She rose to her feet and joined him at the fireplace, her bare hand coming to rest against his shadowed jaw, and it took everything within him not to place his over it and hold it steady as he planted a kiss in the center of her palm. But if he touched her, he’d lose his ability to reason, to consider all the consequences as rationally as possible. He’d want to carry her to that bed and finish what they’d begun earlier.

“As impossible as it seems, I feel as though I’ve known you my entire life. Such goodness resides in you, Aiden Trewlove.” She smiled slightly. “Yes, you’re a bit of a scamp and quite the flirt, but you are nothing at all like your father. You’ve brought me more comfort in my sorrow than anyone else I know. I would love your child all the more for reminding me of you.”

“And if I decline your offer to be allowed to pour my seed into you?”

She angled up her chin, and he could see the determination in the set of her jaw, as well as the displeasure at his choice of words. “I’d be forced to look elsewhere for a willing partner.”

His damn sire, the scapegrace, had already indicated his keenness to have her in his bed. Would she go to him? Her desperation implied she might. He couldn’t bear the thought of the Earl of Elverton touching her. But neither did he fancy giving in to the whims of a duchess who was merely interested in his cock and what it could deliver—a child who would never know the truth of his parentage. He felt as though his soul was being scraped raw. How could he still want this woman after learning her true reason for coming to him?

Stepping away from her before he did something foolish like admitting he’d take her on any terms she dictated for whatever length of time she ordained, he took a deep breath and walked over to her secretary. After locating a piece of foolscap, he dipped the golden nib—of course a duchess would have a golden nib—of the pen into the inkwell and scrawled out an address. Turning, he faced her. “My sister has a bookshop. Tomorrow we’ll be helping her to ready it for opening, placing books on shelves and such. Bring your sisters there at two so I can judge if they’re worth the price of my soul.” Or as he feared more likely—the cost to his heart.

“We’re in mourning.”

“Wear black. Surely, even when mourning, one can be excused for doing good deeds.”

“My sisters don’t know of my plans, what I’m striving to achieve.”

“No reason for them to learn of it. You can tell them Lady Aslyn invited you to give you a bit of respite from the boredom of bereavement.”