Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman by Lorraine Heath Read Free Book Online Page A

brother who was an earl and a younger one who was a duke. His mother had wasted no time in securing a second husband after her first had perished leaving her with two sons and no means of support. In her way of never putting off what must be done, she’d quickly given her second husband his heir. Ransom Seymour, the Duke of Ainsley, always gave the impression that he was far older than he was. His tendency toward responsibility was sometimes irksome, especially when Stephen preferred to play. Although his desire for games was what had gotten him into this current debacle with Miss Dawson. He wondered if she’d been worth it. He imagined so. He thought that, hovering above her, gazing down into her whiskey eyes, a man could very well take a journey into paradise.
    “She gave birth to my child, Ainsley. How do I tell her that I have no memory of her whatsoever? It would only add to the mortification she has already endured.”
    “It seems going to war made a worthy man of you yet.”
    “But at what cost?”
    He was haunted by his loss of memories. His leg, of late, was becomingly increasingly agonizing and at times he thought it might finish him off as the enemy had been unable to. His head kept him in a haze. He felt a burden to his family. He wanted to be fully recovered so he could get on with his life.
    “I should think while you may not remember the horrors of war that you’d not forget a pretty face.”
    Stephen would have glared at his brother but it would have served to intensify his head pain. Besides, Ainsley had never been one to be intimidated by a good glare. “I didn’t forget portions of the past two years; I’ve forgotten every damned thing associated with it.”
    “But still . . . to forget a lady—”
    “I could have bedded a dozen ladies—in all likelihood I did—but not a single one comes to mind.” He couldn’t see the face of one woman or man he may have encountered during the past two years. No soldier, no enemy. Shouldn’t he at least recall the features of a man he may have killed? Although God knew, the dead were not memories he wished to possess. But he would take them if they were all he could own.
    “What are you going to do about her?” Ainsley asked, turning Stephen’s attention back to Miss Dawson.
    “Haven’t the foggiest.”
    “If the boy is yours—”
    “Do you doubt it?”
    Ainsley straightened and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, his glass of port held loosely in his hand. “She wouldn’t have been the first woman to . . . select the father based upon her desire to move up in the world.”
    Stephen ceased his rubbing and pressed his fingers against his temple. “She didn’t strike me as promiscuous. She said we shared but one night.”
    And he had to wonder: Was she like the myriad of women who’d come before her? He’d wooed them into his arms, into his bed with no more care than one might gentle a horse. In London, he’d taken such pride in his sexual exploits, had thought of nothing beyond the pleasure. He’d competed with his older brother in the boudoirs, determined to be known as a far greater lover than his sibling.
    Or had Miss Dawson been more? Had their love been so grand that she’d given herself to him fearing that one night might be all they’d have, that on the morrow he’d die?
    And now there was this wretched awkwardness between them. If their situation had been the latter, it made matters all the worse for her. Surely, she’d have expected a more emotional reuniting.
    Regardless of their circumstances, he was beginning to feel like a swine.
    “Which makes it even more unlikely—”
    “Or more a certainty if I were the only one.”
    “Marriage will not restore her reputation, now that the child is born.”
    “But it will lessen the taint of her sins—to marry the boy’s father. Dowagers will find it romantic.”
    “Marrying her will not legitimize the boy.”
    “But an act of Parliament would, and how