CHAPTER 1

HERTFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND

November 1863

Her husband was dying. There was no denying it this time. The duke had been delicate for years now, and still, he lingered on. But this time, it was obvious he had little time left.

Hannah knew it would come to this. Being much younger than him meant it was likely she would one day become a widow. She sat by his bed, holding one of his hands as if she could keep him anchored to this earth by sheer force of will. The hour was late, well past midnight. All the servants had long since gone to bed, and she had sent her husband's old valet to get some much-needed sleep, too. She wanted to be alone with him. She needed to think about her future.

What would she do with her life once her husband died? She would have freedom and a good portion to live on. Her husband had well provided for her in their marriage settlements. But she wasn't looking forward to that. The prospect of being a wealthy widow wasn't enough to give her life purpose.

Theirs might not be a passionate sort of love, but there was a deep, abiding affection between them. For the whole of her adult life, Harold had been her rock, her home, her safe place, and she didn't want to contemplate life without him. She knew many doubted her devotion to him because of their significant age difference. He had been eight-and-fifty and a widower when he'd married her, a mere debutante of eighteen.

Some of her friends pitied her for being forced to marry a man so much older. Others, the most ambitious, had envied her, for she was about to become a duchess. She had felt nothing other than a sense of relief that her parents had settled on someone who was not intolerable. Whom to marry had never been her choice to make. It was her duty to marry whomever they chose. And they'd chosen the Duke of Stanhope. Even if she'd had misgivings, it would have never occurred to her to defy or question her parents' choice.

They had told her they had secured an excellent match for her and that she was a lucky girl. She had met the duke the following day, and while he was not the stuff of girlish fantasies, he had kind eyes and made her feel valued and safe. She would have gone with him just for that.

But he had given her so much more. In the fifteen years of their marriage, he had been the best of husbands. He had taught her so much, allowed her to grow and develop. She had built her life around him, like a climbing vine around a mighty oak. But what would happen to the vine when the oak died?

Her husband's voice interrupted her melancholic reverie.

"Hannah, I'm glad you are here."

"Of course, dear. Where else would I be? I'll be right here until you get better."

"No, Hannah. Not this time. You know as well as I do, I won't be getting better."

"Don't say that! Of course you will. You always do."

He waved a dismissive hand, as if whether he lived or not was unimportant.

"We need to talk. Time is running out, and there are matters I need to settle."

"You don't need to worry about the estate. I have it well in hand. I met with Mr. Gibbons just this morning."

"None of that will matter unless we secure the family lineage. We need to see about begetting an heir."

She looked at him in shock. He had not visited her bed in a decade. Surely, he could not mean...he couldn't. She must have misunderstood.

"No, it's not what you are thinking." He gave a strangled bark of bitter laughter that dissolved into a fit of coughing. She handed him a glass of water and helped him drink. After a few sips, he leaned back, his breaths labored.

"God knows I wouldn't be capable of even attempting it. I have a different idea, and a huge favor to ask. It might seem shocking at first, but I beg you to contemplate it."

"Anything, my dear," she said, steeling herself.

If he had procreation in mind, he might need more than a little help from her. The pleading note in such a proud man's voice touched her heart.

"Don't agree yet. You may not want to do what I'm going to ask of you."

Apprehension filled her. She expected the matter to be difficult and awkward. But was it possible it would be even more embarrassing than what she could endure?

"What is it?"

"I need you to beget an heir with my son."

"I beg your pardon?"

For the second time in minutes, he had shocked her to her core. Of all the things she had expected him to ask of her, this was not even a remote possibility. He had looked so lucid until now. But his mind must be going. He didn't seem to remember that his son was dead. Had been for the last sixteen years. Recovering from her shock, she tried to speak as gently as possible.

"My dear, you are not thinking clearly. No doubt the effects of the pain medicine. I'll have to speak with Dr. Hobson."

"No, no. Listen. I have not explained myself well. I have an illegitimate son. Born before I married my first wife. He is someone you know. I was hoping... that is... I know it sounds insane, but I am out of time and desperate. And the idea has so many advantages for everyone involved."

"Are you seriously suggesting I conceive a child with another man?"

"Not any man. My son. It is the perfect solution, don't you see? He carries my blood. He is my firstborn but could never inherit because, in the eyes of the law, he is not my child. But if you have a son by him, I will claim it as mine and a child of my blood will inherit the dukedom."

"You must be delirious. I will send for the doctor." Standing up in a panic, she tried to leave his bedside, but he held on to her hand with a surprisingly powerful grip.

"Hannah. I'm not delirious. Never been more lucid in my life. Impending death has a way of making everything so clear. It is the perfect solution for everyone. But I need your help to carry it out."

"You keep saying it's the best solution for everyone, but I fail to see the advantage for me. You expect me to whore myself out to another man, to commit adultery, to lie, and cheat? All for the remote chance I'll be able to conceive and that the child will be a male?"

"Don't see it like that. You will not be committing adultery, for I am asking you to do it. And I know we can't control the gender of the child, but my ancestors and I have mostly produced male progeny. There's a very good chance you will conceive, and the child will be male."

"I am not a broodmare whom you can mate with the stud of your choice. I am a person. And so is this man, your son. Who is he, anyway?"

"The Earl of Brentworth."

She sucked in a breath. Of all men, it had to be him. The idea was unnerving for reasons she didn't care to examine. An appalling thought occurred to her.

"Have you discussed this with him? Have the two of you been plotting behind my back how to go about impregnating the duchess?"

"Of course not!" the duke replied. "He doesn't even know he is my son yet. I wanted to broach the subject with you first. If you are agreeable, then I will speak to him. If you are not, then there's no point in telling him anything. But I am hoping you will say yes."

"How can I agree to such a scheme?" she said almost desperately.

"Why not? From what I've seen, you like him. He is a handsome chap and has quite the reputation with the ladies. Takes after me when I was that age," the duke said with a proud chuckle. "It wouldn't be a hardship for you. In fact, I dare say you might enjoy it."

She stiffened with outrage. "Sir! How can you speak to me thus? I am a decent woman. I have never even contemplated being unfaithful to you!"

The duke sighed. "I know, my dear. You have been an exemplary wife. Much better than I deserve, that's for sure. But in this case, it would have been better if you weren't quite so virtuous. We might not be in this predicament right now." He muttered this last statement almost under his breath.

She hissed, finally yanking her hand free from his as she stood up. "You criticize me for being faithful to you? How dare you! I thought all men wanted their wives to be virtuous."

"Please, don't be offended. That's not what I meant."

"How can I not when you insult me with such an indecent proposition, criticize me for being faithful, and encourage me to ‘enjoy' myself with another man as if I were a... a woman of loose virtue?"

"This is not going the way I envisioned it," the duke wheezed, slumping back in the bed. "Please settle down. I don't have the energy to argue. Barely have enough energy to speak. You know I intend no insult or disrespect. I'm just a dying old man with too many regrets and precious little time to make amends. Please, hear me out with an open mind. Please."

The note of desperation in his voice, which she had never heard before, did something to her. He might be out of his mind, but he had always been unfailingly kind and generous to her. She owed it to him to hear his proposition enough to at least come up with a logical denial.

She sat back down in the chair by his bed as he went on. "I have not been a good husband to you."

"Don't say that!" she interrupted. "You have always been very good to me. I couldn't have asked for a better husband."

He chuckled without humor at that, the sound dry and gravelly. "Yes, you could have. If you had a better husband, you would know about passion, intimacy, and love." The duke held up a hand when she was about to interrupt again. "You are a lovely woman, Hannah. Beautiful inside and out. You deserve to be loved. You deserve a man who would worship you.

"I was too old and battered by life when I married you to be that kind of husband. In my youth, I could have been. But not by the time I married you. I tried. In the beginning, I tried so hard to be the man you needed, because I knew I had done you a disservice by marrying you. But these things don't work out by force of will. We are the way we are."

She looked away. Embarrassed and confused. What was he saying?

"I am sure many a man envied me my young, beautiful wife. I'm sure many would have rejoiced and considered themselves fortunate if they were in my shoes."

"And you didn't?" she whispered, devastated by what she was hearing.

"It wasn't your fault, dear. You are everything that is good and beautiful in this world. Unfortunately, whenever we were intimate, I felt like the worst sort of lecherous old man. Like I was desecrating something precious and pure. As if I were sleeping with a child."

She gasped. "But I was not a child, Harold."

"To me you were. You are younger than my son," he rasped.

"Why did you marry me then?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

"At first, it was an impulse. My despicable nephew, Neil, had offered for your hand. My son had died the year before, a scant few months after my wife. I was barely out of mourning and still mad with grief, and Neil had started to fancy himself the next duke. He had always been hateful towards my son, and I couldn't stand his gloating. I wanted to show him I was still the duke, and even old as I was, I could yet steal his intended and produce another heir in one fell swoop.

"So I went and spoke with your father, who was ecstatic to have an offer from the actual duke and not just the heir presumptive. It wasn't difficult to settle matters, for I was prepared to be generous and exceeded all his demands. You will be well provided for when I'm gone, my dear. That need not concern you or influence you into falling in with my plans. Whether you are the mother of the next duke or not, you will want for nothing."

She just nodded. She couldn't trust her voice to speak. The financial settlements were no news to her, but everything else he had revealed was as shocking as a bolt from the blue.

The duke reached out and grasped her hand as he continued, his paper-thin skin soft to her touch. "During our courtship, I got to know you better, and you enchanted me. But my feelings for you were almost avuncular. You were so young. Almost a child. What you evoked in me was tenderness and protectiveness. I soon had misgivings about the wisdom of our marriage, but I couldn't back down. All the contracts had been signed. A gentleman does not break an engagement without good reason. I could have weathered the scandal, but it would have ruined you. What were your chances of making a good match after being rejected by a duke? I was afraid your father would then accept the offer from my odious nephew out of desperation. And he would have made your life a living hell.

"So I soldiered on. I convinced myself that after we were married and I had bedded you, my feelings would change. That I would start seeing you as a woman."

"But you never did, did you?" she asked, the entire landscape of her life shifting and changing in her mind's eye.

"No. Not like that. But I was determined to be a good husband and make it up to you for all the things I couldn't give you."

"And you did. You pampered me. Granted me every wish, always treated me with kindness and generosity. I am content with my life."

"Ah, content, yes. But you deserve more. You deserve to be happy. To be well and truly loved. To have children. You could have children, Hannah. The children I denied you."

She held back tears as she reached him, "Harold, please stop. I deserve nothing more than I have got. You don't have to give me anything. I will not betray you and our vows in a misguided attempt to gain—"

"I have betrayed you." The words, no more than a whisper, still had the power to make her stutter to a halt, like a tiny cog being thrown into a machine.

"What did you say?"