When I started reading this trilogy, I was fascinated by both brothers of the Earl of Westcliff, especially Stephen. I wasn’t sure he could be redeemed after his behavior is revealed. Of course, I shouldn’t have been doubtful, considering who wrote his story, and I ended up so enamored of Stephen within the first few pages of the book. That left the Duke of Ainsley.
I really didn’t think much about his story, knowing that Lorraine Heath would give him a nearly insurmountable problem, have him suffer for it, but give him – and me – that happily ever after we’d both long for. And did she ever. If you’ve loved Ainsley from the previous two books, have anticipated reading about him since finishing Pleasuring of a Notorious Gentleman, the wait is worth the anticipation and anxiety.
You feel for Ainsley immediately, once you discover his torturous secret. Make that secrets. That’s where Jane comes in. And things definitely go from bad to worse before they get better. And the getting part is so beautifully done, just before their hearts – and yours – break all over again.
Get ready for a very emotional ride with Ainsley and Jane.
Summary:
Renowned for his bedchamber prowess, Ransom Seymour, the Duke of Ainsley, owes a debt to a friend. But the payment expected is most shocking, even to an unrepentant rake—for he’s being asked to provide his friend’s exquisite wife with what she most dearly covets: a child.
Living for pleasure, they will give their hearts to no one . . .
Lady Jayne Seymour, Marchioness of Walfort, is furious that such a scandalous agreement would be made. If she acquiesces, there must be rules: no kissing . . . and, certainly, no pleasure.
Until love takes them by surprise.
But unexpected things occur with the surprisingly tender duke—especially once Lady Jayne discovers the rogue can make her dream again . . . and Ransom realizes he’s found the one woman he truly cannot live without.
“I’ll consider your debt paid in full if you get my wife with child.”
Ransom Seymour, the ninth Duke of Ainsley, struggled to concentrate as he sat sprawled in a comfortable armchair in the well-appointed library. He’d been downing excellent whiskey ever since his arrival at the Marquess of Walfort’s country estate for his once legendary hunt. After three hours, they were both well into their cups, so surely he’d misunderstood.
“Does your silence indicate your acceptance of the terms?” Walfort asked.
Ainsley scrutinized his long-time friend, sitting in that wheelchair, where he himself had placed him three years earlier. He released a dark chuckle. “I’ve had far too much to drink. You would not countenance what I thought you uttered.”
“Jayne wants a child. I can’t give it to her. You owe me this.”
Ainsley pushed himself out of the chair. He’d meant to do so with force. Instead, he staggered and almost lost his balance as he crossed over to the fireplace. He pressed his forearm against the stone mantel to steady himself while he studied the madly dancing flames. Within them, he could almost see the night he and Walfort had been barreling wildly through the London streets, the curricle traveling at a dangerous breakneck speed—
“Jayne would never agree to this mad notion of yours. She despises me.”
He hardly blamed her for her attitude toward him. She was the sort of woman who should never be denied anything her heart desired. It was his second thought upon being introduced to her at the betrothal dinner that had been held in her and Walfort’s honor: If you were mine, you’d never do without. His first thought had been that he wished he’d met her before Walfort, so certain was he that he’d have been able to charm her into his arms. She was the loveliest woman upon whom he’d ever set eyes. Grace and poise mirrored her every step. When she smiled, she made a man feel as though he were all that mattered.
In no hurry to marry, Ainsley had avoided the soirees of Seasons past whenever possible. Thus he’d missed the opportunity to meet and court Lady Jayne Spencer. Although to hear Walfort tell it, he snagged her heart during their initial dance.
“You have a reputation for charming the ladies. Apply your talents to my wife,” Walfort said now, each word biting, clipped, as though forced between clenched teeth.
“You want me to seduce her?”
“I want you to give her what I cannot.”
“This is ludicrous.” Ainsley shoved himself away from the fireplace, dropped back into the chair which had suddenly become unbearably uncomfortable, rose, and stalked to the window. Unsettled, he refused to acknowledge how often he’d dreamed of Jayne, but he’d never acted upon his interest. He lived his life by a code of chivalry that had been passed down from his ancestors who had fought alongside Richard the Lionheart during the crusades. He did not take women who belonged to others. “Does she consent to this preposterous scheme of yours?”
“I’ve not yet discussed it with her. I wanted to ensure you were in agreement with it before I did.”
He faced a man he suddenly no longer knew. Had Walfort’s affliction driven him mad? “I can predict her answer with unerring accuracy. She’ll laugh, she’ll slap my face, and then she’ll weep. Not to mention the legal ramifications. If she gives birth to a boy, he will inherit. Even if all of England knows you are not his sire, you will be legally bound—”
“You and I are not only friends, but cousins. We both carry the Seymour blood. It would not be such an offense. Besides, I do not care about blood as much as I care about Jayne and seeing that she is happy.”
But what of Ainsley? To have a son or daughter whom he could never acknowledge? Did he owe his cousin such a sacrifice? Although his recollections were a blur, Ainsley knew he’d been driving the curricle. When it toppled, he’d been thrown clear, his only souvenir from the incident a thin scar that bisected the left side of his chin. Walfort had somehow managed to get caught up in the rigging. When everything had finally come to a thundering halt, he’d been broken.
Ghastly. Irrevocably. Broken.
