Chapter Seventeen
Lord Mark Rydell’s Bloomsbury residence
Half-past four in the morning
Mark studied Judith’s face, waiting to see how she would take his words.
He had not meant to say them—not yet—but as she had accepted his full weight on her, his heart had soared with a bizarre, somewhat twisted hope—one borne of his wonder of this woman in his bed, her understanding, warmth, and practicality.
A hope that her reactions, her words, were not a pretense but all too real.
He had never experienced a stronger sense of pragmatism in any woman, and he had never believed to find one.
Yet his own life and lifestyle demanded it.
The smile that had flitted across her face vanished. She touched his cheek with two fingers, resting her thumb under his chin. Her eyes narrowed, but more in curiosity than anger. “What does that mean to you?”
“That of all the women I have met, you are the only one I wish to spend time with. To share a bed with. To hold near me in a way I have no other.”
“Not marriage?”
Mark slipped off her and rolled to his side, tugging her with him, sliding an arm around her waist. “No. I do not think marriage is in the cards for either of us, if I am honest.”
This time, she did smile. “No. I think not.”
“But it also means that you are mine and mine alone. Mind, body, and heart.”
Judith placed a palm against his chest. “So no more young blades tripping in and out of my bedchambers after balls, keeping me warm and happy at night?”
“I will buy you a puppy.”
She laughed. A full-throated, body-shaking laugh that began with a startled bark and descended into girlish giggles.
Mark held her, charmed, as she quivered against him, although the way she curled her fingers into the hair on his chest tested his every resolve to not pin her to the bed and take her for all they were both worth. “It is not that amusing.”
She nodded, her hair flowing over her shoulders and trailing down his body, then gulped for breath. “It is if you know how often I think of them as untrained pups.”
A sudden image of young Gower as a lanky young hound made Mark squeeze his eyes shut as he snickered.
As they calmed, Judith stroked his shoulder, testing his resolve once again. “Judith—”
“Yours alone?”
His hand slid from her waist, down along her hip, coming to rest mid-thigh, his thumb caressing her. “Mine alone.”
“You would pit me against Edmund? My boys?”
Mark scowled. “No. Family is too important, especially children. But otherwise, your loyalty would be to me.”
Judith remained silent a moment. “You say that almost as if you had children of your own.”
Mark’s mouth thinned, feeling almost as if he were being tested in some way. And perhaps he was. Given what he asked of her, perhaps it was time he extended the same . . . what? Trust?
Taking a deep breath, he pushed up and off the bed, holding out his hand. “I need to show you something. Let us get dressed first—no need to startle any unwary servants.”
She smiled and slipped from the bed, straightening her chemise and reaching for her stays, which he helped her lace up, along with her dress.
He pulled on his trousers but reached for the banyan instead of his soiled shirt.
He picked up one of the oil lamps, then led her out the door and up the back stairs.
Judith followed, his hand grasping hers, without a word.
On the fourth floor, he paused, his hand on the door of the room his workers had been focused on for more than a week.
“If, after I show you this, you wish to pursue your own course, I will understand.”
Her brow furrowed. “Then you must show me now.”
With a nod, he opened the door and led her inside, closing it behind them. He released her hand, urging her farther into the room, as he lifted the lamp to cast more light around the room.
Bright moonlight streamed through the windows of the room, adding a silver sheen to the golden glow of the lamp, both casting stark shadows over the furnishings and bare wooden floor.
The room held a moist chill, and it smelled of fresh paint and recently sawed wood.
Judith looked around, her eyes slowly growing so wide he could see the white around the emerald-green of her irises.
She turned, taking in each element of the room as if viewing a museum exhibit.
The room, once that of a servant, had been transformed into a child’s room with study and play areas.
In one corner, a tiny table sat flanked with a low bookcase filled with children’s lesson books and an armchair for an adult.
Against the far wall, a rocking chair and a variety of toys clustered near a child’s bed.
Judith circled the room, touching a few items such as a rocking horse and a shelf full of painted rocks and dried flowers. Completing her circuit, she looked at Mark. “Who is this for?”
“Olivia. My daughter. She is almost four. Stella is—was—her mother, and she now lives with her grandmother, Stella’s mother, Rose. But Rose is not in great health, and I want to bring them both here to live.”
Then he waited.
Twin spots of red tinged Judith’s cheekbones as she turned to survey the room again. She walked over, her fingers gliding along the head of the rocking horse. “Do you plan to hire a nanny? A governess?”
Mark blinked at the unexpected question. “Not yet. Rose has cared for her until now. But she should start her education soon, which I do not think Rose can handle. I hoped to hire a governess to handle her at that point.”
“Why have you not . . . claimed . . . her before now?”
“Because I could not protect her.”
She snapped around to stare at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I was a soldier against the French, and I am now the owner of a gambling establishment. To say that I have a few . . . nefarious . . . acquaintances would be putting it mildly. I could not bring her into the family home prior to Matthew producing an heir. But I can bring her here.”
“But you acknowledged her?”
“To Stella and Rose, of course. And my family knows now. I told them recently.”
“Do they accept that she is—even though Stella—”
“Olivia looks like me.” He shrugged. “Exactly like me. And my brothers when they were younger. And as far as I know”—another shrug—“Stella remained . . . faithful . . . during the months before Olivia was conceived. I have no doubt that I am her father.”
“Does she know?”
“No.” At her frown, Mark went on. “I believed it might be too confusing for her, especially since she did not live with her mother either.” He glanced at the rocking chair. “Stella did not agree.”
Judith’s frown remained. “She lived here, but not her daughter?”
He shook his head. “Stella did not want Olivia around the . . . her . . . um . . .”
“Livelihood?”
Mark smiled. “More or less.”
The frown turned sad, and she rubbed her hand along the horse again, her gaze distant. “It is hard to be away from your child.”
Mark waited, somehow aware that Judith spoke of more than Stella’s distance from Olivia.
After a moment, she released a deep sigh. “My George is at Eton. Robbie will go in the next year.” Her eyes narrowed and she faced him again, her voice harsh. “I do not like it, but I do not want them to come home because the estate is in tatters.”
Mark went and stood by her side, touching her arm. “Then let us hope your plans for Atkinson and ours for tonight”—she looked up at him, a slight smile on her face—“will pay off with the desired results.”
She nodded, then glanced around the room again. “I want to meet her.”
He blinked. “You are not off put by the fact that I have a child?”
“All children are precious.” She tilted her head to look at him. “And, truthfully, given what I have heard about you, I am rather surprised there is only one.”
“As far as I know.”
“When can I meet her?”
“Give me a few days to sort some things out, including that wager at White’s. You still have the meeting with the runner to work out. After that, I will arrange something.”
“Excellent.”
“Now. Let us get you fully dressed and home. Cook is probably already awake and baking, so it will be clear to her that you stayed the night.”
Judith slid her arms around him, pressing her body against his. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for all of it.”
He held her. “And my claim . . .”
“Is accepted.” She peered up at him. “Let us see what comes next.”