Julia Justiss - The Regency Season - Forbidden Pleasures - The Rake to Rescue Her / The Rake to Reveal Her

‘The existence of an heir has no bearing on the Duke’s wish that his half-brother be raised in a ducal establishment.’

‘Even if Mannington were the heir,’ she continued, ignoring him, ‘until he’s old enough to be sent to school, a child should remain with his mother.’

‘If a case for custody were brought forward, the Court of Chancery would likely decide in favour of the Duke,’ the solicitor shot back, obviously already prepared for that argument.

Before she could put forth any more objections, he said in a softer tone, ‘Your Grace, though I sympathise with a mother’s eagerness to hold on to her child, you might as well resign yourself. As you should know from association with your late husband, when a Duke of Graveston desires something, he gets it.’

Nothing he could have said would have enraged her more. Welcoming a fury that helped her submerge a desperation too close to the surface, she snapped, ‘He will not get my son. I fear you’ve made a long journey to no purpose. Good day to you, Mr Feral.’

Before he could respond, Diana rose and swept from the room.

* * *

Her heart thudding in her chest, Diana instructed Smithers—who’d been loitering outside the door—to escort the visitor out, then paused in the doorway to the kitchens, concealed by the overhanging stairs.

As theatre, it had been an adequate performance, but would it be enough? Would Feral leave, or charge up to the nursery and attempt to remove Mannington by force?

If it came to that, she hoped the staff would assist her, though she wasn’t sure she could count on them.

To her relief, a few moments later, Mr Feral, his manner distinctly aggrieved, exited the parlour and paced to the front door, trailed closely by Smithers.

Light-headed with a relief that made her dizzy, she sagged back against the door frame. The first skirmish went to her, but she knew that small victory had won her only a brief respite. At worst, after pondering the matter, Mr Feral might well return and try to carry out Blankford’s order by force. Even in the best case—Feral electing to leave her alone and return to the Duke for further instructions—within a week or so she’d face a renewed assault.

Surely Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to strip James from her now, as she was just beginning to know him again! No, she simply must find some way to prevent it.

Blankford would be furious that she hadn’t capitulated to his demand, and was sure to summon every tool of law and influence to exact his will in the next round.

If it did come to that, would a Court of Chancery uphold her right to keep James until he went to university? She had no idea what provisions her husband had made for his second son in the event of his death. Although Blankford had received the title, all the entailed land and the bulk of the assets of the estate, there had probably been something left for James, with trustees named to oversee the assets until he came of age. Her legal position would be weaker still if Blankford had been named one of those trustees—though given the bitterness of the break between her husband and his heir, she doubted the Duke would have appointed him as one.

If Blankford were not a trustee, would that make retaining custody of James easier? She scanned her mind, trying to dredge up what little she knew about how the affairs of wealthy minors were settled under law. But she quickly abandoned the effort. A mere woman, she’d never be allowed to argue the case anyway. She’d chosen Bath over London as her refuge not only because she could live here more cheaply, but also because, as a town still frequented by the fashionable, she might find a solicitor skilled and clever enough to outwit a duke.

The unexpected appearance of Alastair Ransleigh had deflected her from setting out to find such a person as soon as they had settled in. She’d have to begin the search at once, and to hire the best, she’d need additional funds.

However, much as she’d tried to prepare herself for this eventuality, she couldn’t repress a shiver as she assessed the odds against her.

You really think you can defeat the Duke? a mocking little voice whispered in her ear. The panic she’d controlled during the interview with the lawyer bubbled up, threatening to escape.

She gave herself a mental shake. No, she would not think about losing James...Graveston’s son, yes, but hers , too. That way lay madness. With a control perfected through long bitter years, she forced her mind instead back to planning.

She’d obtain funds, consult a lawyer of her own, and find some way to block the Duke’s access to James. Thank heavens, tonight she would see Alastair. Perhaps the peace she’d found in his arms last night might ease, for a few hours at least, the fear that still tightened her chest and laboured her breathing.

She simply couldn’t give in to it. Once again, she had someone to protect. Whatever it took, she intended that this time, the Duke of Graveston would not have his way.

* * *

Meanwhile, Alastair had spent most of the day at Green Park Buildings. After Diana’s departure, he’d silently trailed her as she traversed empty dawn streets just stirring to life. Satisfied that she’d made it safely back to her lodgings, he’d returned to the little townhouse ravenous, downed a hefty breakfast of sirloin and ale, then retreated back to the bedchamber they’d shared to refresh himself after a night of great delight and little sleep.

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight when he awoke later. An enormous sense of well-being pervading him, he stretched lazily, running through his mind several of the delicious episodes from last night’s loving.

Diana moving under him, over him, pulling his face to her breasts, crying out as he thrust into her, had been intoxicating beyond his wildest imagining. As he’d sensed the first time he touched her, the woman she’d become more than fulfilled the promise of passion in the girl he’d once loved.

Perhaps desire would diminish over time, but thus far, each meeting with her left him more enchanted. The mere thought of touching her, kissing her, tasting her was so arousing he could scarcely wait until evening. Already he was hard and aching, needy and impatient.

But it was more than just the rapture of the physical. When she awakened beside him, rosy with sleep and satisfaction, the unguarded expression of joy and wonder as she recognised him had pierced the barrier he’d erected to armour himself against her and gone straight to the heart. The awe and tenderness with which she’d traced his face and whispered his name had weakened still further the barricades restraining the tender feelings for her that, unable to fully exterminate, he’d buried deep.

She’d gazed at him as if he were her most precious dream.

As she had once been his.

His euphoria dimmed a bit. Allowing her to touch his emotions again wasn’t wise and could end badly. He’d entered this affair to purge himself of her, not to fall under the spell of a woman much more complex than the straightforward lass he’d loved. The mere thought of the devastation he’d suffered when she’d abandoned him all those years ago made him suck in a painful breath.

Well, it wouldn’t come to that—not this time. He might want to penetrate all her secrets, but he’d not risk his heart imagining they had a future.

And what of her secrets? ‘I’m not the girl I once was,’ she had told him.

That much was certainly true. She was instead a woman who had, he was reluctantly beginning to believe, suffered isolation, hardship and abuse. If he fully accepted the truth of her account, she’d endured all that to protect her father—and him.

He recalled how frantic she’d become at the thought of the danger their being together placed him in, before he convinced her that her husband was dead.