Nate swallowed his bile as he faced his brother and the rowdy entourage of friends and female companions that seemed to always travel with him. Often Ronald’s crowd included middle class young ladies of lost virtue, who foolishly imagined they could land a title if they were amenable enough to their aristocratic hosts. The women weren’t quite whores, but certainly weren’t respectable enough to be invited to into most ladies’ drawing rooms. That was fine with Ronald, who preferred seedier London venues, spending most of his time in brothels and gambling hells and the homes of friends equally as profligate in their ways as he.
Nate reminded himself not to be judgmental despite the fact that Ronald’s habits were draining the estate like a freshly opened wound. After all, he himself was currently indulging in decadent eroticism with a widow—hardly respectable behavior. Everyone had his flaws.
“I hadn’t expected you back from town so soon,” Nate greeted his brother.
“The social whirl became a yawn. I decided some time at the old homestead, hunting and fishing, would be more amusing.” Which meant Ron was in some new kind of trouble and owed debts he couldn’t repay.
Nate stiffened as Ron draped an unwelcome arm around his shoulders, playing the prodigal earl returned to the bosom of his loving family. They’d never been that close, even as boys.
“Who is your lovely companion?” Ron turned his attention to Cecile, who stood looking uncomfortable at the sudden influx of visitors.
“My guest, Madame Lambeaux,” Nate introduced her succinctly.
“Enchante, Madame.” Ronald stepped toward Cecile to take her hand in his and bow over it. Manners dictated his kiss should brush the air just above her hand, but the earl pressed his lips to her flesh and lingered there just long enough to make the kiss suggestive and rude.
A hot flash of anger burned through Nate at the inappropriate familiarity of the gesture. It was hard to remember all the promises he’d made to try harder with Ron next time he returned home. Sibling or not, he quite simply despised the man, every aspect of his wastrel personality. Nate searched for redeeming qualities, but found very few.
Cecile drew her hand away from the earl and moved closer to Nate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“Have you been enjoying your visit to my estate? It’s some of the finest land in the district. I hope my brother has been entertaining you suitably. He tends to be a bit bookish when not astride a horse. I plan to host more interesting diversions over the next few weeks. You must stay and enjoy them.”
The fact that Ron had emphasized his ownership of the estate wasn’t lost on Nate, and the fire inside him burned hotter. It was best he remove himself from his brother’s presence before he said something he’d regret.
“Madame and I have been on a long ride and I’m certain she’s ready for a rest. Perhaps you can make our introductions to your friends a bit later.”
Without waiting for an answer, Nate took Cecile’s arm and steered her away from the chattering, laughing group of strangers, who studied them both as if they were a new and interesting zoological display.
Once inside the house, he led her quickly from the front hall since the company would be spilling through the door right behind them at any minute. He felt like a fool, practically running away from Ron and his entourage, but he really didn’t want to face them until he was refreshed and mentally prepared for it.
Nate escorted Cecile upstairs and to her room. “Unfortunately, my brother doesn’t send notice ahead when he’s planning to come home. I’m sorry to have our interlude interrupted like this.”
“It’s fine,” she protested. “He is your family and has every right to be here.”
“I suppose, but I wanted this time for us alone. I know how loud and long Ron and his friends engage in revelries every night.”
Cecile smiled. “As large as this place is, I’m certain we can keep to ourselves if we choose.”
Nate had his doubts.
“Tell us more about yourself and your family, Madame Lambeaux. We’re always interested in visitors from abroad.” Miss Neismith’s nasal, high-pitched voice was enough to drive anyone to murder. Nate was fairly certain it was only the ample endowments of her body that had earned her an invitation since Ron had always been enamored with big tits.
“Yes, do,” her friend Miss Thomsen echoed her as she had done all evening. The pair of them chirping and fluttering together reminded him of a pair of budgies. “Tell us about your late husband and, of course, we want to hear about all the latest fashions in Paris.”
“I’m from Nice. I haven’t spent much time in the capitol.” Cecile’s low voice held all the culture and refinement that the other women present at the dining table struggled so desperately to achieve with their false airs and put-on accents. Nate felt a glow of warmth and appreciation for her elegance and subdued beauty. He also realized that the two parakeets had just prompted more facts about Cecile’s life than she’d shared with him in their entire time together, not including her sharing the story of the loss of her family during the Revolution. Whenever he’d asked a question about her more recent history, her life in France with her husband and as a widow, she’d neatly changed the subject. As she did now.
“That is a lovely gown, Miss Neismith. Who is your dressmaker?”
Nate’s attention was diverted from the ladies’ conversation by the fellow on his right, a fop with sideburns that grew nearly to his chin and a high pompadour. Nate had already forgotten his name, although he knew he’d been introduced to him on at least one of Ron’s past visits.
“What does one do for entertainment out here in the wilderness?” The man’s affected tone was nearly as high as Miss Neismith’s. “Is there no place to gamble or a brothel where I might find a local wench who doesn’t resemble a cow? I don’t know why your brother insisted on dragging us all away from town. I always find the country so dreary, don’t you? Well, obviously not or you wouldn’t be here, eh?” His chortle of humor sounded like a yapping lap dog.
Nate didn’t reply and his companion didn’t notice, but kept on prattling for the next quarter hour. When it was time for the gentlemen to adjourn for after-dinner cigars, Nate knew he couldn’t take one more moment with these people or abandon Cecile to the catty clawing of Ron’s “lady” friends. He was certain she was signaling him with her expressive eyes to save her.
The six gentlemen pushed back their chairs and rose, while the five ladies remained seated. Nate cleared his throat. “I must decline a smoke and bid you all goodnight as I am not feeling well, and Madame Lambeaux is tired from our long ride earlier today.”
Cecile murmured her farewell and he escorted her from the room. She clasped Nate’s hand the moment they were out of the dining room. “You are my hero. Thank you!”
He squeezed her hand. “If I’d had to listen to that yammering for one more minute, I might have lost my composure and shown that London lad exactly how uncouth and rough country folk like me can be.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Do you wish to take a stroll out in the garden or would you prefer retiring to my room?”
“Your room would be lovely. I must admit you didn’t lie about me being tired from our ride earlier. Although I’m getting better at sitting horseback, my body still aches and groans after any length of time in the saddle.”
“A sore bottom? I can help with that.” Nate stopped at the foot of the stairs and drew her into his arms, heedless of anyone who might come across them. It was his house and he’d be damned if he’d tiptoe around it like a mouse for the duration of Ronald’s visit. He settled his mouth over Cecile’s, tasting wine and a trace of the sauce from the pheasant at dinner. He stroked his hands down her back to the soft curve of her rear and gripped it.
She shifted against him and pressed her hands against his chest, breaking the kiss. “I don’t feel comfortable here. Let’s…” She nodded her head at the stairs.
As they resumed the walk to Nate’s bedchamber, thoughts of the day raced through his mind. Seeing Peter face to face had been an overwhelming moment for him, nearly as heart-jolting as when he’d first learned the boy existed. Until this afternoon he’d been able to postpone making any decision about how to deal with the boy. He’d told himself Peter was receiving a good education and that was all Nate was required to do considering he didn’t even know if the child was his. But seeing the boy’s face today, the features that so closely resembled his own reflection, had made it impossible for Nate to ignore his responsibility any longer. Cecile was right. The boy was family and deserved to be acknowledged and brought home after his grandmother had passed. Nate wouldn’t think of taking him away while she still lived and knew instinctively that Peter wouldn’t allow it. He could sense the stubborn and loyal spirit in the boy after only a few minutes spent with him.
“What are you thinking?” Cecile’s soft voice brought him back to the moment.
He opened the door of his room and pulled her inside. “I’m thinking of what I want to do to you this evening.”
“No, I believe it was something more serious than that. Tell me.”
Her concerned eyes and quiet tone were so welcoming she made him want to share his thoughts and feelings, something he’d rarely done except in occasional conversations with Dr. Boughton. It almost frightened him how much he relaxed with her and how much he wanted to give of himself. What would life be like after she went home? He didn’t think he could stand to be without her. Would she consider staying beyond a fortnight’s visit? Was a marriage proposal such an outlandish idea?
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Cecile continued as his silence dragged on too long. “It’s been a day full of revelations and upheavals. Perhaps we should simply rest quietly together.”
“Maybe not too quietly,” he teased as he turned her around and loosened her gown. He kissed her nape and the smooth skin of her upper back as it was revealed. A woman’s garments consisted of far too many layers, he decided, as he helped her shed them.
When they were both naked and reclining on his bed, Nate encouraged her to lie face down while he gave her another massage. He loved this view of her recumbent form, the gentle rises and falls of the landscape of her body. He ran the edge of his thumb all the way down her spine and she wiggled. Then he spanned her lower back in his hands and smoothed his palms over her waist and buttocks. Oh, those round globes of succulent flesh made him long to take a bite.
Suiting action to thought, he bent and kissed her there, nuzzled and tongued each cheek. Cecile squirmed even more and made a soft sound. The sweet feminine noise made his already stiffening prick become rock hard. His erection bumped against the mounded covers he’d pushed toward the foot of the bed, but he wanted to be inside her.
Nate gave one last kiss right at the apex of the dark cleft separating her buttocks then rose and resumed his massage, pressing the heels of his hands into her flanks and rubbing small circles on her rear. He felt the hardness of her pelvis beneath the soft flesh.
She groaned when he gently rubbed her tailbone.
“Poor sweet, I shouldn’t have suggested riding several days in a row, knowing you weren’t accustomed to it.”
“Your hands are working wonders, and the kisses were just the therapy I needed,” she replied.
He chuckled and lay down along her back, holding most of his weight on his elbows and knees. He loved the feel of her soft, yielding body beneath him, her smooth, strong back pressed against his chest. His cock was cradled between her cheeks as though the groove was made to fit him.
“I have something else for you that may be equally therapeutic.” The curls by her ear fluttered as he whispered.
Putting his hand between their bodies, he slid it into her pussy, checking her readiness. She was as slippery wet as grass after a rain, and she moaned softly at his touch. Nate took hold of his throbbing cock and guided it to where it desperately wanted to be.
He pushed inside the glorious wetness, as steaming as a tropical paradise. Heat and pleasure enveloped his cock, and he thrust into her with one strong push.
She moaned, not a sound of distress, but of pleasure. Her inner muscles drew him deeper, surrounding him like a fist.
Seated deeply within her, Nate paused and waited. He wanted this time to last. Too often he’d been so excited by her, by the feel of her, that the act had gone quicker than he wished. But tonight their lovemaking would be as leisurely as he could make it.
“I love taking you like this,” he murmured. “Covering you like a blanket while you hold me inside.”
Cecile didn’t answer, but the curve of her cheek was flushed and the single charming dimple beside her mouth flashed.
He pulled out in excruciating increments until only the tip of his cock remained in her, and then pushed in once more, slow and easy.
“Actually, I love having you any way, any place,” he continued, because he loved to see her blush. “Choosing a favorite is like trying to pick between seven different versions of heaven. Each may be a little different, but it’s all the same place—perfection.”
She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.
Nate grinned. “Over the top? I’ll stop talking now.”
That was easy to do because he needed his concentration to make this last. In. And out. He pumped slow and easy as Cecile lifted her bottom to meet his thrusts. He snaked a hand between her body and the mattress and felt for the little button that would pleasure her as much as she was pleasuring him. When he touched it, she gasped into the pillow.
My beauty, my love. He no longer verbalized the endearments, but felt them in his soul as he continued to move gently inside her. How sweet, how perfect. She was different from other women, possessing more depth of emotion and thoughtful introspection in his estimation. He could trust her to be truthful with him, as she had been today when she told him how she viewed his obligation to Peter. He felt he could trust her with anything…even his heart.
Nate moved faster as the primitive need to fill and possess her grew stronger, a deeper hunger usurping his slow lovemaking and making it careless, rough. As he thrust harder, his groin slapping her bottom, the powerful yearning inside swelled until it filled him and then exploded into ecstasy. He groaned as his seed spurted in strong, steady pulses.
Lost in a haze of bliss, he almost forgot to keep moving his finger on her clitoris. But Cecile found her own rhythm, rubbing herself against his hand until her breathless whimpers let him know that she’d reached her climax, too.
As he lay atop her, breathing deeply and recovering from his orgasm, Nate realized that once again he’d neglected to use the condoms he’d purchased specifically for Cecile’s visit. He hoped that she used an alternative method of prevention, but then he thought that maybe he didn’t want her to. Would it be so bad if she became pregnant? He’d already considered the idea of marriage, and the thought of having a family with this wonderful woman—a family that included Peter—sounded quite appealing. He only wished he knew more about Cecile.
Rolling to the side, he withdrew from her and lay on his back with an arm stretched languidly over his head. “That was lovely.”
“Lovely,” she echoed, turning her head on the pillow to face him. Her clear eyes met his and told him much more than that.
“Cecile, I’ve been thinking,” he began, then stopped, not knowing what to say next.
“Yes?” she said when he remained silent.
“Our time together has been wonderful and, as I said, I would like it to go on much longer…and perhaps in a different manner, a more official arrangement, so to speak. But I feel that I know so little about you. You’ve seen my family secrets laid bare, but I don’t even know your late husband’s name or the circumstances of his passing.”
Her eyelids lowered, hiding her from him and he wanted to tilt her chin up and force her to face him.
“I’ve respected your wish to remain private about your past, assuming that there was some trouble or pain you don’t want to recall. But now, with the intentions I have in mind, I’d like to learn more of your life, of the events that shaped you and brought you to me.”
Was she going to answer? Nate began to think not as she remained staring somewhere in the region of his breastbone.
“My life has been complicated,” she said softly at last. “I will tell you everything. I know that I must, but for tonight, can we not speak of it? Will you just hold me and let me hold you? I want to lie peacefully together for one more night before I must dredge up my past.”
He wondered what could be so horrible that made her sound as though she faced a guillotine blade. Did she think whatever she revealed to him would change his opinion of her? It couldn’t, and he had to reassure her of that fact.
“All right,” he soothed, reaching out a hand to stroke her shoulder and arm. “But I promise you that whatever you say won’t change my feelings for you. I know it’s very soon to say such things since we’ve known each other less than a month, but…I care for you deeply, Cecile.”
Once more her eyes met his, clear and unwavering. “I care for you, too. Very much. I’ve spent most of my life keeping my heart closed. It was safer to live that way. But when I saw you it was like the sun had come out to melt the ice. I saw you, wanted you and had to have you at all costs.”
Nate was puzzled at her choice of words. They were passionate and heartfelt, but hardly matched his recollection of their first meeting—two strangers introduced to one another at a house party.
She shrugged, dismissing the intensity of her proclamation. “I just want you to know that is the truth.”
He felt the other half of the sentence left unsaid was something along the lines of “no matter what happens”, and he couldn’t imagine what she had to say which she was so certain would change things between them.
Nate took her into his arms and pulled her against him, kissing the top of her head that tucked so neatly beneath his chin. “Tomorrow then. It can wait. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
They curled together in the tangle of bedclothes. Only an occasional spark popping from the low burning fire on the grate disturbed the silence, as they lay at peace as Cecile wished.
She didn’t tell him her story in the morning because Nate was up and away before dawn. The previous evening he’d sent servants and food to the Cuthbert house as promised: young Mary, one of the housemaids, to help with the nursing and McKibben, a footman, to fetch and carry whatever she needed and with instructions to get Dr. Boughton and Nate if things grew worse.
Nate had debated going back to the house himself to be with Peter during his grandmother’s passing, but had decided to wait for word from McKibben. Peter might feel uncomfortable having a stranger lingering there during such an emotional and private time. Nate didn’t know the best way to reveal his relationship to the boy and support him in seeing his grandmother out of the world. Was it better to step in or hold back for a while?
A knock on his bedroom door in the early hours of the morning roused Nate from sleep and made the decision for him. McKibben waited in the hall outside, breathless and with the scent of cool night air emanating from his clothes.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you said…”
“Yes. It’s fine. Has it happened?”
“Not yet, but the doctor says any time.” If McKibben wondered why his lordship wanted to be at the deathbed of one of his tenants, he didn’t show his curiosity. Perhaps he knew, as probably everyone in the district did, that there was a special relationship between the House of Covington and the bastard, Peter Cuthbert.
“Ready Jackdaw. I’ll be right down.”
Nate returned to the room, dark and chilly now with the fire burned to ash, and grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe.
The lump on the bed stirred and Cecile’s sleepy voice floated to him. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Cuthbert is at the end. I want to be there for Peter afterward.”
“I’ll come with you.” She sat up, her voice awake now.
“No. I’d rather go on my own this time. Sleep. I’ll see you as soon as I can tomorrow.”
“All right.” She paused. “I will pray for Mrs. Cuthbert’s soul, for Peter…and for you.”
After he’d dressed, Nate stooped to kiss Cecile’s cheek then hurried from the room.
His heart beat fast as he rode through the murky gray pre-dawn down the road and along the cross-country trail toward the Cuthbert cottage. He remembered other very early mornings when he was wide awake and charged with energy like this: the anxious sleeplessness prior to a battle, youthful meetings with Fiona before her work day began. It may have been on such a morning as this that Peter was conceived by a young couple grappling in the throes of love.
Nate could see now with the passage of time that while he had loved Fiona passionately and she appeared to care for him, they had been a poor match. When the initial flame of youthful obsession had burned out, what kind of life would they have had together? He pictured them raising Peter in a tiny flat, Nate working as a clerk and Fiona taking in sewing. It would have been a hard life, softened by their love, but still far removed from everything he knew. His interests, books and riding, would have been shelved in favor of food on the table and clothes on their backs. What would they have found to talk about after the thrill of lovemaking lessened?
With Cecile, on the other hand, he could well imagine growing old together, sharing interests as well as passion. She was a match for him, where Fiona had been a youthful ideal, and, if he were to be brutally honest, a rebellion against his father.
These thoughts filled his head as he spied a single lighted window that marked his destination. By the time he’d dismounted and tied up Jackdaw, memories had fled, replaced by the immediacy of the moment at hand.
He knocked on the door of the house then entered without waiting for an answer. Several people were clustered around the cot in the small room. Dr. Boughton bent over the patient, while Mary Cotton stood nearby with a basin in her hands. Peter stood on the other side of his grandmother’s bed with Mrs. Andrews’ hand resting on his shoulder. All of them glanced at him as he walked into the room. He nodded, but didn’t ask how the patient was. This was a deathwatch, and he’d seen enough of his fellow soldiers out of the world that he knew frivolous questions were painful at such a time.
He walked across the room and stood just behind Peter. After a glance at Nate, the boy had returned his attention to his grandmother. His smooth, young hand was wrapped around her gnarled one. The old woman’s slack face looked already dead, but her breath still rattled in and out, harsh and ugly. Mary’s soft voice murmured a prayer. Rose Andrews joined in.
Within two minutes of Nate’s arrival, as though aware he was there and commending her grandson into his care, Agnes stopped breathing. The silence was deafening. For a moment, no one moved or spoke, then Dr. Boughton leaned to close the dead woman’s mouth, Mary crossed herself and left the room to empty the basin of water, and Mrs. Andrews wrapped her arm tighter around Peter, drawing him close to her breast. Nate seemed to be the only one with no purpose here. He felt useless and a bit foolish as he waited and tried to decide what to say to a boy who’d just lost his beloved grandmother.
Peter didn’t cry. In fact, he seemed to be enduring rather than leaning into Mrs. Andrews’ stifling embrace.
Leave him alone. Can’t you see he needs some time to himself? Nate wanted to shout at the woman, who was murmuring soothing, pointless platitudes. And then suddenly like a light going on in a dark room Nate realized that this was the time. If he was to become the boy’s father, or something like one, now was the moment to step forward and take charge.
“Peter. Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?”
Both the boy and Rose Andrews looked at him.
Nate held out his hand. “Walk with me,” he half suggested, half commanded, and Peter pulled away from the woman’s arms and came to him.
Nate didn’t take his hand or put an arm around his shoulders, as they walked from the house and into the fresh morning air. The sky had turned pearly gray tinged with a blush of rose that signaled dawn was not far off. They walked up the hill, side by side, without speaking. Nate followed the boy’s lead, imagining him playing on this hillside as a child or perhaps driving the family cow back to its stall after a day’s grazing. His heart clenched at all the time he’d lost with this boy who might be his son.
They perched on a pair of boulders at the top of the hill and stared at the horizon as the rose grew slowly brighter. Nate told himself not to speak first. He didn’t know why, but he sensed it was the right thing to do, like holding out a hand patiently until a skittish colt quieted and came of its own accord.
“My granny was really old and sick. It’s good that she’s gone to heaven,” Peter remarked calmly after several minutes.
He’s in shock. Nate had experienced it himself often enough after bidding a mate goodbye. “Yes. She’s at peace now, but you’ll miss her terribly.”
Peter nodded. “But I suppose I’ll go back to school when the new term starts.”
“Do you like your school?”
He shrugged and picked a bit of moss from the stone. “It’s all right.”
“If it doesn’t suit, if you’re unhappy there, you can go someplace else. It’s up to you.”
Peter tossed the piece of moss then glanced at him. “You’re the one who pays, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Nate’s stomach churned as if it were the morning after a hard night’s drinking. His role in this child’s life was reduced to being “the one who pays”.
“People say things, like that my father is someone from the manor. Do they think children are deaf or don’t understand things?” He looked at Nate again. “So, is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Are you him?”
“I don’t know for sure.” He spoke the truth because a child could always sniff out a lie. “I loved your mother once, and you look very much like me.” There was no need to mention the rest, not until the boy was much older or asked the right question.
“I don’t remember my mother very well,” Peter said. “She died when I was small. But she used to tell me my father was a soldier who’d gone to war. Were you a soldier?”
“Yes.” Nate cleared his throat which seemed to have swelled, maybe from the cold air. “If I’d known about you, I would have come to see you. No one told me you existed.”
“Mm.” The boy grunted and began scratching at the moss again.
“If you wanted to, you could come and stay with me for a while…until school starts again. And if you don’t care for your school, we’ll find a better one.”
“I’m bad at Latin, but I suppose I should be bad at it no matter what school I go to.” His tone was polite but distracted, and Nate realized this was a terrible time to be introducing himself as a possible father. The boy’s grandmother wasn’t yet cold. He was too shocked to even begin mourning, let alone face the man who’d made him a bastard.
“I was always bad at Latin, too,” Nate said to fill the silence.
“However, I’m excellent at boxing,” the boy added.
Nate smiled, imagining this healthy farm boy taking on drawing-room bred noblemen’s sons. “I imagine you are.”
“Thank you for inviting me to visit, but I have matters to attend to concerning my grandmother’s interment.” Peter spoke formally as though refusing a second portion at high tea.
“You can’t stay alone.”
“I’m nearly twelve. I can look after myself.” The set of the boy’s jaw let Nate know that arguing would make him dig in his heels. This was a critical time in their relationship. Every word he uttered and every action would be judged and weighed. He needed to offer comfort and support, but not overwhelm the child with his sudden interest.
“Very well. I can see you’re very capable, but if you need anything, let me know. And if you change your mind, you can come to the house any time. I believe there are more than enough rooms.”
Peter ignored the small joke. “Are you the new Earl of Hillshire?”
“No. That’s my brother, Ronald. I’m Nathaniel, the younger brother.”
“Oh.”
They sat in silence while the sky lightened to pink and a sliver of gold shone above the horizon, then Peter sighed and slid down from the boulder. “I’d better go back. There are things to tend to. I suppose I shall order a coffin and arrange for the vicar to perform the ceremony.” He looked at Nate as though for confirmation that these were the right things to do.
The sadness in the boy’s eyes and the way he sought his guidance made Nate’s heart tighten like a fist. Once more he swallowed a lump in his throat before he answered. “I’m sorry about the loss of your grandmother. I can help you with the plans if you like.”
Peter shrugged and walked on ahead.
Nate trailed behind him, noting the boy’s erect bearing and wide shoulders. It wouldn’t be long before he was a man with all of a man’s responsibilities, but for now he was still a child, vulnerable although he didn’t know it, dependent although he wouldn’t admit it. Nate discovered he was intrigued at the prospect of helping him grow up and happy at the idea of being a father to a child who needed one.
If Cecile would marry him, he would instantly have a family. How strange and twisting life’s turns could be. A month ago he’d been completely focused on keeping the estate afloat. Now he was thinking of adding even more financial strain, but infinitely more joy to his life. A wife, a son, a future that was full and busy rather than lonely and empty.
The land lay golden before him, touched by the morning sun that shone on the new day.