The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(58)

Her gaze was curious. “Did your children climb in your lap? Did you read to them at bedtime?”

“Every last one of them did. Bram was the most affectionate, and to this day, he’s the most demonstrative. At five and twenty, he still kisses my cheek to say goodbye. Tells me he has no mum to kiss, so he has to settle for his papa.”

William had discovered the joy of sailing twigs downstream. No sooner had he realized he could set them afloat and watch them meander away, he had the brilliant notion of spearing a large leaf with the twig, fashioning a sailboat. They slowed to a stop and stepped off the path to watch him.

“Perhaps a toy boat would be in order?” she asked.

“Hmm, maybe, but it would not be nearly so much fun as crafting his own, now would it? I recommend a good, sharp knife. He can whittle canoes from twigs.”

“A knife, Sherbourne? A sharp knife?”

“Absolutely. Let’s finish our stroll and go for an ice at Gunther’s, and just afterward, we’ll take him to pick out his very own knife.”

“Good heavens, I may never survive seeing William wielding a knife.”

“Fear not, for it will be a small one, just the size for his small hand. He’ll immediately cut himself, of course, and try not to cry, and you’ll bandage him up and scold him and he’ll be infinitely more careful in future. Buck up now, Lucy.” He grinned down at her, enjoying himself immensely.

She gave him a hesitant smile and nodded. “I shall do my best.”

What a beautiful woman she was, and how dedicated she was to her son, as well as the memory of her long dead husband. If her carnal need was not so strong, he suspected she might remain celibate the rest of her life, to remain faithful to his memory.

But the thought was ludicrous. Lucy was a woman of serious, deep passion and strong, dark desires that would never remain repressed, regardless of how hard she tried to contain them. He’d encountered very few women in his life who came close to Lucy’s needful nature. Come to think of it, not since Connie had he lain with a woman who could climax with absolutely no stimulation other than the thrust of his cock. He’d suspected Lucy would go off just after she climbed atop him and impaled herself.

He was enchanted. He was sexually charged and eager to take her again, soon. He was ridiculous.

But he’d promised her a fortnight, and silently, he’d promised himself, as well. They would spend the next two weeks exploring one another, perhaps engaging in some risky lovemaking and interesting positions, and then it would be over. She would tire of him, naturally, and eventually see him for what he was –an aging peer who’d someday be unable to keep up with her lusty appetites. She’d return to Margrave Park, perhaps more enthusiastic to seek out another husband, one who would fulfill her desire. As for himself, he’d remain in London until the end of the Season, then return to Hornsby Grange for summer. If she conceived, he’d marry her immediately, ridiculous, or no. If not, well, she would be a fond memory he would never forget.

It struck him as particularly odd that their age difference didn’t seem to matter, wasn’t noticeable to him. She was, indeed mature for her age, her soulful, dark eyes filled with a certain knowing, an understanding of the world many never achieved, regardless of how many years they lived. He supposed he didn’t actually think of himself as old. He enjoyed life, could see no reason for a gloomy outlook. He’d had his share of misfortune and heartbreak, but what was the point dwelling on it? Best to move on and see what life held in store.

For instance, how could he have imagined the day would turn out this way when he awoke this morning? He’d been anxious and grievously concerned about allowing Jane to marry Blixford, wondering if, yet again, he was doing the wrong thing by letting her have her way. It had always been so damned easy to spoil her. How he adored her, and how he had missed her while she sojourned in Scotland.

He thought of what had transpired, and although he knew no details, he knew she had come to harm, and it fair broke his heart. It also made him deadly angry. If Blixford didn’t exact proper satisfaction, by God, he would. He’d kill the blackguard.

But that was something to fret about another day. For now, he was enraptured by the lovely surprise that was Lucy, and additionally, her captivating son. He anticipated the next fortnight with great enthusiasm. Not only would he have the pleasure of a child’s company, something he missed now that his own brood were grown and gone, he would undoubtedly find enormous gratification in Lucy’s sweet, beautiful body. She was, indeed, luscious. The very earth.

“Come along, Wills,” he called to the boy, “and I shall buy you an ice.”