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“Don’t be daft. It’s just the cold slowing my brain down.” I laughed. “Is your dad the marquis, then?”
“No. My great-great-great,” he paused, using his fingers to count for a moment. “Great-uncle was quite the character, and he had a bit of a proclivity for hiring… uh, prostitutes.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“When it was decidedly illegal,” William added. “Everyone knew who he was, and he did his wife no favours. Humiliated her, actually.”
“I should think so.”
“They were never able to have children,” he explained. “But he fathered no less than eleven illegitimate sons and daughters with his mistresses and… um, paid company, which put the blame squarely at his wife’s feet.”
My lips twitched at his ways of describing them. “Is that how the title ended up in the main line?”
“It is indeed. He died without a legitimate heir, so the title went to his nephew as the nearest male relative. That nephew was the Duke of Glenroch. At the time, the duke’s son was known as the Earl of Dunbarn, and they didn’t want to change it even though the marquis ranks higher.”
“I suppose there was also the issue of his antics.”
“Well, yes. He’d somewhat sullied the title with his scandals, and nobody particularly wanted to be associated with it or him. That’s carried down through the generations to this day.”
“So your dad uses the Earl of Dunbarn title, and you the Viscount Kinkirk one. You’ll use the earldom when he’s the duke?”
“Precisely,” William replied. “The marquis title is there, but the general consensus is that old Uncle Dunc was a bit of a wild one, so best to leave it at that.”
I laughed, resting my head back against the wall. “All the best families have a wildly inappropriate relative somewhere in their history. I think I have a great-great-something aunt who flashed King George the Third. I guess old Uncle Dunc is yours.”
“Yes. Thankfully, the wild gene seemed to have died out with him.” He tilted his head to the side. “Pity, as the reason his grandfather got the marquis in the first place was because of services to the King.”
“What did he do? Provide the King with prostitutes? I’m sorry—paid company.”
William looked at me, grimacing. “That’s exactly what he did. Andhepaid for them.”
“So you’re telling me it was a pay-for-play?”
“Quite literally, as it happens.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. What a crazy ride his family history must be. I was only here for a few days, but I was going to have to sit his grandpa down and pick his brains until I knew absolutely everything. There had to be more fascinating stories like that buried in books William had never read.
“Right, come on. It’s getting late, and that cloud looks suspiciously like it’s going to drop white shit out of the sky. The last thing I want is to be stuck out here in the snow and have to explain to my family why you’ve frozen to death.” He pushed himself up off the stone floor, turned, and held his hands out for me.
Smiling, I rested my hands in his. He gripped my fingers tightly and pulled me up. He was so enthusiastic in it that I stumbled forwards into him, and he had to take a step back to steady himself.
“Oops,” he muttered. “That was a bit too much oomph, huh?”
“Just a bit.” I peered up at him, and my lips curved into a small smile of their own volition.
The moon danced off his handsome face, illuminating his features in a way that was almost god-like. His dark brown eyes seemed brighter and warmer than usual, and the strong cut of his cheekbones as they gave way to his short beard was emphasised by the shadow the moon cast on his cheeks.
And his lips.
Pulled up the tiniest amounts at the corners.
Shadowed the most, almost hiding in the darkness, so much so that a part of me wanted to reach out and touch them just to make sure they were still there.
I knew they were, of course, but the urge to lean forwards and kiss him just to make sure washed over me like a compulsion.
One I didn’t give in to.
One I couldn’t give in to.
