“I understand its seriousness, Lena. I wouldn’t be here, otherwise. I wouldn’t be going to the bother of determining all the costs involved in the decision.”

Her gaze shifted over to him, and he saw both humor and self-deprecation mingling there. “Who would have thought a gambling hell owner, a man who lured others into sin, would possess such a moral center?”

Before her, he wasn’t certain he had. She made him question all that he knew about himself. He might have carried the conversation further, but his attention was snagged by the edge of a large pond coming into view. Perfect in its oblong shape, he wondered if it had been created by man rather than God. Beautiful swans graced it. Yew hedges, occasionally broken up by a stone bench, bordered the pond. He imagined Selena sitting there, watching as the wind rippled the water.

The pond came to an end, as elaborate landscaping took over, more hedges creating various shapes—circles and half crescents—that led to the back of an enormous stone angel, wings spread wide, as though it had been sent from the heavens for the precise purpose of protecting what lay before it: the manor house, Sheffield Hall.

It was huge, majestic, grander than anything he’d seen in London, other than Buckingham Palace perhaps. He thought the golden bricks might actually contain gold, the way they glittered in the sunlight. The roofline was crenelated, the structure a mixture of residence and castle, displaying its fortification, hinting at its need to ward off invaders. “How many dukes have there been?”

“Your son would be the twelfth.”

Generations of families had lived, worked, and fought for this bit of England. A long history, possibly from the time of the Conqueror. Perhaps before. Years steeped in tradition and service to the Crown.

The drive circled around in front. Without slowing, the horses followed the curve. Reaching up, he banged on the ceiling, grateful to feel the vehicle slowing.

“What are you doing?”

Ridiculous question, but still he answered. “Stopping. I want to have a look around.”

“But you can see the stateliness of it from here.”

He didn’t much like the horror reflected in her face, the realization she was embarrassed to be seen with him, that she truly wanted nothing more from him than his seed. If he were a wise man, a not-so-proud man, he would again bang his fist to catch the driver’s attention, to signal that they should carry on. And when he exited the conveyance in front of his club, he would give her his answer: no. And never set eyes upon her again.

But stretched out before him, over acres and acres of green, was an opportunity to give the fruit of his loins something magnificent, profound. Something that no matter how diligently he worked, he’d never acquire. “I want to see all of it, the details of it.”

“How will I explain your presence?”