Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Hetty tore into the chamber that she was staying in, slamming the door behind her. The door thumped so loudly that a painting hanging on a wall adjacent to it suddenly crashed to the floor, lying awkwardly on the ground.

She stared at the painting, appalled that she might have inadvertently damaged it. Hastily, she picked it up. It was still in one piece, without a scratch on it. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she hung it back where it had been, her hands shaking as she adjusted it.

She was too upset and needed to calm down.

The tears that she had been holding at bay started to fall. Her hands in her face, she sobbed for a full minute, letting out all of her shock and sorrow. Eventually, she calmed down, just a little, enough to breathe easier.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring out the window at the grounds beyond. Why had he even brought her here? Had it been with the intention of telling her about his illegitimate son?

It was too much. The fact was, he had a bastard son, who he was raising in this house. If she were ever in a position to marry him, she must take that child on, as well. His morality, the essence of who he was, was murky, now.

He had told her that it had only been one time, that he had made love to the child's mother, and that he instantly regretted it. But how did she know if that was true? How did she know that the lady was not actually his mistress that he had been keeping the whole time? How did she know that he didn't have a string of them scattered around the countryside?

She took a deep breath. He was probably a lothario, a womaniser, who charmed the ladies and had his way with them, just like Frank. A man with no morals in that regard. How could she trust that he had told her the whole truth and had not coloured it, tweaked it, to make himself look better? Had the child's mother actually abandoned the Duke and her child, or had he cast her off? He had told her that he intended to do the honourable thing and marry the lady, but he never had.

She took a deep breath. And the fact was he had a child. A child that she would be morally responsible for if she married him. A bastard child. How could she take on such a thing, especially with what she had just discovered, about Frank? How could he even ask it of her?

A mistress. A bastard child. It was all sounding too similar.

The Duke of Warwick, and Frank Blackmore, were cut from the same cloth.

She took another deep breath. She would speak to Mama and tell her that they had to leave Warwick Manor, immediately. Her mother would protest, of course, but once she told her about the Duke's revelation, she would understand. They had all been hoodwinked by him.

Her heart lurched violently. She would never see the Duke again. That much was clear. And even though she knew it was the right, proper course of action, her heart was telling her a different thing, entirely.

***

Her heart was heavy, as she packed her trunk with shaking hands. It was late afternoon, now. The shadows were lengthening outside the window. Soon, it would be dusk.

Mama had knocked on her door demanding to know what was going on, but Hetty had not been able to speak to her. Not yet. She would leave it until the morning when she could speak calmly without breaking down, and then they could be away, straight after breakfast. She had heard nothing from the Duke.

But suddenly, there was a knock at the door, soft but insistent. Hetty took a deep breath, approaching it cautiously. "Who is it?"

"It is me," said a deep voice on the other side. "Please, Hetty, will you open the door? There is something that I must show you."

She hesitated. What was he talking about, now?

But before she could respond, the door opened. The Duke was standing there, a solemn expression on his face, holding the hand of a small child, who couldn't have been more than two years old.

Hetty gasped, staring at the child. He was beautiful, with golden curls framing his head like a halo. He looked like a cherub that had just fallen from heaven. He had big, green eyes, the exact same shade as the Duke's. And he had other similarities, as well. It was obvious that the man was his father.

"Benjamin," said the Duke, squatting down to speak to his son, "say hello."

"Hello," said the boy shyly, ducking his head.

"Please, Hetty," begged the Duke, staring up at her. "Can we come in?"

How could she refuse, with the boy on his hand tugging at her heartstrings? Slowly, she nodded her head, feeling once again that she was at risk of bursting into a frenzy of tears.

***

Benjamin hugged his father's leg, peering up at her, hesitantly. She couldn't help it. She smiled at the boy and was rewarded with a coy smile back before he ducked his head, burying it into his father's leg.

"He is beautiful," she said, in a trembling voice. "A credit to you."

The Duke smiled wryly. "He is shy with you because he does not know you, but he can be a little tearaway," he said, ruffling his son's curls. "He runs rings around his nanny and all the other servants. And he is stubborn if he cannot get what he wants."

She gazed at him sadly. "His mother wants nothing to do with him at all?"

The Duke shook his head. "I have not heard from her since she fled when he was only months old," he said, his face twisting in pain, for a moment. "I made discreet enquiries, as to her whereabouts. She is safe, back with her previously estranged family." He took a deep breath. "She knows where he is, and that I would never abandon him. But I shall not force her to have a relationship with him if she does not want it. It could do more damage to him in the long term than the clean break he has now …"

She sighed heavily, feeling so very sorry, for this little boy. "He is young," she said, in as steady a voice as she could muster. "He probably will have no memory of her at all. That is a blessing, at least."

He nodded wearily. "Yes, I console myself with that knowledge."

The boy was looking at her more boldly, now, with open curiosity.

"You are pretty," he said abruptly, in a high voice.

She laughed. The Duke laughed, too, nodding his agreement.

"Hetty is very pretty," he said, gazing at her intently. "A pretty lady, and a kind one, too, Ben."

The boy ducked his head shyly again, tugging at his father's britches. "Want Nanny," he said, looking woebegone.

"Of course," said his father, scooping him up into his arms. He looked at Hetty. "It is very close to his bedtime. He has a strict routine, of tea, bath, and bed, at this time of night. I should return him to the nursery now."

"It was very nice to meet you, Ben," said Hetty, feeling as if she was going to burst into tears, once more. The sight of the small boy with the golden curls had touched her in a way that she had not expected.

It had been so very easy to dismiss him as a bastard child, as society taught. But seeing the reality of this small child, abandoned by his mother, pulled at her heartstrings. The circumstances of his birth were not his fault, nor was the fact that his mother did not want to have anything to do with him. In God's eyes, he was an innocent.

And she knew what it felt like to be abandoned. It had only been her husband, who had done it to her – a man who she had never really loved, anyway. How much worse would it be to be abandoned by a mother, who was the one person on earth who was supposed to love you, no matter what?

Suddenly, her own situation seemed so much better by comparison. She had been dwelling in her misery over it, but seeing this little child, who might have ended up in an orphanage, poor and unloved if it wasn't for the man in front of her, cleared it completely.

"Bye," said the boy, waving a chubby hand.

"Bye," she said, smiling.

The Duke walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He shot her a look of gratitude, just before he closed it. Their eyes met, and held, for just a second.

***

He returned to her in just under an hour, knocking on the door again. When she opened it this time, she was glad that he was there. Without a word, she let him in.

There was a strained silence, for a moment, before he turned to her, his green eyes intense.

"I know that it was a cheap trick to bring Ben to you," he said in a strangled voice. "But I had to make you see that he is just a small child, and not the demon that society would have you believe."

Hetty felt utterly ashamed of herself. "Of course he is just a child," she said, her voice trembling. "And he deserves extra love because of what has happened to him. I do not blame him in any way for the circumstances of his birth. You must believe me."

He looked touched. "Thank you," he said. "It has been a hard road. There are some who would have nothing to do with him because he is illegitimate. He will face prejudice, wherever he goes in life, even if he is the son of a duke."

She nodded. "You shall bring him up to believe in himself, I am sure …"

He stepped closer to her, taking her hand in his. "I want both of us to bring him up," he said softly, his eyes ardent. "I shall stand by you regardless, Hetty. But will you stand by me?"

She felt a deep yearning in her innermost soul.

"How can I trust you?" she whispered. "Why did you not tell me of his existence, before?"

"How could I?" he whispered back. "You were so very hurt, and distrustful of me. I thought that if I told you about Ben, straight away, that you would never consider me as a suitor. That I would never get the chance to woo you."

She took a deep breath. "And you have told me the whole truth, now? You swear it?"

He nodded, his eyes shining. "I swear it, Hetty," he whispered. "Everything that I told you in the garden today is the truth. The way that I met Rachel, our relationship, her abandonment of our child … everything." He hesitated. "And the way that I have always felt about you. My desire to get the chance to love you properly, and marry you."

She couldn't help it. A single tear coursed down her cheek. Her heart swelled with love for him.

Could she do it? Could she cross that bridge and truly trust him? Believe in his love for her, and her for him? Suddenly, she wanted to, so very much. She wanted to believe that he was telling her the truth and that it was possible that she could be loved and love in return. That her experience with Frank Blackmore was not the end of her, and she had to bury herself in a convent, scared of life and love.

Hesitantly, slowly, he reached out, stroking her face. The touch was tender. She moaned, turning her face into his palm, and kissing it.

The effect was immediate. He scooped her up in his arms, kissing her desperately. She responded with alacrity, kissing him back so that they were twisted in passion. Her body felt like it had suddenly been set on fire.

"I love you so much, Hetty," he whispered. "You are the only woman for me. I would walk over hot coals, for you …"

"I love you, too," she whispered back, her voice choking.

The words, once released, felt incredibly freeing. As if she had just lifted a great weight off her shoulders.

She had never dreamt that such love was possible. Nor that it could be so hard to get to it. All of her doubts and her fears suddenly melted away like ice underneath the sun. She physically felt them unravelling within her.

Yes, he had lied by omission to her. But for good reason. And she realised now that this man's honour was not in question. He had brought his illegitimate son into his home, caring for him, after his mother abandoned him, flying in the face of convention. If that was not the action of a good man, then she did not know what was.

And he was determined to win her despite her own disgrace and the low probability that she would ever be divorced. He did not care about what society thought of her, any more than he did not care what society thought about his illegitimate son. He was brave, and he was courageous. He had the heart of a lion.

Suddenly, he scooped her up, sweeping her off the ground as if she were as light as a feather. Tenderly, he placed her upon the bed, his mouth never leaving hers.

And then, he was trailing kisses down her neck, finding her breasts. She moaned, deep in her throat, as his mouth descended on a nipple, sucking and nipping. Instinctively, she arched her back, filled with a fire that she was scared would consume her entirely.

His mouth travelled lower, and suddenly – shockingly – he buried his head beneath her gown, pulling at her undergarments. She gasped as she felt his mouth touch her in her most intimate place. There was the hot wetness of his tongue against her flesh. He was licking her, lapping at her. She turned her head, putting her fist into her mouth as the most incredible sensations started to rise within her, growing stronger with every moment.

She heard a moan, realising with shock that it had come from her own mouth. He licked her harder, almost in a frenzy. She felt a hot burst of wetness seep out of her. She had never dreamt that such a thing was possible. How had she never heard of it?

She twisted on the bed almost in agony, clutching the bed covering, her hands balled into fists. He reached up, putting his hands over hers, forcing them down as he continued his bewildering attentions.

She felt like she was climbing, soaring, towards something that she did not know nor understand. An incredible sweetness. It was growing ever stronger, more intense, so fierce, that she cried out.

Abruptly, suddenly, the feelings peaked, a potent rush of sweetness that she could barely endure. She cried out again, twisting on the bed, as she felt a hot sweat break out all over her. For one dizzying moment, she hovered in the halls of ecstasy before she felt the sensations slowly subsiding.

It was over. She slowly opened her eyes, confused. It was as if she had lost all sense of time and place. Outside the window, it was dark now. An indigo sky, almost like a bruise. She knew that she would never forget it.

He held her in his arms, gazing down at her tenderly, reaching out to pull a stray hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Happy?" he whispered, his eyes trailing over her face.

"Very happy," she whispered back, blushing. "I simply had no idea that such pleasure was possible. That you could make me feel such things …"

He laughed softly. "I am glad that you experienced it for the first time with me, Hetty," he whispered, tenderly kissing her on the cheek. "It is the love between a man and a woman. Part of the many things that can happen when we lie together. There is so much more to explore, so much more to discover." He hesitated. "But now is not the time. It is almost the hour for dinner, and I do not want your mother knocking on the door, demanding to know what is going on."

Hetty gazed at him, in wonder. How was it possible that he could do that to her? And suddenly, she knew, without a shred of doubt, that she would never have experienced anything like this if she was still with Frank. That it would have been the chore that her mother spoke about the night before her wedding.

Because it was his love that had unleashed it. It was his hands, alone. It was the way that he held her, so tenderly, and every look that he gave her. It was a million things that added to the total. He did truly love her. It was there, in every touch.

And it was her love for him, as well. Her love for this honourable man, who had worked patiently to win her trust and her heart.

"You have made me the happiest man in the world," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "It has been worth everything to see you here like this, shaking with pleasure. Everything , Hetty."

She reached up, kissing him ardently. Lost in him, once again.

She knew that the chances were slim that she would ever get her divorce. She knew that she might never end up as this man's wife.

But suddenly, she was willing to risk it all, for that slim chance. For the possibility of lying in this man's arms like this, every single night of her life.