Page 20 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
But Mick couldn’t help but wonder if sometimes heartache was needed in order to move forward.
Chapter 6
Everyone who wanted to be seen was in Hyde Park. Generally Mick preferred to do his business in the shadows, but he recognized there were times when a man needed to step into the sunlight in order to be effective and gain what he wanted. This afternoon was one of those times.
Sitting astride his gelding gave him a clearer view, and it didn’t take him long to spy Lady Aslyn. He’d expected to find her amid a gaggle of females. Instead she appeared to be alone, except for the entourage of servants who had been accompanying her the day before. Not wanting to appear overly eager, he hadn’t joined her at the park yesterday. Seduction required subtlety and patience. Especially when the lady was supposedly enamored of another.
He didn’t cut a direct path to her, but instead meandered about, tipping his hat whenever any lord with whom he might have done business acknowledged him. The occurrences were few, but that would change once his place within high Society was recognized. Once his place was established, Fancy’s would be, as well. Ever since he’d learned at the age of fourteen that his mum was with child, he’d put all his efforts into protecting her and the babe. It was only then he’d fully understood the price Ettie Trewlove was paying to the landlord every Black Monday when she didn’t have enough coins for her weekly rent. If he’d been older or bigger or stronger, perhaps he could have protected her from the lecherous proprietor sooner, with his fists.
He damned well protected her now—and the daughter to whom she’d given birth out of wedlock, in shame and in sin. When it came to children, the law required nothing of the man and everything of the woman. Ettie Trewlove had little to give except for her heart, but it was enough, enough for own daughter and the five unwanted children she’d taken under her wing. He owed his mum a price he could never repay, so he would make a proper place in the world for her daughter, her blood, even if it cost him his soul to do it.
He knew the moment Lady Aslyn spotted him. She stopped walking, tipped up her parasol slightly along with her chin and smiled softly as though she’d been kept indoors all day because of the rain—and the sun had suddenly made an appearance.
Drawing his horse to a halt, he dismounted with ease, removed his hat and waited for a more public acknowledgment from her.
“Mr. Trewlove.”
“Lady Aslyn, what a pleasure it is to find you in the park this afternoon.”
“And you, sir. I thought I might have seen you yesterday.”
What a bold chit she was. He’d not expected the subtle reprimand. “I had business that kept me away.” He cast a furtive glance at the servants hovering nearby, all appearing to be ready to pounce if he made an untoward movement. He resettled his gaze on the lady. “But you occupied my thoughts.”
A lovely blush rose up her neck to encompass her face and make her cheeks more pronounced. He had the fleeting thought that he was looking forward to discovering if the flush began at her toes. And he would discover it. Before the month was done, he intended to have her in his bed. She would be to him whatever the woman who had given birth to him had been to his father—and he’d throw the similarities into the duke’s face. Looking at her youth and innocence now, he refused to feel remorseful about the role she would play in his gaining satisfaction. He’d given the duke the opportunity to publicly recognize him, and the damned man had ignored each missive.
“Might we stroll together for a while?” he asked.
Her blush deepened, but she looked slightly uncomfortable as though uncertain where to go from here. She gave a barely perceptible nod. “I suppose there’s no harm in walking together for a few minutes.”
Guilt nagged at him. Was he a blackguard for using a girl who seemed far too innocent to be out alone among the wolves? He didn’t bother to offer his arm, because he wasn’t certain she’d take it, and he never took any action unless he was certain of the outcome. In a distant corner of his mind, an irritating thought nagged at him that he also hadn’t offered his arm because he’d be distracted by her touch. She had small hands, no doubt fragile and delicate. There’d never been anything gentle in his life. Everything he’d experienced had been hard, harsh and challenging. Even his bedding rituals had a rough, wild element to them. The women he took were strong, fierce, gave as good as they got. He couldn’t imagine Lady Aslyn on all fours acting the mare to his stallion.
Damnation. She wasn’t touching him, but simply gazing on her distracted him from his purpose. He walked with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the reins held firmly as the gelding followed, providing an effectual barrier between the lady and her footmen who traipsed along behind. While he walked to her left, the two maids had taken up positions to her right, but they were keeping a respectful distance, allowing them a bit of privacy as long as they spoke quietly.
“Did you find a parasol for your sister?” Lady Aslyn asked, as she glanced askance at him.
“I did. A white lacy thing. She seemed to fancy it.”
“White goes with anything.”
Only then did he notice her pink parasol, resting against her right shoulder, was the same shade as her frock. She no doubt possessed a hundred of the blasted things, one for every outfit. She lived in a world where coins were taken for granted. While he was now in a position to be generous with his, he never forgot the price paid for each one.
Silence eased in around them. He supposed she was waiting for him to continue their discussion of ladies’ paraphernalia. Flirtation involved speaking of inconsequential things. If he had any hope at all of seducing her, he needed to move quickly before the duke or the earl realized his intentions.
“How many languages do you speak?” she asked, catching him off guard with the change in topic. Was she trying to discern where he’d been educated? The rookeries had been his classroom, poverty and vulnerability his harsh tutors. He’d learned their lessons well. They’d never again threaten to break him.
“The Queen’s English.” He could speak a few words of other languages, enough to communicate with laborers when needed, but mentioning them might put her in the mood to test him, and he wasn’t going to show himself lacking in any regard. Although he’d never seen the advantage to boasting. Better to keep one’s talents close to the vest. “You?”
“Five,” she said blithely. “English, of course. French. Handkerchief, fan and parasol.”
He stared at the impish smile she gave him. It transformed her face into rare beauty, something that went beyond the surface. He had no desire to be intrigued or mesmerized by her teasing—no one dared tease him—yet she seemed completely unaware of the danger he presented. “I beg your pardon? Handkerchief, fan, parasol?”
“Any lady of good breeding knows them. Did you not teach them to your sister when you gifted her with the parasol?”
“I am not a lady of good breeding.”
Her smile deepened, causing a strange sensation in his chest, something he’d experienced once when a large wooden crate had toppled onto him. It had been terribly unpleasant, then. It wasn’t so much so now, and yet he still found it difficult to breathe. “No, I suppose you’re not. Do you see that couple walking over there, the lady in the purple gown, the gent with the gray cravat? Her parasol rests against her left shoulder. She is displeased with him. He’s said something that upset her.”
“Perhaps it keeps the sun out of her eyes better on that side.”
