His mother’s lover, while not flaunted, was not hidden away either. Ainsley certainly wasn’t going to castigate Stephen for finding pleasure where he might. The servants knew a bit of gossip would result in their dismissal and that the duke never threatened what he would not carry out.
“You may thank my eldest brother, the Earl of Westcliffe, for that accommodation. He acquired his heir this summer past. The duchess insists that the little urchin be comfortable when he visits. She is quite adept at spoiling him beyond measure.”
“And I cannot spoil one grandson without spoiling the other,” the duchess said.
Stephen wasn’t certain why it hadn’t hit him before that if the child was his, his mother had another grandson. The knowledge made him feel remarkably old.
As though the same truth had occurred to Miss Dawson, he watched as her cheeks took on a pinkish hue. No cold wind biting them now. He found he rather liked the high color in her face. She did look lovely. The gown she wore now was a bit more fanciful, with a rounded neck that exposed her throat and shoulders while offering only a hint of cleavage. Had he ever seen her in the dress before? Had he commented on it? Or was it something new, something she’d expect him to remark on? She seemed to be expecting something. Perhaps for him to speak instead of standing there like a dimwit. “Miss Dawson, would you care for some wine before dinner?”
She appeared startled and disappointed. Should he have gone over and kissed the back of her hand? Had he been unable to keep his hands off her? If she were any other woman, he’d not be plagued with these questions. But not knowing a woman he should know was fraught with difficulties. Especially as he didn’t wish for her to know.
Preposterous. If they’d been close, she’d be understanding. As a nurse, she’d possibly seen others suffer the same fate. But he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing pity in those whiskey eyes. He might not remember her, but he knew his pride well enough and was determined not to lose it.
“A bit. Yes. Thank you,” she finally responded.
He fought not to favor his right leg as he made his way to the sidebar. “Will Leo be joining us this evening?”
“Most certainly,” the duchess said, and then he heard her explain to Miss Dawson, “He is a remarkable and talented artist I’ve commissioned to paint portraits of the family. I daresay he shall want to do you in oils.”
But it was not his talents with the brush that kept his mother near the younger man, but rather his talents elsewhere. Stephen was glad his mother had a lover who appreciated her, made her feel special. Perhaps it was her own scandalous life that made her so accepting and nonjudgmental of Miss Dawson.
“That may be a bit premature,” Miss Dawson stammered. “I’m not yet part of the family.”
“Of course you are, dear girl. If not legally, then morally,” the duchess assured her. He wondered if Miss Dawson possessed an inkling of knowledge regarding his mother’s determination. Defeat had never been in his mother’s vocabulary.
His cane seemed to be unusually loud as he hobbled across the room. Miss Dawson met him halfway. She reached for the glass. Their bare fingers touched. Hers sent a shock of warmth through him that settled low in his groin and caused him to tighten with desire. Was that the way it had been with them before? She appeared discomfited but not alarmed, as though the sensations had not taken her off guard. Or perhaps they had.
She took a very unladylike gulp of wine, coughed, and covered her mouth, her eyes watering. “Forgive me.”
“You might try sipping it.”
“Yes, of course. It’s excellent. Thank you.”
And they were left to stare at each other as though no one else was in the room. He noticed that her nose tilted up slightly. She had a miniscule mole at the corner of her mouth. Her lashes were long and he imagined them feathering over his face when they
“You may thank my eldest brother, the Earl of Westcliffe, for that accommodation. He acquired his heir this summer past. The duchess insists that the little urchin be comfortable when he visits. She is quite adept at spoiling him beyond measure.”
“And I cannot spoil one grandson without spoiling the other,” the duchess said.
Stephen wasn’t certain why it hadn’t hit him before that if the child was his, his mother had another grandson. The knowledge made him feel remarkably old.
As though the same truth had occurred to Miss Dawson, he watched as her cheeks took on a pinkish hue. No cold wind biting them now. He found he rather liked the high color in her face. She did look lovely. The gown she wore now was a bit more fanciful, with a rounded neck that exposed her throat and shoulders while offering only a hint of cleavage. Had he ever seen her in the dress before? Had he commented on it? Or was it something new, something she’d expect him to remark on? She seemed to be expecting something. Perhaps for him to speak instead of standing there like a dimwit. “Miss Dawson, would you care for some wine before dinner?”
She appeared startled and disappointed. Should he have gone over and kissed the back of her hand? Had he been unable to keep his hands off her? If she were any other woman, he’d not be plagued with these questions. But not knowing a woman he should know was fraught with difficulties. Especially as he didn’t wish for her to know.
Preposterous. If they’d been close, she’d be understanding. As a nurse, she’d possibly seen others suffer the same fate. But he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing pity in those whiskey eyes. He might not remember her, but he knew his pride well enough and was determined not to lose it.
“A bit. Yes. Thank you,” she finally responded.
He fought not to favor his right leg as he made his way to the sidebar. “Will Leo be joining us this evening?”
“Most certainly,” the duchess said, and then he heard her explain to Miss Dawson, “He is a remarkable and talented artist I’ve commissioned to paint portraits of the family. I daresay he shall want to do you in oils.”
But it was not his talents with the brush that kept his mother near the younger man, but rather his talents elsewhere. Stephen was glad his mother had a lover who appreciated her, made her feel special. Perhaps it was her own scandalous life that made her so accepting and nonjudgmental of Miss Dawson.
“That may be a bit premature,” Miss Dawson stammered. “I’m not yet part of the family.”
“Of course you are, dear girl. If not legally, then morally,” the duchess assured her. He wondered if Miss Dawson possessed an inkling of knowledge regarding his mother’s determination. Defeat had never been in his mother’s vocabulary.
His cane seemed to be unusually loud as he hobbled across the room. Miss Dawson met him halfway. She reached for the glass. Their bare fingers touched. Hers sent a shock of warmth through him that settled low in his groin and caused him to tighten with desire. Was that the way it had been with them before? She appeared discomfited but not alarmed, as though the sensations had not taken her off guard. Or perhaps they had.
She took a very unladylike gulp of wine, coughed, and covered her mouth, her eyes watering. “Forgive me.”
“You might try sipping it.”
“Yes, of course. It’s excellent. Thank you.”
And they were left to stare at each other as though no one else was in the room. He noticed that her nose tilted up slightly. She had a miniscule mole at the corner of her mouth. Her lashes were long and he imagined them feathering over his face when they
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