The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(39)
He stiffened. Every nerve ending in his body fired, ready to pounce. To crush her mouth to his in an opened-mouthed kiss. It didn’t matter that they were in broad daylight on a city street.
What was it about this woman that made him act irrationally? To want what he knew he could never have?
Tamping down his need, he shut the door and watched as the hackney rattled down the cobbled street. Chloe Somerton may claim that she didn’t want him, but he’d seen the rapid pulse at her neck and heard her sharp intake of breath when he’d touched her. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
He’d thought that once he’d bedded her, he’d have his fill. What a fool he’d been. One taste had only served to heighten his craving. He understood her objections. She wanted to marry, and he could never claim a wife. He clenched his fists at his side. If only he’d returned from the war in complete control of his demons, if only Lord Sefton hadn’t died, if only…
There were too many regrets, and nothing would come of it. Marriage was not for damaged soldiers, no matter that he’d returned to claim a dukedom.
He turned away but didn’t go to his carriage. Instead, he found himself retracing his steps into the orphanage. What he’d seen earlier had opened his eyes and sparked a different type of interest.
As soon as he entered the vestibule, a tall, thin man with a head of graying black hair approached. “Welcome, Your Grace. I am Mr. Whitleson and I oversee the orphanage. Forgive me for not welcoming you earlier. I was outside with the children and wasn’t aware of your presence. As a military man, I’m sure you understand the importance of a schedule.”
“For soldiers, yes. Children require a bit more flexibility,” Michael said.
“Yes, of course,” Whitleson quickly agreed. “Please come into my office, where we can share a drink and you can tell me of your business.”
Michael followed the man into a small room crammed with bookshelves and books. Stacks of papers with stone paperweights covered the surface of an oak desk. Whitleson opened a desk drawer and removed a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured a good amount into each glass and handed Michael a drink before taking a chair across from him. “Now, please tell me how I may be of assistance.”
Michael sipped his drink. “There is a child here who interests me.”
Whitleson’s eyes widened. “May I ask which one?”
Michael had expected Whitleson’s initial surprise. He knew the idea of a duke interested in an orphan would be a rare occurrence. “Her name is Emily. I do not know her last name.”
“Emily Higgins? The child has been garnering interest of late.” Whitleson’s gaze sharpened. “A lady visits young Emily quite often. Perhaps you know her. Miss Chloe Somerton?”
Michael felt a moment of unease. Whitleson was definitely curious and fishing for information. He must know that Michael had visited Emily alongside Chloe. The staff would have informed him. Michael decided it was best to be truthful. Any denial would arouse the man’s suspicions further. “I know of her interest in the child,” Michael said.
A knowing look crossed Whitleson’s face. “Yes. Miss Somerton has grown quite attached to Emily. I’m afraid to be the bearer of bad news, but the child is quite ill.”
“I’m aware of her condition. I’m also aware that the visiting doctor is treating her at the orphanage. I would like to send my own physician to examine the child.”
“I’m afraid that would be for naught. Nothing else can be done for—”
“I’d also like to make a monetary contribution of clothing and shoes for all the children.”
“That’s very generous, Your Grace.”
“Would five thousand pounds suffice?”
Whitleson choked on his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he swallowed and cleared his throat. “The children will be well cared for with such a generous donation.”
“Good. I shall send my physician, Dr. Graves, today to see to Emily.”
Whitleson nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“One more thing. I’d like my contributions and my physician’s treatment to be kept in the strictest confidence. No one must know. Including Miss Somerton. Understand?”
Mr. Whitleson frowned. No doubt it was an unusual request. Wealthy benefactors wished their names to be known. Donations were rarely made out of selflessness.
“It shall be as you wish.”
…
A knock sounded on the front door as Chloe descended the grand staircase on her way to the dining room for the evening meal. Rather than wait for the butler, she opened it herself.
“Amelia!” Chloe cried out, thrilled to see her middle sister and her husband, Lord Vale, on the front step.
“Hello, Chloe,” Lord Vale said with a charming smile as he guided his wife inside.
“Chloe, dear. I’ve missed you.” Amelia’s smile was alive with affection and delight as she hugged Chloe.
Marriage agreed with her sister. Amelia had always been stunning, with auburn hair and blue eyes, but her complexion now glowed with happiness.
“Please tell me you’ve returned to town for the remainder of the Season,” Chloe said.
“Yes. Rosehill may be lovely in the summer, but I’m happy to return.” Rosehill was the Vales’ country seat in Hampshire, and all three sisters had spent a lovely two weeks in the country for a house party to celebrate Lord Vale’s sister’s betrothal last summer.