CHAPTER 17

AS HE MOUNTED, HIS mood was as agitated as that of his stallion. What the hell was he doing? Why had he set out to woo her, to seduce her? Didn't he know he was playing with dangerous fire? And this fire could consume not only him but so much more: this amazing woman, the man who had sired him, and even the child that would come from this union.

Was he being unforgivably selfish in wanting something from her he couldn't have? He should have accepted her terms. Keep their affair uncomplicated. Bed her and get her with child quickly and with the least amount of emotion involved, and then they could part and go on with the rest of their lives.

She would have a baby, and if the child was male, a dukedom to oversee. He knew she would be a wonderful mother. And the duke, for however long he lived, would be a good father to this child. After all, they would have the desired heir. And he? Where did he fit into that cozy picture? Nowhere. He was the bastard. The outsider. The secret that would forever remain hidden. He had no place in their lives.

Yes, he should have gone with her plan. Every amorous relationship he had ever had in his life had included little to no emotional involvement. He had preferred it that way, so it was not as if he didn't have experience having sex without love.

He was just creating complications for all involved. Wanting more than he could have. The problem was, with her, he wanted it all. He wanted not only her body, but her passion as well. Her... love?

He didn't just want to get her with child. He wanted to be the father of her child. Wanted to claim her. Make her his in every way. Bind her to him with every law of God and man.

And his desires were so strong, this impossible urge so great, that it demanded a similar response from her. He wanted her to want the same things he did. To see his desperate desires mirrored in her eyes. And for what? Was he being cruel? Condemning her to burn in the same hell he did?

He knew how wrong all of this was. Maybe he should have never accepted the duke's proposal, for he had known, even then, that he couldn't do it halfway. Not with her. His soul would not accept that. Was he, in coveting a woman who was not his, also desiring the death of the man who had sired him?

No! His mind recoiled. That made the sin all the more egregious. He couldn't be that callous. The duke said not to feel guilt. But how could he not when the only way for him to have the woman he wanted was for the man who had given him life to die?

They spoke little on the way back. As the morning progressed, the streets became crowded with people. They both had to keep their attention on the road and on their horses, lest they try to repeat the stunt they pulled at the park. Imagine if his stallion had accidentally impregnated the duchess's mare! The situation would be hilarious if it didn't bear a disquieting resemblance to their own affairs.

In a few minutes, they would arrive at the duke's townhouse, and he needed to make plans for tomorrow. Approaching the duchess from the side, he spoke in a low voice.

"Can you get away unaccompanied tomorrow?"

She looked at him and raised a brow. "Of course. My staff would never dare question me."

He almost smiled at her imperiousness. "I know, Duchess. But we don't want to raise suspicions, now, do we?"

"I suppose not. What do you have in mind? Another ride?"

"No. I wanted to take you to a different part of the city. Could you meet me at the corner of Oxford and Regent? Say at ten in the morning. I'll bring you back in time for tea."

"I could tell my coachman I have a business meeting with a merchant and to pick me up later. He won't think anything of it, for I do that from time to time."

"Excellent. I'll hire a hackney. It won't be as luxurious as your carriage, but at least we won't be recognized. Until tomorrow, Duchess."

How he desired to kiss her hand goodbye. Or better yet, kiss her luscious lips again. Impossible, of course, in the middle of the street. It was going to be a hell of twenty-four hours until he saw her again.

He watched from the corner as she rode up to the front of the townhouse and a footman came out to take the horse as she entered the house. Turning his horse, he rode the few streets to his home.

After leaving the horse in the mews with the one groom he kept, he used his key to let himself into the house through the back door. He didn't meet anyone as he passed room after room of covered furniture. He used a meager three rooms in the entire Mayfair mansion: his bedroom, a bathing chamber adjacent to it, and the library. And he employed only three people here in London; the groom, a cook/maid who came during the day to prepare food and do some cleaning, and his valet, Thakur, who had been with him since his time in India and was the only one of all his servants he trusted implicitly.

When his finances improved, he would have to hire more staff, open the house, entertain. He grimaced. He didn't relish the prospect of forsaking his privacy. For now, this house was his refuge in the middle of London. And it was perfect for his current purposes.

A pile of correspondence awaited him on his desk. Since he didn't have a butler, Thakur took some of those duties. He rifled through the invitations with practiced efficiency. He had no interest in any society functions, but for appearances' sake, he attended a few each season. The least unbearable ones.

Half of the invitations had made it to the discard pile when he uncovered an envelope unlike any of the others. He knew at once this was no society event. Oh, no. This invitation came from a different acquaintance. He smiled as he opened the black envelope with the etched gold lettering. An exotic perfume wafted from the parchment. An aroma he recognized well. Ah, but Anjali had spared no expense.

His eyebrows raised at the latest entertainment his former lover had devised. A lavish Venetian Masquerade Ball. It promised to be the last grand event of the demimonde before the aristocracy retired to their country estates for the Christmas celebrations. An exclusive affair attended only by the richest and most influential. With the Ton facing several months of dreary winter ensconced in the countryside, the ball promised to attract a large attendance.

He had never attended these events, whose purpose was for rich patrons to secure expensive mistresses. Or for the bored aristocracy to indulge in a night of secret debauchery. Why she always tried to lure him into her entertainments, he couldn't fathom. It was not as if she had any designs on him. They had been lovers for a brief time years ago, in India.

Back then, she had been a successful courtesan who had employed his services as a bodyguard to protect herself from an overzealous lover. He had not been an earl yet, and few knew he was an aristocrat. Their professional relationship had developed into a more personal one. But by the time he had inherited his title, their brief affair had been long over.

However, they had remained friends. And when Anjali found out he planned to return to England, she surprised him by asking to come with him, saying she had long wanted to move to England, but was afraid to make the journey alone.

He didn't question her motives and readily accepted her company. As soon as she had arrived in London, she had taken the demimonde by storm. With her exotic beauty and skill in the bedroom arts, she had become an extremely sought after courtesan. Five years later, she ran the most exclusive and elegant pleasure club in London. The Black Swan. To call it a brothel would be an insult, for her clientele included rich lords and merchants alike, all vying for the very expensive membership.

She knew perfectly well he could not afford to belong to her rarefied club. Maybe she invited him out of friendship? Or a misguided sense of gratitude? She didn't owe him anything. She had built her fortune all on her own, through her cunning and business sense.

"You are not planning to attend one of those events, are you?" The scornful voice made Gabriel turn around with a start.

Thakur, his Indian valet, stood in the doorway, looking at the invitation on Gabriel's hand with patent disgust. For such a large man, the Indian moved with irritating stealth, repeatedly managing to sneak past Gabriel's alert senses.

"When did this invitation arrive?" he replied without answering the impertinent question.

"I'm not sure. A week perhaps?" Thakur shrugged, as if he couldn't be bothered to care. "I didn't think it was important, as I did not expect you'd want to go."

His disdainful expression ratcheted up Gabriel's annoyance. "Maybe I will this time," Gabriel replied, just to provoke his valet. "The ball is tomorrow." He couldn't fathom why Thakur despised Anjali that much. It is not as if the woman had ever done him any harm.

"With all due respect, my lord, I think that would be unwise."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "You presume to tell me what I should and should not do, Thakur? I wasn't aware that you had appointed yourself as my conscience."

He thought he saw a blush extend under his valet's caramel complexion. Whether it was from embarrassment or indignation at being rebuked, he could not tell. Thakur didn't act like the typical obedient servant. Oh, he fulfilled his duties splendidly, but had never mastered the art of minding his own business.

"It is not that, my lord. But that woman is not a beneficial influence. Now that you have inherited the earldom, you should seek to settle down and find a wife. And what would the duchess think if—"

"What about the duchess?" he interrupted his valet. His voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes narrowed, and his fists clenched involuntarily at the impertinence.

How dare Thakur mention her? What did he know? He had told no one, not even his trusted friend and valet, about the deal with the duchess. But it was obvious Thakur had learned, or inferred, enough information to know there was something going on.

Damn it. It would be near impossible to keep the details from the man. Especially if he planned to bring Hannah to his home. For a moment, he considered sending Thakur away. He could send him to the country estate and give him some task to keep him occupied... No, that would never do.

His London house was vastly understaffed already. Thakur fulfilled many essential duties. If he sent him away, he would just have to find someone else to replace him or the cook would mutiny at the extra work. What was the point of that?

He just wished trusted retainers didn't come with so many opinions. This time, Thakur's complexion darkened even more, but to give him credit, he didn't back down.

"I only know there's something going on. Need I remind you, my lord, that the duchess is married?"

There was real censure in the valet's eyes now. Even condemnation. Damn it. He would have to tell him all, for it was obvious he had already surmised enough. To be brought to task by his valet galled. But if he wanted the man's cooperation and silence, he would have to bring him into his trust.

"I know, Thakur. Believe me, that fact has never been far from my mind. It is not what you think. The duke knows. He's the one who asked me to..." He trailed off, unable to say it. How was he to word it, anyway? The duke asked me to bed his wife? Get her with child?

"The duke needs an heir," he finished lamely, hoping that Thakur could fill in the gaps and extrapolate.

He knew the moment the valet discerned his meaning. His eyes went wide as monsoon moons, and his mouth gaped.

"I hope I misunderstood," he croaked.

"Judging by your reaction, I'd say you understood the situation quite well."

"And you agreed to this?"

It was not always that he could shock his normally serene valet. The man was unflappable. To see him so ruffled would have been comical if the situation weren't almost tragic.

"Yes, I did. And I don't need a lecture from you," he added, raising a hand, palm out, to forestall the other man's words. "I know everything you could possibly say. Don't you think I've considered all the possible pitfalls? I have my reasons. And so do the duke and duchess. Needless to say, utmost secrecy is required. Can I count on your absolute discretion?"

"Of course!" Thakur's indignant expression was enough to reassure Gabriel of his silence. The man took offense at the mere questioning of his loyalty. "But I would urge you to be cautious, my lord."

"I am being as discreet as I can be. I may need your help from time to time, to ensure the secrecy of our comings and goings—"

"My help is a given. But that is not what I meant when I urged caution. I meant be careful with your heart. And hers."

Damn. If only Thakur knew. It might be too late for his warning.