Unmasking the Duke's Mistress (Gentlemen of Disrepute #1)(44)

She stared at her mother, appalled at the images she was conjuring.

‘He will not be so keen to visit his bastard son then.’

‘Archie was not born out of wedlock. I was married to Henry,’ she whispered furiously.

‘If you think that there is anyone who will believe Archie to be anything other than Dominic’s you are fooling yourself, girl! One look at the boy and it is clear. Arabella…’ Mrs Tatton sighed again and she took Arabella’s hand in her own. ‘You must handle this negotiation very carefully indeed both for your own sake and for Archie’s.’

‘Negotiation? You make it sound like some new arrangement with a protector!’

‘Is that not precisely what this is, Arabella? A renegotiation?’

‘No! It is not like that.’

‘Then what is it like, Arabella?’

Arabella turned her face away, and could give no reply. She did not know herself what it was like, this situation into which they had all been thrust. There were no words to describe what she felt. Confusion and hope and bruising. Love and anger and resentment. And disbelief, an overwhelming sense that this was all some awful nightmare from which she would awaken. She loved Dominic, but her heart was still aching. And there seemed no way to make it better. She loved him, but it was all too late. Because her mother was right. No matter how she dressed it up otherwise, he had bought her from a brothel and made her his mistress. And nothing could change that.



‘Mrs Tatton,’ Dominic bowed to Arabella’s mother.

‘Your Grace,’ said Mrs Tatton grudgingly and looked at him with daggers in her eyes.

Dominic turned and stared at the little boy; he felt his heart contract and a feeling of tenderness expand through him. Archie was a miniature youthful version of himself. The same dark brown eyes, the same purposeful chin, his hair only a slightly lighter shade of brown than Dominic’s own.

‘Dominic, this is Archie.’ Arabella had a hand upon the boy’s shoulder in a gesture to reassure the child.

‘Are you my mama’s friend?’ He saw the innocent curiosity in Archie’s eyes.

Dominic’s gaze fleetingly met Arabella’s before coming back to the child’s. He crouched down, so that Archie did not have to tilt his head right back to look at him. ‘I am your friend too, Archie.’ He was aware of Mrs Tatton sitting in one of the armchairs in the background and the blatant look of dislike upon her face, but he paid her no attention.

‘This is Dominic,’ Arabella told the child.

Your father, he wanted to say, but knew that he must not. Arabella was right, they must handle this very slowly and gently.

Archie gave a polite little bow. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, sir.’

‘And I am very pleased to meet you too, Archie.’ This was his son, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. ‘Your mama tells me that you are very fond of horses.’ Archie nodded.

‘That makes two of us.’ He smiled. And Archie smiled back at him, and at the sight of it Dominic felt a huge wave of emotion hit him and his heart seemed to melt into a pool of overwhelming love. He gave a gruff nod and, suddenly frightened that he was going to start weeping, rose to his full height and cleared his throat.


‘I will return tomorrow, Arabella,’ he said.

She nodded; there was a look of such tenderness in her eyes when she looked at their son that it made him want to weep all the more. He made his bow to her and to her mother, and he left, while he still could.



Dominic waved his secretary away with his diary of missed appointments. He shut the door of his study within Arlesford House in Berkley Square and leaned his back upon it. His gaze wandered around the room, seeing the papers on his desk, his books, everything, just as he had left them. And now, less than twenty-four hours later, everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again. He thought of what his father had done. He thought of what Arabella had become. And he thought of the little boy who did not know he was his son. And he wept.

Dominic did not sleep that night. There were too many thoughts in his head. Too many conflicting emotions. Rage and bitterness. Betrayal and hurt. Disbelief and regret. Possessiveness and protectiveness. And love.



By the time the next morning arrived the thoughts were all still there. He pushed the breakfast plate away with the kippers and scrambled eggs upon it barely touched and called for some paper, pen and ink.

Dominic did not go to Carlton House that day to meet with the Prince of Wales. Instead he went to Curzon Street—to Arabella and his son.



Arabella watched Dominic with Archie, father and son, the two dark heads bent together, their faces so alike, and she felt her chest tighten with emotion and heard that same whisper of guilt that had been there before.

Archie’s initial shyness had disappeared. He was laughing and running around the chair on which Dominic was sitting, jumping over Dominic’s long legs that were stretched out before him. As she watched, Archie clambered up on to Dominic’s knee and with his little hand took hold of Dominic’s large one. She saw the depth of emotion that swept across Dominic’s face before he hid it. Archie was giggling and Dominic laughed too as he tweaked Archie’s nose and pretended that he had captured it from the little boy’s face. Arabella had to turn away to stop the tears welling in her eyes.