He doubted he’d sleep at all, especially as now he was wandering through the manor like a wraith, a glass of excellent scotch in hand. Gillie would approve as it went down smoothly, filling him with a lethargic warmth.

Everywhere he looked, he saw history. The fading of the tapestries indicated they had existed for centuries, but he was rather certain they weren’t a recent purchase. No, they had been handed down through generations. Throughout the residence, armor was displayed. Whether it was a full suit worn by a knight or merely the breastplate, shiny but dented, a brass plaque indicated to which duke it had belonged. Some plaques went even further and identified battles in which it had been tested. If he gave Lena a son, the lad would take pride in this heritage, would believe it his own. He’d never know the truth regarding from whence he truly came.

It seemed both deceitful and protective at the same time.

What did it matter what one believed of one’s past? It was what one did with the present that was of import.

Aiden had always embraced what was to his benefit. But he’d been insulted when Lena had offered him her property in exchange for his services. He didn’t want payment. He wanted her. And he could have her—as long as no one knew.

She had shown him what he would give his child, and damn her for making him see how grand it all would be. The additional benefit was knowing he’d be pulling the wool over the eyes of the Society that shunned him. And what was in it for him? Satisfaction, a bit of retribution, and more nights of being nestled between Lena’s thighs.

And to do the one thing he’d sworn to never do: be responsible for bringing a bastard into the world.

Even though the child wouldn’t be viewed as such, it went against his core principle.

Finishing off his scotch, he left the glass on a table in a hallway, certain a servant would find it. The place gleamed to such an extent, he imagined they had an army of servants, not that he’d seen many other than the butler and a couple of footmen. The rest were hidden away because it wouldn’t do for the lord and lady of the manor to see them going about their labors, to know exactly what was required to keep the place sparkling like sunlight.

He located the stairs that led to the bedchambers. They were wide enough to accommodate a coach traveling up them. At the top, the landing split into two hallways. He took the one to the left, strolled the length of it to his room at the end. He closed his hand around the knob, pressed his forehead to the polished wood.