Simply Voracious (39 page)

“She is fourteen? Then she could be my child.”

“I didn’t press her further. She seemed like an intelligent, pleasant young lady, Con.”

Con stared down at his hands. “I’m still undecided about what to do about this. If she is my child, I suppose I could force Natasha to give her up to me.”

“Or force Natasha to resume her marriage with you, and then you could bring your daughter up together,” Paul said.

Con stared at Paul. “Do you think that is what I want when I have finally found happiness with you both?”

Paul took Lucinda’s hand. “But we would understand, if you wanted your child more than you wanted us.”

“Why can’t I have you as well?”

“You know the law, Con. If Natasha and her husband decided to dispute your claim to the child, would she try and blacken your name to preserve her own? You have been very discreet, but there are people who might suggest you are morally unfit to bring up a child. Even though you would probably win your case, do you want to subject your daughter to that?” Paul sighed. “God knows, Con, Lucky and I don’t want to lose you again, but we will not be the cause of your downfall and disgrace.”

Despite what Paul was saying, Con found himself smiling at both of the St. Clares. “You do this because you love me, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

He swallowed hard. “I don’t deserve that.”

Lucinda took one of his hands and Paul the other. “We are all unworthy of love sometimes, but luckily we have each other to remind us that love comes in many forms and that we are all ultimately forgivable.”

Con squeezed both of their hands. “Thank you. I’ve been so alone. . . .” He found he couldn’t continue, but it didn’t seem to matter, as he knew that, somehow, they understood him better than he understood himself. Paul kissed his cheek and Lucky stood on tiptoe to kiss him as well, and for a moment he was enfolded in their love and more content than he had ever been in his life.

“We’ll do whatever you want, Constantine,” Lucky whispered. “Whatever makes you happy.”

He solemnly kissed them both and stood back to observe their faces. “Thank you. I need to talk to Natasha first. Then I’ll be in a better position to decide what to do.”

Paul nodded and headed for the door. “Let us know what happens.” He paused to help Lucky with her coat. “Just in case it all works out well, you should know that Lucky and I are looking at a property this afternoon in the street behind this one.” He glanced down at his wife. “We have decided that we need our own home, and this seems like an excellent neighborhood.”

Con saw them out and then returned to his seat by the fire. It was imperative that he see Natasha again, but he had no idea how he would get into her house now that it was barred to him. If Natasha had nothing to hide, why had she fled from him?

A knock on the outer door roused him from his thoughts, and he waited for Gregor to answer it. The knock came again, and Con decided to do the honors himself. When he opened the door, he found the blond-haired boy who had delivered the notes standing there. He decided to take a gamble.

“Anastasia?”

She scowled at him. “Why did you come to our house?”

Con stared at her for a long moment before opening the door wide and inviting her inside. Despite his shock, he was determined to remain as calm as he could and not frighten the child away again. He took his customary seat by the fire and waited to see if the “boy” would join him.

“Did your mother send you?”

“Of course not.”

“Did she ever send you?”

“No, I did this by myself.”

Con indicated the chair opposite his, and Anastasia sat down on the edge of it, her eyes downcast, her mouth a sulky and resentful line.

“You sought me out by yourself? For what purpose?”

“I told you. I wanted you to leave my mother alone.”

“Did your mother explain why I was seeking her in the first place?”

“Not directly. I overheard her talking to her maid one day about you. She wished you were dead.”

“Ah. And did you then ask her about me?”

Her gaze met his and then slid away again. “She grew very angry with me and forbade me to mention your name again.”

“But you chose not to take her advice.”

“I wanted to know the truth.”

“So what did you do?”

She shrugged. “I asked her maid. She likes to gossip, and I am her favorite.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“That you claimed to have been married to my mother.”

Con met her gaze. “I
am
married to your mother. I have the marriage documents to prove it.”

“That can’t be right.” Anastasia frowned. “She can’t be married to two people at once, can she?”

“No,” Con said gently.

“Then why can’t you just go away and leave us in peace? None of us want you. We love our father.”

Con let that hurt sink in and not show. “In truth, I have no intention of distressing you or your mother. I want to formally dissolve our union. Then we will be free to live our separate lives.”

Anastasia shifted in her seat. “I know that too. I listened at the door when you came to visit.”

“You are certainly resourceful, my dear.” Con wanted to smile. “But if you know that your mother and I have agreed to legally separate with as little fuss and attention as possible, why did you come to see me?”

He held his breath as the silence grew longer and she stared down at the floorboards.

“What else is bothering you, Anastasia?”

She looked up right into his eyes and it was like looking into his reflection. “I don’t look like them.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The rest of my family. I don’t look like them, but when I saw you, when I saw your face . . .” She shivered. “I began to wonder.”

“To wonder what?”

“If your claim to be married to my mother was actually true. I want someone to tell me the truth, and I thought you might do it.”

Con let out his breath. “I was married to your mother in eighteen hundred and eleven when I was eighteen and she was seventeen. We spent very little time together because I was already with my regiment fighting against Napoléon. In the summer of eighteen twelve, I left her at our family home in Moscow, and that was the last time I saw her. I believed she was killed during the French occupation of Moscow.”

“Why didn’t you know for certain?”

“Because by the time I was able to get back to Moscow it was a smoking ruin, and there were thousands of missing or deceased people. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“When did you find out she might have survived?”

“Quite recently, when I attempted to formally declare her dead through the Russian embassy. Does that answer your questions?”

“Oh.” Anastasia frowned down at her clasped hands. “I was born in eighteen thirteen.”

“Indeed,” Con said. He wanted to ask for the exact date, but he didn’t want to push her.

“In France.”

“Yes.”

She glared at Con. “In March.”

Con rapidly did the calculation and stayed silent, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Is that why my mother is currently packing up our household again and driving my father mad with her hysterics?”

“You are returning to France?”

She watched him carefully. “Will you try and prevent it?”

He wanted to, God, he wanted to keep this unknown child here and learn all there was to know about her, to find out what made her happy and sad and . . .

“No, I will not try and prevent you leaving.”

“Even if it turns out that you might be my father?”

He made her look at him. “Do you want me to keep you here?”

She bit her lip and tears filled her silver eyes. “I don’t want anything to change. I want my family, I want my brother and sister, and I want to go home.”

Con smiled and reached out for her hand. “Then you will have those things. Let me escort you home and reassure your mother that I will never attempt to disrupt your life.”

Anastasia stood and kept hold of his hand. “Thank you.”

He rose and looked down at her. “There’s nothing to thank me for. All I ask is if you ever need me for anything, anything at all, you will find me. I’ll do anything in my power to make you happy.”

She smiled at him for the first time, and he led her toward the door, his heart breaking, even as he knew he was doing the right thing for her, if not for himself.

“Now, let me take you home.”

“And you just let her go?” Lucky asked.

She sat on his bed with Con’s head in her lap; Paul stretched out on his other side.

“What else could I do? The poor child was terrified that I was going to destroy her entire existence.” He sighed. “I did tell her and Natasha that if they ever needed anything from me, they just had to ask.”

“You were polite to the end.” Lucky smoothed his white hair. “Even though she is probably your child, and you have the right to take her away from her mother?”

He groaned. “Damn it, don’t remind me. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

“And one of the bravest,” Lucky added.

Con turned his head slightly so that he could look up at her. “I’m not that brave. I just knew I had friends who would endeavor to love me enough to heal the wounds.”

“Friends?” Paul asked, stretching out his hand to Lucky.

“Lovers, then,” Con replied. “If that is what we have decided.”

Paul smiled and Lucky brought his hand to her lips. “I certainly hope so, seeing as Paul has just purchased the lease on the house next door.”

Some of the anxiety on Con’s face disappeared. “Truly?”

“I know it won’t make up for the loss of your child, Con,”
or of mine,
she silently added, “but at least we can help each other heal and move forward into a better, more loving future.”

“Amen to that,” Con murmured and kissed her stomach.

If she was fortunate, she’d give both him and Paul more children to replace the lost ones, children they could love without reserve and watch grow up together. Despite what society might say, she was in the privileged position of having the love of two wonderful, honorable men. She’d matured enough to realize that she didn’t want to lose either of them and be damned to what society might think of her.

“We are indeed lucky,” Paul agreed.

Lucky winced while Con actually chuckled.

“Lucky indeed. Now when are you both moving in next door?”

Please turn the page
for an exciting sneak peek of
Kate Pearce’s next sizzling installment
in her House of Pleasure series

SIMPLY SCANDALOUS

Coming in January 2013!

1

London 1827

“
S
urely you are exaggerating, Emily.” Richard Ross studied his sister’s indignant expression. “Paul St. Clare is heir to a dukedom.”

Emily raised her chin. “Lucky is my best friend. Do you think she would lie to me?”

Richard put his half-empty bowl of hot chocolate down on the kitchen table. It was early in the morning, and most of the staff at the pleasure house had already gone home. If one discounted Madame Dubois, the cook, and Ambrose, he and Emily had the kitchen almost to themselves.

“But think of the scandal!”

Emily sniffed. “The higher the rank of the individuals involved, the less of a scandal there seems to be. Think of the Duke of Devonshire. His domestic arrangements were highly unorthodox. It is
because
Paul is heir to a duke that the
ton
will look the other way and pretend that he and Lucky have a perfectly respectable marriage.” Emily put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “In truth, their marriage is respectable. It’s not as if Constantine Delinsky has moved in with them.”

“He maintains lodgings on the same street, but he practically lives in their house. Everyone knows that he shares Paul St. Clare’s bed. Doesn’t your friend Lucky object?”

Emily grinned at him. “Are you shocked, brother of mine? I never thought you were so stuffy. What if I told you it was far more complicated than that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Constantine shares Lucky’s bed too.”

Richard just stopped himself from gaping like a fool. “He beds them both?”

“They all bed each other.”

Richard shook his head. “I would never have thought it of Lady Lucinda. She seemed like such a nice, quiet, well-behaved young lady.”

“Unlike me, you mean.”

“You are sitting in the kitchen of a notorious pleasure house at three o’clock in the morning,” Richard pointed out. “That hardly helps your reputation.”

Beside Richard, Ambrose cleared his throat. “Miss Ross is not allowed upstairs, Mr. Ross. Madame Helene was very insistent about that.”

“More’s the pity,” Emily groused. “I’m practically on the shelf. Why shouldn’t I have some fun?”

“Because our revered father wishes you to marry well and be happy. You know that.”

Emily glanced at Ambrose, who kept his gaze fixed steadily on Richard. “And what if I refuse to marry well, and marry where my heart is?”

“That is something you will have to take up with our father.” Emily’s face fell, and Richard felt compelled to continue. “But as his own second marriage was scarcely an orthodox one, perhaps he will be more willing to listen to you than most parents.”

“I doubt it. He thinks I need the stabilizing influence of a wealthy, titled man. What he doesn’t understand is that most of those men view me with great suspicion because of
his
decidedly odd marriage to Helene.”

“Would you like me to mention it to him?” Richard asked.

Emily smiled. “I don’t want to add to the friction between you two. I’ve already told him, but he chooses not to believe me.” She sighed. “Eventually he’ll have to face the facts. I’m three and twenty. All I can hope is that I’m not too old to marry before he listens to me.”

Richard reached across and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Em.”

“It’s not your fault. And I truly am happy that after his disastrous relationship with our mother, Father has Helene in his life.”