The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(93)

All in all, she’d had something of a sad and forlorn life. He admired her good nature and sense of humor, cultivated in spite of her somewhat gloomy circumstances. He loved to make her laugh, was captivated by her smile, her enjoyment of him. He was hopelessly in love. He wanted to pet her and spoil her and shower her with all the affection that had been missing from most of her life. He was pleased to know Blixford was, at least privately, an extraordinarily warm, kind man, who clearly loved her much.

But he was only her brother, and it was very clear, Lucy needed a husband. A lover. A champion. A father for her son.

His growing affection for William almost caused him pain, for he knew when it was over between him and the boy’s mother, he wouldn’t see the child again. He was a bundle of energy, a sponge who soaked up all that Sherbourne taught. He was mad about archery, and loved to go to the park each afternoon and practice with his wee bow, becoming better with every session. Sherbourne always promised an ice if he applied himself diligently, but he was certain no bribe was required. It made him feel good to see the boy exert his masculinity, then point out to his mama what an excellent archer he was becoming, or gift her with yet another sharp stick, whittled carefully and lovingly by his small hands.

He also rather liked the way Lucy looked at him in those moments, as if he’d handed her a tremendous gift. She told him she could well understand how he’d ended up with such an accomplished, honorable brood, for he was surely the very best of fathers.

It had taken every ounce of his self-discipline not to ask for her hand, right then, and promise to give her many more children, with whom he would be an equally attentive father.

He had not. He was fifty, no doubt bound for the cold ground in twenty years or so. She wouldn’t recover from losing another husband, and he couldn’t put her through it. He wouldn’t. He had too much regard for her. Too much love.

“Sherbourne, you’re not yourself,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes. “You’re almost brooding. Has something upset you?”

Shaking off his mood, he smiled down at her. “No, my love, I’m only pondering how I shall come to you tonight.”

Her expression was inscrutable when she said airily, “As much as I’ve delighted and progressed in my education, for which I’m most thankful to you, I don’t believe I’m ready to introduce a third party into my bed. Frankly, it isn’t something I find at all interesting. Perhaps I’m less adventuresome than I thought.”

Confused, he swept her across the floor in a series of turns before he asked for clarification. “Did I suggest a third party?”

Her gaze was fixed upon his shoulder. “In truth, you would be the third party, and a bit of an intrusion, as I’ve agreed to an assignation with one of your prospects. I’d thought him disinterested, but it turns out, he’s simply mad about me. Naturally, I can’t contemplate marriage unless I am certain he’s . . . up to the task, shall we say? I suggested we get to know one another in a more intimate fashion and he was decidedly amenable to the idea.”

Without thinking, he waltzed her straight out the open doors and onto the terrace, to the far end, in the shadows. He brought them to a standstill, dropped his arms and faced her, determined not to throw his head back and shout, to scream or howl and vent the blood-boiling rage sweeping through him. “No doubt he’s amenable.” The sodding, bloody bastard! “Who’s the lucky fellow?” Amazing how calm he sounded.

“I’d rather not say until I’m certain I wish to marry him.” She spun about and stared out at the gardens, lit by paper lanterns in the trees. “It’s clear you’re merely biding your time until the end of the fortnight, and that you’re frustrated by the lack of a suitable gentleman to take me to wife. I realize you thought the task would be fairly simple and quick, and didn’t foresee a protracted process, so I’m releasing you from your promise three days early, and taking the matter of finding a husband into my own hands. I daresay it’s better this way, Sherbourne. To continue as we have, knowing we will part, that our friendship will end –for surely, sir, I cannot be your friend after all we have shared –is self-inflicted cruelty. I will, of course, miss you terribly, but I really feel I must move on. I can’t go back to my lonely existence at Margrave Park, and I can’t have you, so I will instead marry a man who satisfies me, who can be an adequate masculine influence for William. The gentleman I speak of will do nicely, if he proves tolerable in bed.”

Good Lord, he actually felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. “I see.” But he didn’t see, didn’t want to see. That another man would know her as he had known her would surely kill him. Ah, God, he couldn’t bear it. “I feel it’s my duty to Blixford to look after you in his absence, Lucy, so I would know with whom you’ve made an assignation.”