Beyond Scandal and Desire Page 5

  He wanted to be acknowledged as the better son, to prove his worth was more than that of the legitimate spawn. He wanted his father to know he had vastly misjudged his bastard’s potential, to regret he had ever sentenced him to death.

  Chapter 4

  “Father, what do you know of Mick Trewlove?” Kip asked, and Aslyn very nearly choked on her glazed pheasant. They’d agreed not to mention him, and here he was mentioning him.

  Oddly, the duke concentrated on slicing his poultry as though it required precision. “I’m not familiar with the man.”

  “He’s razed all the buildings in a rundown area of London and is now replacing the structures. He’s already built a massive hotel and from what I can gather has plans for a series of shops. I thought we might consider investing with him—­”

  “Let’s not talk business during dinner.”

  “Oh, let’s,” Aslyn blurted, wanting to hear more about the enigmatic Mr. Trewlove, although she knew it was improper to show any interest in another man. But her interest was mere curiosity, not anything untoward. “Well, not business necessarily, but of the new shops. Ladies always have an interest in new shops. What sort exactly?”

  “I’m not sure,” Kip said. “He’s rather tightlipped about his plans.”

  “You’ve spoken with him, then.” When, where? What had he said?

  “No, but some gents at the club have. He made them a fortune in another venture.”

  “It’s crass to discuss money,” the duchess said, from her place at her husband’s side. She appeared so small and frail next to the robust duke. She wore a pale pink gown that went well with her salt and pepper hair. “Besides, do we even know the gentleman’s family?”

  “I doubt it. There’s some question as to his”—­Kip cleared his throat—­“legitimacy.”

  The duchess appeared absolutely scandalized. “Then you should not be associating with him, much less discussing him at the dining table with two ladies present.”

  Mick Trewlove was born in sin? Little wonder he had the devil’s look about him. She’d welcomed him holding her hand, kissing it, when in truth he shouldn’t have been allowed near enough to breathe the same air as she.

  “It’s not as though I’m planning to invite him to dinner,” Kip said. “But he has become a man of wealth—­”

  “We do not associate with the immoral.”

  “But is it not his mother to whom that designation should apply?” Aslyn asked. “Surely a child cannot be held accountable for his parents’ sins.”

  “A child born out of wedlock is tainted.” The duchess became more agitated. “You must not associate with this man, Kip. I forbid it.”

  “But—­” the earl began.

  “You heard your mother,” the duke said, cutting off any objections his son might have put forth. “There will be no further discussion regarding this man or this matter.”

  “However, you may pray for his soul for it is certainly in need of redemption,” the duchess said. “Aslyn, how was your visit with the dressmaker?”

  The abrupt change in topic had her head spinning. She glanced over at Kip who was signaling for more wine—­an indication he wasn’t going to pursue his preferred avenue of conversation. They would not be discussing the more interesting Mick Trewlove. Rather she would have to entertain them with talk of silk and satin. “My new gown is coming along. I’ll return in a few days for my final fitting.”

  “It would be more convenient to have the seamstress come here.”

  Which was how the duchess handled it when she wanted new clothing. But Aslyn couldn’t live her life without moving beyond these walls. “It was a lovely day. I welcomed the excuse to go out.” And she’d needed to speak with Mr. Beckwith. She wondered if he’d made the delivery she’d requested.

  The conversation turned toward the balls and affairs she and Kip would attend. Never was a ball hosted here. She wondered if the duchess missed them. Or did a time come when they no longer held any appeal, when they were attended out of duty rather than enjoyment?

  Finally dinner came to an end.

  “Worsted, Lady Aslyn and I shall have tea in the parlor,” the duchess announced to the butler. The duke stood and pulled out her chair. Aslyn rose and Kip came to his feet.

  “Kip and I shall have our port in the library,” Hedley said, “then we’ll meet you ladies in the parlor.”

  “Actually I won’t be staying,” Kip said. “I have an appointment.”

  “This time of night?” his mother asked.

  Kip blushed. “It’s barely nine. Most bachelors my age have appointments this time of night.”

  “I was hoping for a game of cribbage,” Aslyn said. It wasn’t fair that he could go off and do what he wanted, and she was left here with very little in the way of entertainment.

  “You know how much I enjoy playing against you, but I’ve already made these plans, and there are those who are counting on me to make an appearance. Perhaps you can trounce me another time.”

  She did usually win. “I’ll walk you to the door, then, shall I?”

  He bowed slightly and smiled. “I would enjoy that.”

  She doubted it as she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

  “I’ll join you in the library,” the duchess said to the duke, and Aslyn watched them walk off, arm in arm, before turning her attention back to Kip, who was coming around the table to join her.

  “Don’t scowl,” he said, offering his arm. “I got you out of drinking tea.”

  She wound her arm around his. “Are you headed to Cremorne?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.” He escorted her from the dining room and along the hallway.

  “I should like to go with you.”

  “I’m staying late tonight.”

  “With Mr. Trewlove? And before you deny it, I overheard you making arrangements last night.”

  “Little scamp.”

  Which wasn’t exactly a denial that she had the right of it. “Your parents won’t be pleased to discover you’re spending time in his company.”

  “Which is the reason you won’t mention it to them.”

  “If you take me with you.”

  Coming to a stop in the foyer, he faced her, his features set in a determined mask. “We’re going to be engaged in activities inappropriate for women.”

  “I could stand in the shadows. No one would notice me.”

  He tucked a finger beneath her chin. “They would definitely notice you. Going with me tonight is absolutely out of the question.”

  “Will you take me to the gardens again sometime? Very soon?”

  “Not in the too near future,” he said with an exaggerated scowl, which she knew indicated he didn’t mean it. “I wouldn’t want you to get spoiled.”

  But if he loved her, shouldn’t he want to spoil her? The unkind musing raced unbidden through her mind. She’d never before had a harsh thought toward him, but then she’d never before had anyone to compare him against, had never had any interest whatsoever in anyone other than him. She tried to convince herself that she still didn’t, but the little falsehood mocked her.

  Trewlove. it was a name that sent ice skittering down his spine, even after all these years.

  Gerard Lennox, Duke of Hedley, had received from the man a half-­dozen letters seeking an audience with him. The words had been terse and to the point: I am your bastard. I want you to publicly acknowledge me.

  He’d ignored them all, except for the first, as he had no intention of ever acknowledging the bastard. He’d given the Widow Trewlove extra coins so the child might have a fair start in life. Other than that, Hedley would take no responsibility for him.

  “Darling?”

  He glanced up at his wife, who sat in the plush chair opposite him, sipping her brandy, while the fire roared, comfortably warming her, ye
t causing him to sweat. “Yes, my sweet?”

  “You seem miles away.”

  Years away. Thirty-­one to be exact. He’d been young, frightened and so afraid of losing the only woman he’d ever loved. Reckless in his actions, actions that haunted him every hour of every day. He’d been stupid, careless, not nearly as cautious as he should have been. All of his focus had been on doing what was best for his love. In spite of everything, that night had cost them both, and he’d lost her.

  There were moments when he still searched for her, hoped to find her again.

  “What were your thoughts?” his wife asked.

  “I was just thinking that Kip is of an age where he needs more responsibilities. At twenty-­eight he plays far too much.”

  “Marriage will change all that. It did for you.”

  Ah, yes, it had changed him, not necessarily for the better. Sipping his port, he stared at the fire. If he only knew then what he knew now. Hindsight was a curse.

  “I always thought Kip and Aslyn would settle on each other,” Bella said. “But if he doesn’t ask her this Season . . . she’s all of twenty. He will see her on the shelf.”

  “Don’t fret. I’ll have a word with him.”

  She nodded. “He is a good lad. He will make a good husband.” She smiled softly, whimsically. “You’ve set a fine example.”

  He had been a good husband, but he wasn’t altogether certain he’d been the best of men. And the bastard was likely to make him pay for his error in judgment.

  The earl of Kipwick was a reckless gambler. Mick knew it within fifteen minutes of sitting him down at a table within the Cerberus Club. They’d met at the entrance to Cremorne Gardens and ridden together in the earl’s carriage, not a word spoken, as though his new friend were distracted by the possibilities of the night’s adventures.

  Before long, he was going to be distracted by the lightness of his purse.

  The club was dark, loud, filled with smoke. Commoner and nobility alike frequented this place, played against each other. The tables made disparate men equals.

  Aiden Trewlove had strict rules governing behavior at his club. Cheating wasn’t tolerated. He’d been known to break fingers, had taken great pleasure in snapping a duke’s once. Titles were left at the door. They had no place in the world Aiden had created within the confines of these walls. Mick often wondered what would happen if Aiden’s father or one of his legitimate sons walked through the door. He suspected a good many fingers might be broken.

  Odd how little care those who had brought problems to Ettie Trewlove’s door had taken to hide their identities. But then what weight would her words carry when compared against those spoken by someone of means, influence and power? They’d all thought themselves safe against a desperate widow in need of coins in order to survive, willing to do whatever necessary to ensure her continued existence.

  His father, at least, would soon learn he’d been wrong to believe himself protected from his sins.

  “Does your sister come here?” Kipwick asked, lifting his cards from the table to study them.

  Mick felt a jolt of protectiveness shoot through him. A few women were gambling—­not a one of them noble or even giving the appearance they had a farthing to spare, but then their currency usually involved a hiking of the skirts. “No.”

  Kipwick lifted his gaze to Mick’s, no doubt taken aback by his curt response. “I assume she is well.”

  “She is.”

  The earl grinned. “You don’t like me asking after her.”

  “ ‘E’s protective of ‘is sisters ‘e is,” the bricklayer to his right offered.

  “Sisters?”

  “ ‘E’s got two of ’em. One’s the daintiest thing ye’ve ever seen. The other not so much. Tall as a lamppost.”

  “I’d hate for Gillie to stop serving you gin, Billy,” Mick said, his low voice directed the bricklayer’s way.

  “Didn’t mean nuffin’ by it. She’s a fine woman, she is, your sister. Just not to me tastes.”

  “Button your lip while you’re ahead.”

  The man gave a brusque nod and studied his cards as though his life depended on them adding up to twenty-­one.

  “She sounds fascinating,” Kipwick said. “She wasn’t with you last night?”

  “She was otherwise occupied.” While he hadn’t liked the inquiries regarding his sisters, he was well aware it would make his own less suspicious. He signaled to a nearby lad to fill Kipwick’s glass. “The woman on your arm—­I assume you have an interest in her.”

  Kipwick downed the swill. The glass was immediately refilled. The earl seemed to have an equal interest in drinking and wagering. “We’re expected to marry.”

  Odd phrasing that. Before Mick could contemplate further, Kipwick smiled wistfully. “I’ve adored her since we were children.”

  So there was an investment there. Always more satisfying to take from a man when he’d given part of himself into that which was being taken.

  “Our parents were close. From the moment she was born, they saw us as a match. Ancient families, political allies and all that.”

  Ancient families who fought to keep their bloodlines pure by ridding themselves of the impure who littered their dynasties. Mick had no plans to be gotten rid of so easily. Satisfaction was to be found in rising from the ashes.

  Kipwick lost the hand with relaxed aplomb. He even laughed about it, as though money meant nothing to him. Easy to do when a man had never done without, had never been forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for sustenance, had never felt hunger gnawing at his belly, the frigid winds taking up residence in his bones, or the ache of muscles pushed beyond their limits.

  The earl signaled for more whiskey, then met Mick’s gaze. “I have an interest in investing with you.”

  “I’m not currently in need of investors.” He took satisfaction in his words, in the disappointment washing over Kipwick’s face before he downed his whiskey in one long swallow and gestured for another pour. After the lad filled the glass, the earl simply claimed the bottle and banged it on the table, obviously determined to finish off the contents himself.

  “You must have some sort of business opportunity on the horizon. You’re not known for being idle.”

  “Gathering information about me?”

  “Merely reading the newspapers and gossips rags.” His brow furrowed. “Although I had no luck finding anything about you in the Society pages.”

  “Society frowns on my presence.”

  “Wealth can make them overlook a great many ills. Wealth as well as the right friends, of course. Someone who could introduce you around. Say, if he were a partner.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” The earl seemed rather displeased that Mick didn’t jump on the offer. But it will be a cold day in hell before I take any action that will put coins in your pockets.

  Although he could certainly see why Kipwick seemed desperate for money. He had no luck at all at the games, losing far more hands than he won. His glass was continually refilled with whiskey and tossed back. A man who didn’t keep a clear head when gambling garnered no sympathy from Mick when the gent found himself with an empty purse. By the time the earl discovered himself in that position, his reasoning ability had deserted him, and he was certain the next hand would reverse his fortunes.

  With the earl’s signature on a sheet of foolscap, the owner of the club loaned Kipwick five hundred pounds, which he promptly lost. Mick doubted it would be the first marker Aiden collected. If the earl had been able to keep his head from lolling about, Aiden might have loaned him more, but Aiden Trewlove did possess a small amount of scruples.

  Mick gathered up the earl. “Come along, let’s get you home.”

  “I’ve yet to win back my losses.”

  “Another night, perhaps.”

  Kipwick might have been on the ver
ge of nodding. Instead when his head went back, his eyes slammed closed, and he promptly crashed to the floor. Mick knelt beside him, checked for a pulse. Still alive.

  “He’s a drunkard,” Aiden said from just over Mick’s shoulder.

  “Apparently.”

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Tonight I’ll see him to his residence.” But one night in the future, he wouldn’t be so accommodating and the earl could remain wherever he fell.

  Mick stood to the side while a couple of Aiden’s men trundled Kipwick inside the waiting carriage.

  “Christ, you two look alike,” Aiden whispered beside him. “I don’t understand how he can’t see the resemblance.”

  “The nobility never truly looks into the faces of those they consider beneath them. Besides, the beard helps. And he’s not looking for a resemblance. You are.”

  “Like you and Kipwick, Finn and I have the same father and different mothers but we favor each other not in the least. But the two of you—­”

  “We favor our father. That will serve me well when the time comes.”

  “How long before that happens?”

  “Not long.” He held up two fingers. “I’ll take the marker.”

  Aiden slipped it between the extended fingers. Mick tucked into a pocket, patted it lovingly. “Now that he knows where the place is, he’s bound to come here without me in the future. Keep a watch over him and send word when he does. His vices will lead to his downfall.”

  “And the girl?”

  “I’ll be the path to her downfall.”

  Leaving his brother where he stood, Mick climbed into the carriage and settled himself on the squabs opposite Kipwick. No lantern burned inside the conveyance. Just as well. He didn’t want to have to take note of the similarities between them, didn’t want to be forced to acknowledge he was related to this man, this gent who had been raised within their father’s shadow.