A Bet On Hearts [Regency England Romcom]

Chapter 25: Yearnings Of A Gentleman

November 1811

Polly stirred from her slumber to the gentle touch of fingers tracing along her bare thigh. Ciarán appeared lost in thought, his gaze drifting across the canopy above them. She reached out to caress his cheek, her voice soft with curiosity.

"Good morrow, my dear. What occupies your mind so deeply?"

A faint smile graced Ciarán's lips as he met her gaze. "Good morrow, Polly. I find myself unable to shake the thought that our honeymoon inevitably draws to a close."

Polly chuckled softly, charmed by the duke's presence in every moment of their day. Before she could respond, though, the sound of a handle being rattled diverted their attention.

"Goodness gracious, are they already off on an intimate adventure even at this hour?" she inquired incredulously as the footsteps faded from the door.

"What can I say, my dear? Men aspire to emulate me, and women yearn to embrace me," Ciarán replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

She regarded him with a playful smirk and a hint of amusement in her expression. When it came to his romantic escapades, she harboured neither jealousy nor suspicion, knowing that his affections were reserved solely for her. Lady Langdon found herself perpetually amused by the disappointed faces of the ladies who sought the duke's attention, yet she also felt a warmth within her soul, knowing that Ciarán was a man of his word, capable of commitment, albeit perhaps only for a fleeting affair.

"It somehow piques my curiosity, how many offspring have you sired?" she inquired suddenly.

The duke's smile broadened, and a mischievous glimmer danced in his eyes. "Four. Two sons and two daughters."

Polly narrowed her gaze and pressed her lips together, sensing an unspoken truth lingering beneath his demeanour. "And what of those beyond the public eye?"

He chuckled softly before sighing. "Indeed, you perceive me as easily as an open book! And yes, there are yet another quartet of offspring – three daughters and one son."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her surprise evident, eliciting another amused chuckle from him.

"What can one say? 'Tis a small island with morals looser than a tavern wench's stays."

"Nay, that wench flaunts herself utterly nude!" Polly retorted sharply, her disapproval clear as she scoffed.

Ciarán tapped and then firmly clasped her thigh, continuing, "To earn your favourable regard, allow me to assure you that I fathered them after my dear wife's passing, solely at the request of my paramours who were unable to conceive otherwise," he explained with a smile, observing her still somewhat stern expression.

Polly nodded, though her gaze averted from his face. The duke was far from saintly; indeed, he could rival the debauchery of Grecian satyrs, yet his admission of illegitimate children did not unsettle her as much as her own long-suppressed desires, concealed with thick wraps for decades. If only she, too, could grant Roy a sibling...

"My youngest is twelve, the eldest thirty. They are all acquainted with one another; indeed, we usually gather for Christmas at my grand estate in Dublin," Ciarán remarked after a brief pause, sensing that the mention of his children might have unsettled her. "My home is suffused with warmth and familial affection during that season... You must consider joining us for a visit, to witness it firsthand."

His invitation jolted her out of her momentary reverie.

"A visit?" she asked incredulously as if the idea were too fantastical to be real.