CHAPTER 7

THE NEXT MORNING, GAbrIEL was getting dressed for riding. He had not brought his own horse, but there was no shortage of magnificent mounts in the duke's stables, and he was planning to avail himself of one of them.

A ride always helped him think. And if nothing else, the exercise, the pure air, and the sense of freedom to be found on top of a horse flying over the terrain always lifted his mood.

And he needed to clear his mind. Last night's dinner had been an uncomfortable affair. He had seen the duchess, and while she had been as lovely as ever, it was obvious she was ill at ease around him now. The joviality and warm friendliness with which she had always treated him were gone, and in its place, there were forced smiles and a touch of challenge. As if she were trying to cover up her awkwardness and unease with a fake display of confidence.

But she didn't fool him. He was so attuned to her he could feel her emotions without even trying. It was unsettling. He had never felt this sort of affinity with another woman. But there it was, and now he was supposed to get her with child. And while his blood raced faster at the thought of bedding her, he would do well to keep his head and remember they were in a highly irregular situation.

He needed to talk to her in private, to determine her true feelings about this scheme. If she had been pressured or manipulated into something she didn't want, he wouldn't go through with it.

Just then, a lonely figure on a horse went galloping by from the direction of the stables. Hannah... He recognized her at once. Her impeccable posture showcased her slim silhouette, and the way she moved spoke of her deep connection and understanding of the animal. Back straight, head held high. The flowing fabric of her riding habit trailed behind her, becoming a banner as she picked up speed. She was magnificent atop a horse.

He was sprinting towards the door before he even finished the thought. He had seen the path she had taken. With any luck, he could catch up to her. This was the perfect opportunity to speak to her in private, away from the house and the influence of the duke.

Fifteen minutes later, he was on a horse and trotting out of the stables. He had an idea of where she might have gone. On previous visits to the estate, he had found a delightful spot on top of a hill that overlooked the house and the entire park that surrounded it. The hill had a gentle slope towards the house but fell away abruptly on the other side. At the summit, there was a neoclassical style folly, comprising a round structure with windows on all sides, capped by a dome and surrounded by a colonnade. It looked like a small Greek temple. The place was beautiful. Serene and majestic at the same time. It would afford a spectacular view of the countryside and a secluded place to talk. He urged his horse to a gallop, hoping she would be there too.

HANNAH SAT ON THE STEPS of the folly and saw the earl leave the house on a horse, following more or less the same path she had taken earlier. She was not surprised. In fact, when she came here this morning, she had almost wished he would follow her.

She loved it here. The peace and beauty and the solitude. Here she could escape the duties and expectations of being a duchess and simply be herself. Almost nobody came here nowadays. The folly had been built in the previous century as a place to have a picnic, but it soon became too small for the ducal entertainments, so another bigger building had been erected by the lake closer to the house, and this little spot was all but forgotten.

She had discovered it as a newlywed and had it repaired and furnished. A maid came by once a week to clean, and a gardener made sure the place did not become overgrown. It was her special place, and she never shared it with anyone. But a tingle raced down her spine at the thought of sharing it with him.

She heard the approaching hoofbeats, confirming that he was indeed heading here, and her heart sped up despite herself. A moment later, he emerged from the trees surrounding the clearing where the folly stood. His gaze locked on her as he dismounted and walked towards her without breaking eye contact. She stood, and he stopped a few steps from her and bowed.

"Duchess. I hope I am not intruding."

She held out a hand, and he took it and kissed it. The brief contact of his lips upon her bare hand sent electrifying sensations up her arm. She shivered, and his gaze intensified.

"Not at all, my lord."

"I have to confess I saw you leave the house and followed, hoping to find you here."

She just nodded, accepting that. With a brief smile, she replied, "I saw you leave as well and hoped you would follow me here."

"Indeed? Did you wish to speak to me in private, then?"

"I feel we must, if we are to...to carry out..." She made a helpless gesture with her hands. She couldn't bring herself to voice what they were supposed to be doing. "But I just don't know how to talk about it," she finished lamely.

He placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face. "Please don't be embarrassed," he said gently. "If we are going to do this, you must not feel ashamed. Not with me."

"How can I not? The entire business seems so sordid. I shudder to think what your opinion of me must be. Stanhope tells me you have not agreed to it yet. You must think me the most shameless of women."

"I think nothing of the sort. I just want to find out what your motives are. And I want to make sure you are not being pressured to do something you don't want."

"I am not being forced or pressured," she said, gathering her courage to look into his eyes. His fathomless blue-gray eyes. Like a stormy sea. She could be swept away in those waves and never resurface.

"Then why are you doing it?"

Why was she doing it? Her motives were complex and unclear, even to her. But he deserved an answer, and perhaps by saying it out loud, she could find clarity.

"There isn't one single motive. I want to have a baby. I am not so young anymore. My prime reproductive years have passed. If I don't take this opportunity now, I may never have a child."

When he nodded in encouragement, she continued. "I also love this place," she said, waving her hands around her to encompass all that surrounded them. "This is my home. Caring for the estate gives me purpose and satisfaction. I have lived here my entire adult life, and even if it seems selfish, I don't want to leave it. It is not about material gains or status. I am well provided for in the marriage settlements. I would be a wealthy widow. But I wouldn't be able to live here, and that would be akin to leaving a piece of my heart behind."

"You love this estate that much?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

"It is hard to explain, but yes. I know every tenant and servant. Each field, hill, and valley are as familiar as the palm of my hand. I run the house and also manage the business affairs of the estate. It is my home, but also my life's work. And knowing who will inherit it after my husband passes fills me with sorrow. I have met the duke's heir a few times. He is despicable. The people here would suffer under his rule. Are you acquainted with my husband's nephew?"

Brentworth curled his mouth. "I am, unfortunately."

"So you see why it distresses me to leave this place in his hands."

"I understand. Have you and the duke decided how we should go about the deed, if I agree to do it? I would think extreme discretion is required. Even secrecy."

She nodded. "Stanhope owns a small cottage in Cornwall. It is a remote property, not part of the ducal estates. He bought it for the view and the location. It is not grand, but it offers privacy. It would be suitable for our... purposes."

He nodded, accepting that, but not committing.

"There's something else I need to know, Duchess, before I agree to proceed with this scheme."

"Yes?"

"How do you feel about what we would be required to do in order for you to conceive?"