed. I promised. It seems fairly clear which of us has had practice convincing others to do as we wish.”
“Not in precisely that manner.” He sounded as though he were falling asleep. But his words pleased her far too much. It seemed, perhaps, she had something of a jealous nature too, after all.
After a time she felt certain he slept. She stroked two fingertips along the taut sinew of his forearm. He did not stir, his breaths even, the hollow plane of cheek to jaw and the sensuous curve of his mouth holding her rapt. She whispered, “I want to go back to Shropshire,” because longing filled her heart with a sorrowful sort of joy and she could not hold it inside any longer. And because she could say foolish things to him now and he would not hear.
But he said, “As do I.” He wrapped her hand in his and drew it to his chest. “Now go to sleep.”
“Why? You will be leaving soon, won’t you?”
“Too soon. And as much as I enjoy your conversation, tonight I wish the pleasure of sleeping beside you, even for a short time.”
What could she say to that?
He pressed a kiss onto her brow. “Happy birthday, Kitty.” He held her, and remarkably soon she slept.
When she awoke, he was gone.
Chapter 23
When the dowager appeared at the breakfast table, her eyes were lively, her gaze on Kitty keen.
Unfortunately Kitty could do nothing to hide the flush on her cheeks or anxious cold of her palms. By now the meeting between Leam and Lord Chamberlayne had taken place. She had only to wait, praying he would send word.
“I did not expect you up for hours yet, Kitty dear.” Her mother lifted a cup to her mouth. “Mrs.
Hopkins told me of your late visit from the Watch. An incident with dishes in the kitchen, apparently.”