Wild Wind by Patricia Ryan Page A

you’d help us. You were always willing to lend a hand, always ready to do the right thing.”
    “That’s just it, Milo. What you’re asking is as wrong a thing as I can imagine.”
    “Not if it saves two people from a life of penury and disgrace. You’ve got to help us, Alex. I’m pleading with you.”
    “On the subject of disgrace,” Alex ventured, “aren’t you at all concerned with what people will think when your wife gets with child after nine barren years? Especially considering the inheritance situation.”
    “Nobody knows about that.” He frowned. “Not many people, anyway.”
    “Regardless. It won’t look good. People will suspect that the child isn’t yours.”
    “Look at me, Alex. I’m well past the point of caring what people think of me.” Squeezing wine into his mouth, Milo veered drunkenly toward the edge of the path. It was all Alex could do to keep him walking in the right direction.
    “Nicolette obviously cares.”
    “She shouldn’t. A few tongues might wag—what of it? Most people won’t give a damn. There are bastards in every noble house. Look at your great William—Count Robert’s by-blow by a tanner’s daughter, and now both duke of Normandy and king of England!” He shook his head disgustedly. “Nicolette’s a fool. Peverell’s all she’s got, and this is the only way to save it. She shouldn’t be so uncooperative.”
    “But she is, and therein lies your scheme’s fatal flaw. Even if I were to agree to it—and I assure you I won’t—your wife would never consent to let me...” Alex shook his head at the madness of this conversation. “It wouldn’t work.”
    “Not if she knew what you were about. You’d have to keep your true purpose from her. You’d have to seduce her.”
    “Seduce her. Without letting her know that I’m in league with you to get her pregnant.”
    “Exactly.” Milo tripped over something in the dark. Alex righted him. “You can come visit us through Christmastide. That should give you enough time to plant a seed that will take—that’s all the time we’ve got, in any event. Once she’s with child, you may return to England and forget the entire thing—in fact, I’ll insist that you do.”
    “Just ride away, leaving a pregnant woman behind.”
    “You’ll have done her a favor, cousin—the greatest boon imaginable.”
    “There’s yet another flaw,” Alex pointed out, envisioning again the glimmer of white silk against scarlet brocade. “Seduction takes two willing partners. If your lady wife is so virtuous, who’s to say she’ll cooperate?”
    Milo’s teeth flashed in the dark. “If anyone can breach her defenses, you can. I’ve heard about your way with those English wenches. They say the Lone Wolf likes to spread his seed. Alex the Conqueror, some call you.”
    Alex sighed. “I hadn’t heard that one.”
    Milo chuckled raspily. “Quite a switch from the innocent young lad I knew in Périgeaux. As I recall, you’d little interest in the fairer sex.”
    So, thought Alex. He doesn’t know about Nicki and me.
    “All you cared about back then,” Milo continued, “was perfecting your skill with the sword—the one on your belt. The weapon between your legs had not yet been bloodied in battle, as far as I knew.”
    “That’s why you chose me for this...service?” Alex demanded. “Because women have been known to lift their skirts for me?”
    “They don’t seem to be able to help themselves, but that’s not the only reason. I told you—I’ve thought this all out carefully.” Within sight now of the castle now—a dark, turreted stone box rising against the night sky—Milo stopped in his tracks and turned to face Alex, who had to hold him up with both hands. Even in the semidarkness Alex could see how unfocused his cousin’s gaze was. His head shook like that of a jointed toy soldier.
    “It doesn’t matter what your reasons are,” Alex said tiredly. “I won’t do it. Let’s get back so you can go