CHAPTER 2

"I HAD A MISTRESS," Harold confessed. "Since before we married, and even after we did... I continued the liaison. I'm sorry, Hannah. You didn't deserve it. If anyone had reasons to be unfaithful, it was you, a young bride neglected by her old husband. For a while, I expected you to take a lover, and I was prepared to accept any child you may have conceived as my own. But you never did. It made my guilt all the worse."

"Why are you doing this?" She choked the words out past the knot in her throat. "Are you trying to hurt me?"

"No! That is the last thing I want. I am telling you this because I need you to understand. I want to set you free. To release you from any kind of loyalty you may feel you owe me."

"To be free to fall in with your plans, you mean?"

"I can't deny that I desire that outcome, yes. But I wouldn't be proposing this if I didn't think it was the best solution for all involved. Including you."

"How would it benefit me? You yourself said I will be well provided for on your death."

"You will. But if we have no heir, you will no longer be able to live in this house, or the London house, for that matter. You will have to relinquish your homes to my greedy nephew, who will take the title of duke. I know how much you love this estate. You have helped me oversee it and make it flourish over the past fifteen years. You have cared for and improved the house. Every tenant knows you and respects you. The tenants and the servants will be the ones to suffer the most under my nephew. He is not a good man, Hannah. If he were, I wouldn't be proposing this."

"But this is the way the system works. He is the legal heir. I will be the dowager. It's been this way for centuries."

"Just because it is the law doesn't mean it is fair!" A fit of coughs followed this statement, and she helped him sit up and offered him a glass of water. After he drank, he reclined back with an exhausted sigh.

"I have little strength left to fight. I worry about you, about my dependents, about my life's work, and my legacy. Consider, also, you are three-and-thirty already. It is my fault for taking the best years of your youth and not giving you children. I know you want them. It is clear in your face whenever you hold a baby in your arms or crouch down to talk to a toddler. You would be an amazing mother, and I have deprived you of that. This way, you could have it all. You could have all what should be rightfully yours for all the years you have been my wife and helpmate."

"But it would be a dangerous deception. A lifelong deception. I don't know if I'm capable."

"Just consider it," the duke said, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "You, too, are running out of time, Hannah. After I die, society will expect you to keep a year of mourning. Even if you want to remarry after that, it could take time. And we don't know if you'll be able to find a worthy man. Fortune hunters will besiege you, a rich and beautiful widow. Many will try to take advantage of you. But Brentworth is a good man. With him, you could have a baby before the year is out. You could keep your home, your status. And if you so desire, you could marry him after I die. Just think about it. Please."

With that, he closed his eyes and soon fell into a sleeping stupor. The conversation was over. The duke had obviously used all his strength. Dazed, she got up to go to her bedchamber, stopping on the way by the duke's valet room to wake the servant and ask him to go sit with his master for the rest of the night.

When she got to her own room, she lay down in bed, even though she wouldn't sleep. Her emotions were in a riot.

Harold had a point. Neil Blackwell was a greedy, entitled wastrel who would no doubt run the estate to the ground. Harold gave him a generous allowance. A more enterprising man could have built his own fortune with that money. But Blackwell considered work beneath himself. His only pursuits were vice and debauchery. The years of living above his station had racked up massive debts. As if that wasn't bad enough, there were other, more disturbing, rumors involving women he had misused.

Her husband had been trying to break the entail for years, without success. Now that his health had taken a turn for the worse, Harold was right to worry about his legacy and his dependents.

And what about her? She could have a baby. Possibly before the year was out. She hugged a pillow to her chest, a yearning she had not allowed herself to acknowledge consuming her. As the years had gone by, she had resigned herself to being childless. When Harold stopped visiting her bed, she had assumed he wasn't capable anymore and had blamed herself for not conceiving before.

But he had kept a mistress. Was he capable with his mistress? Hannah didn't want to know. The fact was, he had preferred that other woman to her. She could almost forgive him for that, for their relationship had never been a passionate one. But not for letting her think she was the problem. For depriving her of a child while he cavorted with another woman.

And to enjoy a man's touch... and not just any man. Brentworth. She had been deprived for so long. Sometimes, alone in her bed, she hungered for things she had never experienced. She had tried to bury those needs, but every so often, they resurfaced to torment her.

She would have liked to think she had the moral fiber to reject such a deceitful scheme out of hand. But God help her, she was tempted.

Was it really immoral if her own husband was asking her? If he had, for all intents and purposes, severed their marital vows? Not just by his words, but by his actions, too. Did she still owe him loyalty?

But it was more than that, wasn't it? She would have to live a lifelong deception. Her child would never know who his real father was. Not to mention that someone could find out. The possible consequences were so many!

And what about Brentworth? He would have a say on the matter and also share the consequences.

She tossed and turned, beating her pillow as if it contained the answers she sought. Doubts, fears, duty, desire. Her mind swirled between right and wrong.

It would never work. This was just a mad scheme. And yet, she still considered it. Damn Harold, the wily old fox! He certainly knew how to manipulate her. She feared she had already succumbed.