The one place and time the duke and duchess could be counted upon to be together, without fail, was the gardens at two every afternoon, and so it was there that Aslyn sought them out.

Watching as they slowly strolled from one trellis of roses to another, smiling at each other, talking softly, the duchess reaching up to touch her husband’s jaw, he bending his head to kiss her brow, she realized that what they had, the love they shared, was what she had always longed for. She’d have not had it with Kip.

She’d have it with Mick. She had it with him now. His protectiveness, his gentleness, his yearning for her, his refusal to push her beyond what she was ready to give.

She loved him. It was that simple, that complex.

Their road would not be an easy one, but all the same she wanted to travel it.

“I daresay, the gardener has outdone himself this year,” she announced, approaching the couple.

The duchess turned, smile softly at her. “I was just saying the same thing to Hedley. I’m particularly fond of the pink ones.”

“They’re quite lovely.”

“I suppose you’ve come to tell us you’re going to make another visit to that awful orphanage.”

“It wasn’t—­” She bit back her retort. This was not the direction she wanted this conversation to go in. “No, actually. I wanted to get your permission to invite someone to dinner.”

“Kipwick, perhaps? I don’t know where he’s been of late, but he certainly doesn’t require an invitation.”

“He’s been at his clubs.”

The duke furrowed his brow. “Every night?”

“As I understand it, yes.”

“He attributed his recent absence to business dealings concerning the estates.”

“You’ve spoken with him?”

“A couple of days ago.”

“Perhaps I have the wrong of it, then.” Although she very much doubted it. “But no, I wasn’t considering inviting him. As you say, he requires no invitation.” Although things were likely to go more smoothly if he wasn’t present. “I was hoping you’d be open to inviting Mick Trewlove.”

“No.”

The duke’s response came so fast, so stern and with such thunder that Aslyn was taken aback, wasn’t quite certain what to say.

With her eyes blinking and her delicate brow creased, the duchess looked from him to her. “He’s the bastard Kip was telling us about, isn’t he?”

She hated that that particular moniker was associated with him when he was so much more. “He’s a successful businessman.”

“He’s not welcome here,” the duke said.

“But—­”

“No discussion. That is the end of it. Bella?” He held out his hand to his duchess.

“He’s quite right, my dear. We don’t associate with that sort.”

“With a man who works hard, who has risen from nothing, who helps others? A man who—­”

“That’s enough!” the duke bellowed. “You are not to speak his name, and you most certainly are to have nothing to do with him.”

“Do you know him, Hedley?” the duchess asked.

“No. I only know of him, and none of it good.”

“If you believe that,” Aslyn said, “then you don’t know him at all.”

“How is that you do?” he asked, his gaze boring into her.

Swallowing, she clasped her hands before her. “Kip and I met him at Cremorne. He was quite fascinating—­” She couldn’t tell them that she’d met him on several occasions since. The awful realization struck her that the duke might actually lock her in her chambers. She’d never seen him so angry, so forceful. “I thought we all might enjoy the opportunity to get to know him better.”

“No.”

Again the single word delivered like a death knell.

“You’re being unreasonable, to not even give the man a chance to prove himself.”

“But, my dear,” the duchess whispered conspiratorially, “low morals and all that.”

“His parents most certainly, but not him.”

“Associating with him, no matter how innocent, will lead you along the path to ruin.”

She bloody well didn’t care.

“You will not be seeing him again,” the duke commanded, and she wondered if he suspected Cremorne wasn’t the only occasion she had spoken with him. “Bella.” Once more he held out his hand to his wife. She thought she saw it shake before the duchess slipped hers into it.

“I’ll send word to Kip that he’s expected for dinner tonight,” the duchess said.

Then they strolled away as though they weren’t the most unreasonable, close-­minded couple she’d ever known.

Darkness had only recently fallen as Mick sat at his desk in his office and studied the markers, vouchers and deeds in his possession. He still didn’t have the one he craved, but wondered if these would be enough to convince Hedley to acknowledge him. He was growing impatient—­

Impatient to publicly claim Aslyn, weary of keeping the truth of his paternity from her, feeling guilty that he’d introduce Kipwick to the Cerberus Club, knowing his weakness.

She’d never asked anything of him before, but she asked this: that he have the doors to the club closed to the earl. And it was within his power to grant her wish. How could he deny her this one small request?

Bloody damned hell.

He’d argued with himself all day about going to have a word with Kipwick, but he’d known a word wouldn’t be enough. It was Aiden he’d have to talk with. No more markers for the earl, no more accepting property as collateral. Then Mick would have to spread the word to every lowly club that existed throughout London that the Earl of Kipwick was not to be welcomed.

For her, he’d cut off his means for acquiring what he longed for.

Hearing the echoing footsteps, he glanced up to see her marching toward him. Opening the top drawer in his desk, he surreptitiously slid the documents inside, closed it up tight and came to his feet just as she barged into the room.

“They won’t have you to dinner.”

He stared at her, unable to make sense of her pronouncement. “I beg your pardon?”

“The duke and duchess. I asked them to invite you to dinner and they refused. Because you’re a by-­blow.”

Of course they had. Or at least the duke would have. Mick doubted the man had ever told his wife that not ten months into their marriage he’d sired a son by another woman. If the duchess did know of her husband’s transgressions, she’d have not wanted evidence of his unfaithfulness at her table. “Why would you—­”

“Because I’m tired of us being in the shadows.” She began pacing. “Because I wanted them to meet you, to know what a remarkable, wonderful man you are, to understand why I can’t marry their son.”

“You told them you weren’t marrying Kipwick?”

“No, not yet, but when I do I want the reasons to be perfectly clear.”

He’d never been so humbled, so touched. He had hoped, but to know that she was willing to acknowledge him publicly—­

“You’re the daughter of an earl and I—­”

“Am a bastard. Yes, I know. But if you didn’t tell anyone, who would know? It’s not as though it’s branded on your forehead.” She charged forward. “You’re someone’s son. What does it matter that your parents weren’t married? I don’t care how you came into the world. I only care that you’re here. I only care that when I’m with you I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

She was magnificent in her fury on his behalf. He thought he could never love her more than he did at that particular moment. For her courage, her determination, her willingness to fight for him.

“You don’t keep me in a cage.” She cradled his cheek. “You pushed me to travel on the railway. You don’t strive to keep me innocent. You take me to Cremorne when it’s naughty, you create fireworks within me. But more than that, you’re a good man. I know about Tittlefitz, what you did for him. I think the night I heard that story is when I might have begun falling a little bit in love with you. I told Kipwick I couldn’t marry him because of his gambling. But I lied. You’re the reason. I can’t marry him, because I want to marry you.”

He jerked her to him, claimed her mouth. All his life he’d been searching for acceptance, and here it was in the form of a woman with a tilted-­up nose and crooked smile.

Drawing back, he gazed into her eyes. When she looked at him as she did, he could almost believe when he touched her, he wouldn’t leave grime in his wake. “Your guardians would not approve of my marrying you. Society would not approve.”

“I don’t care. When I am with you, I feel as though, for the first time in my life, I am real, I am seen. It’s difficult to explain, but I want to experience everything with you that a woman can experience. Would you make love to me?” she asked softly, and yet his body reacted, growing hard and tense, as though she’d licked the words over his skin.

“If I touch you, Aslyn, I’m not going to stop touching you until I’ve touched every aspect of you.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“You will leave here ruined.”

“You won’t ruin me.”

“I will take your virginity.”

“You can’t take something if it’s given to you.”

He was not worthy of her, yet even knowing that, he couldn’t stop himself from lifting her into his arms and carrying her to his chambers.

Cradled in his arms as he trudged down a hallway, she’d never been more sure of anything than she was of him and her. It was imperative he understand what he meant to her, that she cared for him in spite of his origins.

She was not like the duke and duchess; she did not judge people based on aspects of their life over which they had no control.

He burst into the bedchamber, a huge four-­poster taking up a good bit of the room. She had no doubt it had been made especially for him. He came to a stop near it, lowered her feet to the floor.

“You haven’t a tree in here. I suppose we’ll have to make use of the bed.”

He laughed, deeply and richly. “What a tart you’ve become.”

“Only for you.” She began working on the buttons of his shirt.

“Be sure, sweetheart,” he said solemnly, causing her to recognize the gravity of what they were doing, how it would affect her life. She was opening one door, but closing all others.

“I am sure, more so than I’ve ever been.”

When half the buttons were undone, with a growl, he dragged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, before turning his attention to her. With a swiftness she’d not expected, he had all her clothes in a heap on the floor and she found herself standing before him without a stitch of clothing. She thought she should have been embarrassed. Instead, she felt free.

“My God, but you’re beautiful,” he said reverently. “Perfect. Every inch.”

“Hardly.”

“To me you are.”

He claimed her mouth so sweetly, so tenderly, that she nearly wept. She wanted this man as she’d never wanted anything else. She ran her hands over his bare chest, while his traveled over her bare back, and she sensed that he was striving to go slowly for her, only she was weary of being pampered. She was the one who broke off the kiss, who stepped beyond his reach. “The boots need to go.”

He dropped into a nearby chair. “Onto the bed with you,” he ordered while tugging off a boot.

She clambered onto the mattress, resting back on her elbows, watching him. When he was down to his trousers, he placed a knee on the bed. She held up a hand. “No, no, no. The trousers go.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

He held her gaze. “You’ve never seen a man when he’s aroused. Let me ease you into it.”

“No.”

“Aslyn—­”

“We’re going to come to this bed as equals.”

He gave a brusque nod. “As you wish.”

He shed his trousers. She stared at his swollen jutting cock. Obviously, she had a misconception regarding what took place during mating because she’d always assumed a man entered a woman, but he was not going to be able to put that inside her. Still, she was mesmerized by it, by how proudly it stood at attention. “I want to touch.”

With a groan, he climbed onto the bed, stretched out beside her. “Oh, you will, my lovely. But first—­”

Cradling her cheek, he took her mouth with urgency. She opened to him loving the heat, the parrying of their tongues, the thrusting, the suckling. The light coating of hair on his chest tickled the side of her breast, while his hand closed around the other, kneading it gently. His thigh came between her legs, his knee nudging them apart.

It was marvelous, so marvelous to have so much of him touching her. She scraped her fingers through his hair, over his shoulders and back. Such strength there. She loved the play of his muscles, bunching and flexing, as he moved various parts of his body to have easier access to hers. His member was hard and warm against her thigh. She could feel a bit of dampness at the tip. She wanted to touch it with her tongue, but that would mean ending the kiss, and she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet.

She loved the sounds he made, the growls and groans. The curse when his lips abandoned hers to trail over her throat before returning to her mouth. She found herself writhing as her body strained against his.

His mouth moved away from hers. The absence of a curse alerted her that he wasn’t going to be returning immediately for another kiss. Instead he nipped at her collarbone with his teeth, gently, before soothing it with his tongue.

“There it is,” he said.

“What?”

“The freckle. I knew you’d have one.”

He lowered his head to her breasts, pressed a kiss to an inside swell.

“I don’t know that it’s a freckle. It’s just a blemish of some sort.”

“It’s perfection.”

He peppered kisses all over her breast as though it were a constellation of freckles, when there was only the one. Then his tongue circled her nipple before his mouth closed over it and he suckled.

She nearly came off the bed. She might have if his body wasn’t half covering hers. Such sweet torment. Her sighs floated around them, seemed to encourage him to become even more diligent in his efforts. She skimmed her hands over every aspect of him that she could reach. He was such a fine specimen, with a well-­toned his body. She suspected every now and then he hauled carpentry materials or assisted with the building. It was impossible to imagine him not occasionally getting involved, lending a hand, taking part in what he was building.

For all his sitting at his desk and looking at papers, she suspected there was a part of him that grew bored with it, that yearned for the physical activity. He’d never go to fat. She suspected when his hair turned white, he’d be as fit as he was now.

She wanted to see his hair turn white, kiss the wrinkles that would appear on his face.

She wanted the past not to matter to him. Only the future.

He eased down, planting kisses on each rib, as he went. His tongue circled her navel as he scooted farther down. He lapped at the juncture where thigh met hip. Sitting up, she scraped her fingers along the length of his back.

He released a low moan. His hand came up, plastered over her chest and pushed her back down.

“I want to touch you,” she told him.

“Later.”

Nibbling at the inside of her thigh, he spread her legs, positioning her knees so they were raised. Vulnerable, she was vulnerable to him, and yet she’d never felt more sure of herself.

He blew on her curls. She laughed. “That tickles.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, and in the blue depths, she saw with startling clarity that what was to come next was not going to tickle, was not going to make her laugh. Lowering his head, he stroked his tongue over the most intimate bit of her.

“Oh my word.” She pressed her head back against the pillow. Her hands clutched the sheets as his mouth worked an incredible magic, licking and sucking. She felt his finger slide inside her.

“So tight. So wet. So hot.”

“Is it a problem that you’re larger than your finger?”

“No, sweetheart. You’ll be glad of it when we’re done.”

His mouth returned to its endeavors, and sensations gathered at her core. Her cries sounded almost desperate. Her hands ached with their hold on the sheets. Her thighs squeezed against his shoulders. There was no relief from the increasing pleasure. It hovered, it hovered.

And then it was as though he struck a match to a box of fireworks and set each one off within her. She cried out, her back arching, her hands clasping his head as ecstasy shot through her with bursts of sensations, colors and emotions she couldn’t describe, that thrilled, excited and terrified her.

Slowly he moved up her body reminding her of a wolf that had scented its prey.

“Dear God, but you’re beautiful when lost in rapture,” he rasped.

She smiled, laughed. “I’m a wanton.”

“A gorgeous one.” Resting on his elbows, he kept much of his weight off her as he lowered his head and took her mouth.

She could taste herself on his lips, his tongue. Scandalous to allow him such intimate liberties, certainly not something she’d ever imagined a man might do with a woman, and yet why shouldn’t he when she wanted to kiss him everywhere, as well?

He shifted his hips, and she was aware of his nudging the damp area where he’d just feasted. Instinctually she lifted her hips to him, felt him poised at the opening.

“Stop me if it hurts,” he whispered near her ear before taking her lobe between his teeth.

Only she didn’t. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. He stretched her, filled her. His sigh was low, dark, drawn out. She gloried in the sound.

“Christ, you feel so good,” he ground out. “Velvet. Hot, molten velvet.”

“You feel good, too.” She buried her face against his chest.

He laughed, but there was warmth in it, joy, happiness. She reveled in this moment when he seemed without cares, wanted more of them shared with him, a lifetime’s worth.

He began to withdraw.

She dug her fingers into his buttocks. “Don’t leave me.”

Looking down on her, he grinned. “I’ll come back.”

And he did, over and over, his hips pistoning, hers rising to meet him. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, all the while thrusting, thrusting . . .

Her body tightened, the sensations began to build again. As he rode her, she held him close, with her arms, her thighs, her feet. Their movements became frantic, fevered, fierce.

“Come for me again,” he urged. “Aslyn . . . Aslyn . . . come with me.”

And she did. Her cries mingled with his groans as he tossed his head back and pumped into her so deeply that she thought he might have reached her soul.

Panting hard, he buried his face against her neck, breathed in deeply. They lay for the longest time, not moving, slick with sweat, catching their breath. She loved the weight of him resting lightly on her, raised slightly on his elbows. He kissed just below her ear.

Then he stiffened, growled. “Damnation!”

Panic surged through her. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

He lifted his head, held her gaze. “I’ve never done that before, never not been sheathed or not withdrawn before spilling my seed.”

“Oh.”

“You felt remarkably good. I lost my senses.”

He’d grown flaccid, but he was still there. She squeezed. He groaned from the pleasure of it, shook his head.

“I want no bastards, Aslyn.”

“Oh.” It seemed the only word that remained in her vocabulary as the significance of what he was saying hit her. He might have done more than spill his seed. He might have planted it. In her womb. “It only takes once?”

“It can.”

He didn’t sound particularly happy about it. She had mentioned her desire to marry him, but he hadn’t proposed. “Well, that would certainly create scandal for me, wouldn’t it?”

He rolled off her. For all of a heartbeat she felt forlorn at the loss of his nearness, before his arm came around her and he drew her up against his side. “So would marrying me.”

She trailed her fingers over the springy hair on his chest. “I don’t care what others think.” Lowering her head, she pressed a kiss to his nipple.

He groaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish. I suspect you’re too sore for another go.”

“I shall prove you wrong.”

She did just that, straddling him and teasing his cock until it shut down his brain and had its way with her. He’d never known anyone like her, bold and shy, a lady and a tart.

She shouldn’t be here, in his bed, in his arms, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her breath stirring the hairs on his chest. He’d never known such contentment, and it scared the bloody hell out of him. The woman snuggled against him made him wish for more. No, she did more than that. She made him believe more was possible.

“Why do you suppose this is considered a sin?” she asked quietly.

Grazing his fingertips up and down her arm, he inhaled her sweeter scent: gardenia intertwined with the musky fragrance of sex. “Because it’s so pleasurable, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re asking me to make sense of something that I’ve never understood, either.”

She lifted her head, dug her chin into his chest, making it easier to hold his gaze. “It’s a sin for women, not for men.”

“It’s a sin for men. We just don’t care.”

“Because you don’t get caught. Women do.”

She could get caught. He’d been reckless, careless. She was the most precious thing in his life, and he’d taken the least care with her. He should grant Hedley leave to flay his back. She had said she wanted to marry him, but did she truly understand what it entailed, what she would be giving up? Her family, her friends, her place in Society. Was she really willing to sacrifice—­

“Mick!”

Groaning at Aiden’s voice echoing through the rooms, he rolled away from the warm woman nestled against him. Aslyn released a tiny peep, clutched the covers, and brought them up to her neck.

“Mick! Good news, brother! I’ve got it!”

Releasing a harsh curse, he tossed back the covers and scrambled out of the bed. “Stay as you are.”

“What’s he doing here?”

He began dragging on his trousers. “My brothers are always barging in. As I never bring women here, they know they aren’t going to disturb me.”

“I’m the first?” She seemed pleased.

“You are.” Fastening his buttons, he headed for the door, stopped, looked back at her, disheveled in his bed where he wanted to see her every morning of every day for the remainder of his life. “I’m going to—­”

“Mick!”

“—­send him on his way. Don’t leave this room.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just slipped out, closing the door in his wake and heading down the hallway. He entered the foyer just as Aiden exited the corridor that led to the library.

His brother grinned like an idiot. “There you are! Where the bloody hell were you?”

“Abed. Come back tomorrow.”

“Abed? This early in the night? It’s not like you to retire before things get interesting.”

He was in no mood to discuss his sleeping habits. “Off with you, I’m tired.”

“This is going to perk you right up.” He gave off a whoop, held up a folded sheet of paper and shook it like it was a tambourine. “I’ve got it. Finally. The last piece you needed. Loudon Green. Kipwick clung to it until the last.”

He was barely aware of moving forward, taking it from Aiden, unfolding it and staring at the words he’d longed to read for ages. Soon would follow a letter in the Times written by the Duke of Hedley proclaiming to the world that he’d sired a bastard and declaring Mick as his. Many shied away from admitting their illegitimacy, but Mick had always worn his like a badge of honor.

He imagined the reverence that would be given to him when he strolled into a ballroom. The dinners to which he’d be invited. The soirees he would attend.

He considered the pride with which Aslyn would walk beside him, knowing from whence he’d sprung and knowing how far he’d had to climb.

He might even discover who had given birth to him. He wanted to know about the woman who had brought him into the world and then allowed Hedley to cart him away. Had she been a longtime mistress? A lover for only a single night? Was she some servant he’d taken advantage of? Was she still alive? Did she ever think about him?

“The man was a wreck,” Aiden said, interrupting his satisfying musings, “sobbing like a babe in need of a tit, when he realized his wager hadn’t paid off and he wasn’t getting that property back.”

“He wagered it?”

“He was desperate to win that final hand at all costs. I had to do some negotiating with the fellow who did. You owe me five hundred quid.”

Five hundred? This property’s annual income was worth ten times that. He’d hoped for it but never truly believed Kipwick would be desperate enough or stupid enough to give it up.

“This is the last piece,” Aiden said. “You can destroy Hedley now if he doesn’t acknowledge you.”

“Why would Hedley acknowledge you?”

At the soft voice, the voice that only minutes ago had been screaming out his name in rapture, Mick squeezed his eyes shut. Damnation. Spinning around he faced her. She stood in the opening to the hallway, as beautiful as always, his dressing gown drawn protectively about her.

“Why?” she repeated insistently. “Why would he acknowledge you and as what precisely?”

He hadn’t meant for her to find out like this, had wanted to prepare her gently, once he had the promise of the duke’s acknowledgment.

“I’m his bastard.”