by Emma Wildes
“Now then,” his grandmother said, narrowing her pale blue eyes, “what brings you here?” She
waved a thin hand, her cane resting against her knee. “Not that I object, mind you, but I am
surprised.”
Hell and blast, this was a little awkward, but he had no idea where else to turn. “I wish to talk to
you.”
“That I gathered.” Her eyes were bright with speculation. “I am old, but not yet feeble in the
brain.”
No, she wasn’t. She was one of the most intelligent people he knew. She was also a woman. And
she’d had three children. He had two aunts, one in Sussex and one in Berkshire.
“It’s about Brianna,” he said, not sure how to begin this conversation—with his grandmother, no
less.
“Lovely young woman,” his grandmother said stoutly. “At first I worried she would be one of
those empty-headed, spoiled twits without a grain of sense, but she’s quite the opposite. Her
beauty doesn’t exceed her intellect. Good choice.”
Well, he thought so too, but an affirmation of his selection in a wife wasn’t why he came. “Thank
you. I agree. However . . .”
His grandmother gazed at him as he trailed off, her gently wrinkled face expressionless, her white
hair upswept, one blue-veined hand resting on her cane. “However?” she repeated.
How did a man do this? He cleared his throat. “However, I’m concerned over her health.”
“Brianna? She looks wonderful.”
He said carefully, “She’s suddenly sleeping quite a lot, and this morning her stomach was upset.
More than that, I have noticed a few other symptoms. I suppose I am here because I need an
experienced opinion on whether or not my suspicion is correct.”
“A child?” His grandmother’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. “So soon? Well done.”
Lord, why he should be uncomfortable talking about this was a mystery. He was a married man,
and of course his grandmother knew he was intimate with his wife, but it still wasn’t the easiest
conversation to have. “She’s late. Of that I’m certain. It’s been a while since she . . . well . . .”
“Kept you from her bed?”
“Yes.” He was relieved not to have to go into specifics. He might be a duke, might be twentynine years old this very day, but he wasn’t sure he was sophisticated enough for this damned
conversation. “All I want is to know whether you think I am right and she’s indeed pregnant. I
could call in a physician, but Brianna doesn’t seem to think anything is amiss, and that seems
presumptuous. It’s my opinion she really isn’t educated enough on the subject to realize the
implications of the fatigue and nausea.”
“The signs are certainly promising. Are her breasts larger, more sensitive?”
There were some things he was simply unwilling to discuss. He muttered, “I hardly keep charts
on the matter.”
“You could check. I feel certain it would not be a hardship on your part.”
He glanced up sharply, noting the wicked twitch to his grandmother’s mouth. He said dryly,
“With all due respect, I do not appreciate your amusement over my discomfort with this
conversation. I came for advice, not for your entertainment.”
She chuckled, tapping her cane on the rug. “Forgive me, but it isn’t often I see you disconcerted,
Colton. You are always the model of composure. I could not resist that last comment, but
concede it was not very sporting of me. By way of apology, let me say this: if Brianna is carrying
your child—and it sounds likely she is—it’s a perfectly normal event. We all got on this earth the
same way. You love her, so you are understandably concerned, but don’t fret. If it has happened,
she will come to the conclusion soon enough on her own. Do not rob her of the joy of being able
to tell you.”
You love her.
He opened his mouth to deny it. To explain he married Brianna because he desired her, because
she was gracious and intelligent and her family lineage impeccable.
It certainly wasn’t because he’d fallen in love with her.
Was it?
Did he love her? A helpless feeling of ignorance settled over him. Of course he loved his mother,
his brothers, his grandmother, but that was quite different from romantic love. There was no
experience in his life to compare his feelings to, and why did a man have to constantly examine
his emotions anyway?
He said nothing.
His grandmother was still speaking.“. . . you must understand there is something quite special
about a woman being able to tell her husband she has conceived his child. I think you should
simply wait until your wife realizes she’s breeding and then act appropriately delighted when she
breaks the news.”
“I am delighted,” he protested. “I hardly need to playact the part.”
“Masking your concern wouldn’t hurt. She’ll be nervous enough without you hovering over her.”
He’d never hovered in his life. Irritated, but mindful it was his grandmother he was speaking to,
he said crisply, “I have no intention of treating her like an invalid.”
Though he had enjoyed holding Brianna as she slept after their alfresco luncheon, her slight
weight resting against his chest, her breath brushing his throat as she slumbered. When the others
wandered back, he’d put a finger to his lips to make sure no one woke her and continued to hold
her until she finally stirred, a good hour after everyone else had mounted their horses and ridden
back to the house.
So maybe he’d hovered a little.
One white brow inching upward, his grandmother continued the lecture. “Don’t. She’s young and
healthy, and the fatigue will pass, as will the sickness in the morning. Take my word on it. I went
through it more than once.”
“Should she ride? I deliberately went along today to keep an eye on her. Surely a fall would be
bad in her condition.” His ignorance on the subject of pregnant ladies had never bothered him
before, but now it held him almost paralyzed. He didn’t know how to act, and he disliked being at
a loss. Used to making weighty decisions on everything from investments to politics, he was in
the dark right now when it came to Brianna.
“Well, she shouldn’t gallop across country and jump fences, but a nice leisurely ride won’t hurt
until she gets too ungainly to get on and off. She’ll know when it is time to stop.”
“How? I am certain she has no idea she could be carrying.”
“My dear boy, how do you think any animal breeds? We may bury it under a veneer of civilized
behavior, but human beings still have instincts. Trust me, she’ll know how to take care of herself
to ensure a healthy child, and what you need to do is be there to lend your support. Make it clear
if she needs anything from you, all she needs to do is ask you, and all will be well.”
All will be well. He hoped so. Naturally he wanted an heir, but he hadn’t expected this
apprehension. Childbirth was not without its dangers. A fear he’d never anticipated tempered his
joy.
What if I lose her?
Shrewdly, his grandmother seemed to understand his thoughts. “Celebrate the miracle, Colton. A
little concern is natural, but most women do just fine. There are some things even title and wealth
cannot control. It is a waste to ruin the happiness of this day by worrying about the ne
xt one.”
Damn all, she was right, of course.
He rose and went to bend over her hand. “Thank you. Your advice is invaluable.”
The thin fingers clasped in his felt like bird bones, light and brittle, but there was nothing but
fierceness in her eyes. “I am so glad you have Brianna. Now all we need to do is see Robert
settled with his young lady and we can work on Damien, though I doubt he’ll be cooperative.
Then I can go peacefully.”
“I am uninterested in you going anywhere and what the dev—” He caught himself just in time, he
was so startled. “I mean, what are you talking about? Robert’s young lady?”
“Miss Marston. He’s quite taken.”
Miss Marston? Miss Rebecca Marston, who came complete with a militantly protective father
and a pristine reputation? It was impossible. Not his rakish and independent younger brother.
Colton said carefully, “You must be mistaken.”
“Did you not see them last evening?”
He frowned. “Yes, I did. They played well together, but honestly—”
“I agree,” she interrupted, smiling. “They were very beautiful together indeed. How she got him
to do it, I am not sure, but it proves Miss Marston has some influence over him, doesn’t it?”
“Miss Marston persuaded him to play the cello?” Colton contemplated a moment. “He told me he
played because Brianna asked him to do so.”
His grandmother gave a gleeful chuckle. “He lied to you about it, then, because I asked your wife
how she got him to cooperate and she told me directly that her pretty young friend was the one
who convinced your brother to drag out his instrument before all and sundry.”
Telling falsehoods wasn’t at all like Robert, and now that Colton thought back on it, Damien had
made some interesting insinuations.
A romance right under his nose, involving his youngest brother no less, and he hadn’t noticed?
Apparently, he did need to spend more time out of his study.
Chapter Fourteen
When you and your lover have become familiar with each other’s needs and wants, it is time for
you to surprise him, confound him, and make him realize he knows only part of his woman. Each
time you try something new, you may unearth his deepest hidden desire or fulfill a specific
fantasy. For men have them, even more so than women.
From the chapter titled: “Using Secrets to Your Advantage”
Fate must be having a lovely time mocking him, Robert thought grimly. He had made that
cynical remark about clumsy young ladies on the pianoforte and now here he was, listening to
one of the most sublime performances possible from a very beautiful, extremely talented young
lady.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of Rebecca as she bent over the keys, her face serene. Because he
was in the audience, he had a perfectly good excuse to study the graceful pose of her shapely
body, the symmetry of her nose in profile, and the luster of her dark, shining hair.
Damnation.
Remarkable was the word he’d used to her mother. It was an understatement, he’d come to
realize, listening to Rebecca play a second time. Hers was a rare gift, a unique skill that so
enthralled the listeners it almost felt as if everyone in the room, even the most tone-deaf philistine
among them, had stopped breathing. No one coughed, cleared his throat, or even shifted in her
seat.
She was that good.
He reminded himself of the reality of the situation. She would be married off to some very
fortunate man, and though she might play now and again for a small group like this if he chose to
allow it, the world would never have the pleasure of hearing her genius.
A damn shame, in Robert’s opinion, but then again, no one had asked for his thoughts on the
matter.
This evening he had recognized all the pieces performed but the last two. She used no music for
those, and her expression changed from tranquil to contemplative as those slender hands moved
over the keyboard like she caressed a lover.
The image that comparison conjured up needed to be squelched immediately, he told himself
savagely as he rose after the applause died away, turning blindly to offer his arm to the woman
beside him.
It happened to be Mrs. Newman, who looked at him provocatively from under her lashes and set
her hand on his sleeve. “That was rather pleasant, wasn’t it?”
“Brilliant,” he said truthfully.
“You did seem engrossed in her performance.”
Even as she spoke Robert found himself watching Lord Knightly escort Rebecca, the blasted man
saying something to make her laugh. He caught himself, registered what the woman clinging to
his arm had just said, and forced what he hoped was a nonchalant smile as they entered the dining
room. “I think we all were.”
“Not with your level of attention.” The words were softly said, but her eyes had narrowed a little.
“Like a child looking in the window of a sweetshop.”
He’d so rarely had to hide his interest—no, he hadn’t ever had to hide his interest in a woman
before—he apparently wasn’t very good at it. “Miss Marston has an unusual beauty. I am sure
every man in the room noticed it.”
He was sure. And it annoyed him.
“Maybe so.” She raised her brows just a little and regarded him as they reached the table. To his
surprise, Loretta Newman said with more insight than he would have expected, “You are going to
have to make a choice. I will be interested to see what it is.”
Why bother to try and deny it? He pulled out her chair and muttered, “I’ll be interested as well.”
For dinner, the array of dishes was even more lavish than usual in celebration of Colton’s
birthday. The food was sophisticated without being fussy, and had Robert been in a mood to
enjoy it, he would have appreciated it more. As it was he ate sparingly, drank more than his share
of wine, and restively waited for the affair to be over. Once the ladies excused themselves and the
port was served, he relaxed a fraction. The strain of having Rebecca seated across the table—
directly across from him, to his dismay—had made the meal seem endless.
He barely listened to the conversation around him as he drank port with ill-advised speed. Maybe
if he numbed himself properly, the evening would come to an end earlier. Yes, he might not feel
his best in the morning but what the hell, he wasn’t exactly all sunshine and smiles now.
When it came time to retire to the drawing room and rejoin the ladies, he declined. “I might go
and read for a bit.”
“Read?” Damien asked on an incredulous laugh. Even Colton looked dubious. Lord Bonham
quirked a brow in surprise.
Robert muttered, “Bloody hell, from your expressions you’d think you’d never heard of the
pastime. I’m tired and wish to retire with a good book. Is there some harm in that?”
“None at all.” Damien grinned. “Perhaps there’s a nice romance on the shelves. Something dark,
melodramatic, and Gothic to match the gloomy expression on your face.”
To his credit, Robert refrained from crashing his fist into his brother’s jaw. He swung on his heel
instead and stalked from the dining room. Thankfully, Rebecca’s father had already left the room
and missed the exchange. Robert had the feeling that if both Damien and Loretta had not
iced his
absorption in Rebecca, her father might have as well. Since he and Sir Benedict had an unspoken
agreement to avoid each other, nothing had been said, but the other night on the terrace Robert
had received the clear message that Rebecca was off-limits.
Damien followed him, strolling into the library just a few moments after he did, his look pointed
as he saw Robert had gone straight to the brandy decanter, not the bookshelves. “Getting drunk
won’t solve your dilemma.”
“Do I have a dilemma?” Robert sloshed a generous amount into a crystal glass. “And if I did,
would it be your business?”
His older brother shut the door behind him. “No, I suppose not.” Damien walked over and
examined one volume, running a finger along the dusty spine. “Maybe you should read one of the
Greek tragedies. Or a Shakespearean play. God knows you’re acting like some dramatic lovelorn
character in one.”
“I’ve read most of them already, thank you. I believe you went to Eton also. And I’m afraid I
have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, they did drill the classics into our thick skulls, did they not?”
Robert let out a noncommittal grunt. He was just a little bit foxed, it was true. Two stiff brandies
should push him the rest of the needed distance.
“Robbie, why don’t you court her?” Damien turned, shaking his head and crossing his arms over
his chest. “Surely you’ve heard of courtship? Flowers, afternoon calls, a ride in Hyde Park with a
chaperone, maybe a carefully penned poem waxing eloquent on the exquisite color of her eyes
—”
“Care to tell me who the devil you are referring to?”
Damien fixed him with what seemed to be a pitying look. “Snapping at me won’t solve anything
and we both know who I’m talking about, damn it.”
True. Robert raggedly exhaled and ran his free hand down his face, clutching the brandy glass in
his other like a lifeline. He said heavily, “I don’t wish to court anyone.”
“History would bear that out, so I believe you.” Damien chose one of the comfortable chairs next
to the fireplace and sat, crossing his long legs at the ankle and canting a brow. “You don’t wish it.
Fine. At least you’re willing to admit it has crossed your mind. That’s a good start. Have a seat