An Heir of Deception (21 page)

“You mustn’t be nervous.”

Charlotte’s gaze snapped to his and his expression was not one that would bring her out of her current state of anxiety. It was in fact, one that only served to feed it. He looked hard and masculine and his steady regard caused all sorts of riotous flutters inside her.

“I’m not nervous.” She wouldn’t admit to anything else in front of their son.

Alex continued to watch her silently.

“Have you told your parents
anything
?” The question had been gnawing at her all night.

“My message only indicated it was imperative I speak with them. You needn’t worry, they will be happy to meet him.”

Charlotte hoped his confidence of their complete acceptance of Nicholas wasn’t being misplaced. She didn’t care if they disapproved of her but she couldn’t bear it if they rejected her son—not to his face. How could Alex know with one hundred percent certainty just how they would react to the news of a newfound grandson—an heir to the esteemed Hastings dukedom?

“Do you intend to tell them about
the marriage
?” How difficult it was to have this sort of conversation with their son present, even engrossed as he was playing with his toy.

“I plan on telling them the truth,” he replied smoothly.

Nicholas didn’t look up, his hand turned up as he tried to keep the top spinning on the center of his palm with little success. Undeterred, he kept trying, his brow knitted in concentration.

While the thought of the duke and duchess in full knowledge of their deception made her hands clammy, Alex appeared unperturbed. But what could she say, they were his parents. If he felt this is what he ought to do, she couldn’t change his mind.

“If you think it is best,” she conceded.

It took her several seconds to realize he wasn’t going to offer a response, just continue to treat her to one of his unblinking and enigmatic stares.

Charlotte endeavored not to appear as if his regard didn’t completely upend her equilibrium and have all of her senses clamoring. Striving for an air of nonchalance, she turned to the window and pretended an interest in the sights of Reading’s rolling hills as they sped toward town.

Still she could feel his gaze upon her.

And the journey had only just begun.

Chapter Twelve

They arrived in London in the early afternoon, traveling from Paddington Station to Mayfair in a grand carriage stamped with the gold-embossed ducal family crest. They arrived at Alex’s flat, a well-appointed bachelor’s residence currently fully staffed. Her sister had told her he’d sold Fairleigh House two years after she’d left.

Nicholas had fallen asleep on the train to London, and didn’t so much as open one eye when his father hefted him into his arms and carried him past the butler, who opened the door to them, and into the house. Charlotte followed closely behind. Accustomed to having full charge and care of her son, sharing in the responsibility was something she’d have to get used to. But she couldn’t help feeling excluded from the bond budding to life between them.

“Will we be staying here tonight?” She’d thought they’d be staying at his parents’ residence but was relieved that didn’t appear to be the case.

“I never stay with my mother and the duke when I travel to London. My relationship with my father hasn’t changed since you left.”

Which Charlotte took to mean they could barely tolerate one another.

“We will change here before we meet with my parents,” he said, shifting a still-sleeping Nicholas in his arms so his head rested more comfortably on Alex’s shoulder.

Five servants—the butler, the housekeeper, the cook, the maid and the other footmen—stood in a line. The greeting party.

“Good day, milord. Welcome home.” The sentiment was echoed and was accompanied by formal bows and pretty curtseys.

“I would like to introduce you to my wife, the Marchioness of Avondale.”

None of them even blinked at the announcement, which meant Alex had already apprised them of his marriage and the return of his erstwhile betrothed, who was suddenly his current marchioness. Though, she was sure he hadn’t gone into quite that amount of detail.

After the introductions, Alex carried Nicholas to the nursery upstairs he told Charlotte he’d had prepared for him by converting one of the guest rooms. In the meanwhile, the housekeeper, a slender woman with the eyes of a hawk, took Charlotte to hers. The servants were no doubt speculating about the marriage and hers and Nicholas’s sudden appearance in Alex’s life. The gossip would commence in earnest now.

Charlotte sighed. She’d have to grow a very thick skin for it was something she’d have to become well used to.

Four hours later, Charlotte, Alex and Nicholas were admitted into the grand entrance of his parents’ mansion on Park Lane.

Alex had watched Charlotte and Nicholas as their eyes rounded upon first catching sight of Somerset House from the street. He now tried to see it through their eyes.

While not as large as Rutherford Manor, rural Italian in design, the structure was impressively large by London standards with brick stone work and a low-pitched roof, Palladian style molding and pedimented windows and doors.

The interior could be said to be equally as impressive, the ceiling an elaborate and intricate design of decorative metal trimming, a design which was carried throughout the residence. Corinthian-style columns stood tall and majestic and the silk walls were the same cream color of the exterior.

But the house had always lacked something. Or perhaps it just hadn’t felt like a home. As a child, even when his father hadn’t been in residence, Alex hadn’t enjoyed staying there during many of their summers spent in London.

Alex turned to Charlotte, who was the picture of nerves. The stalwart smile she attempted to exhibit looked strained and unnatural.

“Go with Smithers. I would like a word with my mother and the duke alone.” Charlotte did as he bid, following his parents’ butler to
le petit
drawing room. Alex then made his way to the grand room. He found his parents seated opposite one another, his mother reposed on the settee and his father in a high-backed chair Alex referred to as his throne for its ostentatious gold frame and red velvet cushion.

“Hello, my dear.”

Alex strode to his mother, leaned down and bussed her proffered cheek with a kiss. “Nice to see you, Mama.”

The duke merely scowled at him. “I do not take to cryptic messages. If you’ve something to say, say it quick, I’ve better things to do with my evening.”

Alex clenched his teeth. He’d expected nothing less from the duke, yet the man still managed set him on edge.

“Your Grace.” Alex offered his father a formal bow for he knew how he disliked it.

Again, the duke scowled, dismissing the gesture with a flick of his hand. “You always were impertinent.”

And no matter how hard the duke had tried, he could never beat it out of him.

“Now, Walter, let us strive to have a nice visit. Darling, you must tell us what all the mystery is about. Your father is correct, your letter
was
rather cryptic. I told your father this must be about Lady Mary. Have I finally convinced you what a fine duchess she will make?” she asked, a faint smile of satisfaction hovering about her lips.

At this point, Alex wagered his mother would be happy if he married any respectable young lady in Society, although she’d prefer it be Lady Mary. Every year that passed without a marriage and an heir, she’d despaired the dukedom would fall so far from the direct line, it would require an act of God himself to set it back on track.

“I have a son.”

The announcement had the effect of propelling the duchess’s back flush against the settee, her fingers spread flat against her chest. “Oh dear.”

The duke didn’t so much as twitch but leveled him with one of his imperious stony stares, his disdain evident. “I’d expect no less from you. But what are you telling us for? Is the girl a peer? If not, take care of the business yourself. You aren’t the first peer to father a child outside of marriage.”

No concern or interest in his grandchild. As expected. And the duke never failed to disappoint.

“Who is the mother? How old is the child?” His mother seemed to have regained her composure though her hand remained splayed against the neckline of her gown.

In very matter-of-fact tones, Alex divulged every pertinent detail. When he came to the part about the marriage, his mother gasped, horror plain on her face, and the duke bolted to his feet.

“No!” It was a roar sure to have the servants all a titter. But then, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t heard the duke roar before. At him.

“I will not condone it. And with that girl?” He huffed an incredulous laugh. “You’d make yourself a laughingstock. No, send her and the child somewhere else. Up north, Scotland, Australia, I don’t care where as long as they’re gone from here. They’ll be no mention of it again, do you hear me?” The duke subjected him to the kind of look that used to have him cowering as a boy. It hadn’t had the same paralyzing effect for well over a decade.

“I brought them here. They are in the drawing room,” Alex continued as if they hadn’t been obvious about their violent opposition to his plan. “I am going to bring your grandson in to meet you. You will not only be kind to him, but I will not have you treat his mother with any kind of discourtesy in his presence, do you understand?” The same sense of protectiveness washed over him as when he’d coached them for their initial introduction with Charlotte years before. He may not love her anymore but he wouldn’t have her hurt and most assuredly, not in front of their son.

Alex could not remember ever seeing his mother’s eyes quite so wide or the duke’s face that particular shade of purple. He hadn’t struck him since Alex’s fifteenth year but he looked fit to resume the practice that very moment, his hands fisted, his form tighter than a drum. The duke practically shook with rage.

“Who the devil do you think you are talking to?” The duke continued to shout as Alex exited the room.

The last thing he heard was his mother saying, “Walter, for the love of God, please do sit down and pray, do not cause a scene.”

When he went to get Charlotte and Nicholas, she looked fragile and frightened and lost. Another wave of emotion washed over him, this more acute and more terrifying than the last. One that didn’t bode well for his derelict feelings.

“I told them we have reconciled. They’ll never believe it if you meet them looking as you do.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “At this moment, I’d rather be facing the wrath of the late dowager Countess of Windmere than that of your parents.”

Alex looked down at his son, who appeared equally as nervous, blue eyes wide with trepidation. No doubt he’d taken the lead from his mother, mimicking her emotional frame of mind. This would not do at all.

Leaning forward, he kissed her on the lips. He breathed in a surprised breath of air. But all too soon, her mouth softened beneath his and what was intended as a simple kiss, to add a splash of color to her face and ease some of her anxiety, soon became something more.

She tasted sweet, her lips soft and receptive. Her mouth opened for his tongue and just as he was about to take the kiss deeper and explore her fully, he heard Nicholas giggle. The sound was enough to bring him sharply back to the present. Alex peered down at his son.

“You’re kissing Mama,” Nicholas teased.

Charlotte’s face turned a vivid shade of pink as she studiously avoided Alex’s gaze. The heightened color in her cheeks made her look all the more appealing. One kiss, and one not even that long in duration, but that was all it took to make him forget…and want…and need.

“Indeed I am,” Alex replied, smiling at Nicholas. He held his hand out to him and his son grasped it without hesitation.

“Mama, do you like it when Papa kisses you?” If nothing else, the kiss had certainly put Nicholas at ease for his grin went from ear to ear.

Alex looked over at Charlotte. If possible, her blush deepened. She returned his gaze and held it several seconds before softly replying, “Yes, I like it very much.”