by Eva Devon
She advanced so quickly he staggered and tumbled backwards.
Right into the pond.
Chapter 19
Rosamund had, with some manipulation and some honest discourse, managed to get her brother to vacate the Highlands. It was true, she’d used tactics that wouldn’t be considered to be quite above board. But when such a thing as one’s happiness was at stake, well. . . One couldn’t really always be fair, could one?
All that mattered was that she had been successful and it was a pure delight watching him gnash his teeth as he followed Lady Cavendish around with hungry eyes.
In the past weeks, her brother had run a gamut of emotions. But now? Now, he was married! To the woman he loved, and Rosamund felt a heady dose of triumph which trumped her other, more permanent, mix of feelings.
Truly, there was only one problem. Her triumph was accompanied by horrific waves of fatigue and a nausea which might make the stoutest of fellows cast up there accounts.
There was nothing for it.
She was in that one state that the Dowager Duchess of Hunt had warned her about.
Oh, the dowager duchess had sounded hopeful that such a state would be unlikely. After all, how cruel could the gods be? It had only happened once and it had been her first encounter.
Apparently, either she or the duke was exceptionally fertile. Because that was all it had taken.
Now, she had to decide what she was to do.
She hadn’t seen Aston in weeks but she knew she’d see him today at her brother’s wedding. The two dukes had struck up an accord which had surprised and delighted her.
However, if Duncan learned that she and Aston had been playing at all sorts of intrigue without his knowledge, her brother very well might have his fellow duke murdered, honor or no. All that would matter was that Aston was dead.
So it was absolutely essential that Duncan never get hint of such a thing.
The dowager had been her confessor and had also immediately noticed her sudden unwillingness to eat and desire to head to bed before the sun had lowered beyond London’s horizon.
Said dowager was the reason she had cornered Derek and now had, for all intents and purposes, pushed him into the man-made pond.
The dowager had made it clear it would be the act of a coward not to tell Derek the truth.
She might be many things but coward? That she was not.
And so, as she attempted to tell him the truth, she’d studied him for a hunted look. A look of horror.
That look had never arrived.
Instead, a look of delight and, dare she say, relief had transformed his handsome face into that of boyish happiness.
And then? Then he’d rabbited on about their marriage, the unimportance of knowing each other’s secrets, and the veritable horde of children they were to have.
As if there were no obstacles to their marriage at all.
Well, she supposed there weren’t any actual obstacles. Not physical ones. But there was one very important obstacle. Neither of them had wished to marry. And now they were faced with it.
She glowered down at him as he sputtered and yanked a lily pad from the top of his wilting hat.
“I’m beginning to think Italy a very good idea,” she said.
“Never,” he riposted. “Too many Italians.”
She threw up her hands. “Derek, you need to be serious.”
“I’m sitting in a pond. What in God’s name is there to be serious about?”
“Our lives,” she countered.
“Too much seriousness is the death of happiness, in my experience.”
“And you’ve experience with happiness then?”
“Not much,” he confessed.
She snorted.
“You make me happy,” he said softly.
That was a surprise and it sent her off balance. “I do?”
He nodded, water dripping from his nose.
“Och, you great fool.” She rolled her eyes, unwilling to soften so easily. “Let me help you out.”
He eyed her askance. “I’m not entirely sure I should trust your assistance.”
She gazed heavenward, “Dear God, give me patience with this mon.”
All the same, he extended his hand and allowed her to help him stand.
Water poured from his clothes and he sighed as he plucked his hat from his head. “Ruined. It was my favorite, you know.”
“Derek,” she warned.
“Yes, dear girl?”
She licked her lips feeling that recent anxiety that had been all too common as of late taking root again. “We don’t have to marry. I could go to Italy.”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “That is unnecessary.”
“It is if we can’t be honest with each other. I’ve no secrets from you.”
“And you wish to be my father confessor? Absolve me from all my sins, is that it?”
There was a darkness to his mockery she’d never heard before. A cruel edge that surprised her.
“I—”
“Come then?” he gave a twirl of his wrist, droplets of water flying about. “Shall I tell you all? And you’ll forgive me every transgression? And once I’ve been washed clean, you’ll find me worthy enough. . .”
He stopped suddenly and swallowed.
The duke looked away and when he slowly returned his gaze to hers, his usual affability was gone. “Ros, you’re going to marry me. No child of mine, that I can help, shall be born a bastard.”
“It doesn’t matter what’s between us?” she asked, pain lancing through to her heart.
He shook his head. “If you were so concerned about my secrets, you never should have risked this.”
“I never should have told you about the babe,” she whispered.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have. . . From your point of view. But you’ve done so. No turning back now.”
“You can’t make me marry you.”
“You sound like a three year old.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “Yes. I do. But I’m frightened. I’m frightened of a life of misery.”
That darkness that had been in his voice traveled to his eyes. “If marriage to me makes you miserable, I’m sorry for it.”
“That’s not—”
“I’ll give you a very short time to get used to the idea and tell your brother that we are to wed. . . If you don’t, I’ll tell him myself.”
“You’ll do naught of the sort, you bastard.”
The man who had made her laugh and smile seemed to be gone. That hardness that she’d always known was there, coming to the surface and it burned her straight to the core.
“I am a bastard, my dear, and you’re stuck with me now. We’ll both learn to accept that.”
“And if we don’t?” Dear God, she hated the pleading note in her voice. The note which pleaded for him to say that all would, indeed, be well.
“Then we’ll live as most couples do. Apart. And you can do whatever you bloody well like anyway.”
She nodded, tears stinging her eyes. She turned on her heel and stormed back towards the house without a backward glance.
If Derek truly thought she’d put up with such a thing, he was sorely mistaken. And she was going to have to take things into her own hands because, clearly, Derek had no idea how to behave.
*
Drunk.
He was exceptionally drunk and to be quite frank, he’d every intention of growing drunker still. As he wandered down towards the docks in the darkened streets, gin bottle in hand, he didn’t give a bloody fig for the pickpockets and footpads giving him the eye.
None of them approached in the barely lit warren of streets. He had a feeling he looked rather murderous.
He’d just had a particularly troublesome conversation with the Duke of Blackburn.
In the days since his wedding and Rosamund’s revelation, Blackburn had avoided the Scottish people, the mad people, who had set his life to rack and ruin. After all, Derek had promised Rosamund he’
d give her time to tell her brother that, after several weddings amongst their acquaintances, they would be next.
But apparently, she’d turned coward and was running.
Egypt!
Bloody Egypt with the Basingstoke brothers!
Ha! If she thought she was going to give him the slip all because she had some ridiculously romantic notion of marriage then she had another thought coming.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t just told the Duke of Blackburn right then that he was father to Rosamund’s unborn child. Perhaps because he didn’t wish to put a burden on the relationship of brother and sister.
The only family he’d ever had was his son and he’d always felt a twinge of jealousy for those who had close family.
But presently? If Rosamund didn’t confess, he was going to stand at Hyde Park corner and shout to anyone who would listen that she was carrying his child and that she was going to be his duchess.
He didn’t care if it made him a blackguard. As far as he was concerned all rules of decorum need not apply in this. He was battling for his last chance with the only woman who might make him happy.
He just had to find a way to do it without telling her the truth. Because once she knew the truth. . . She’d look at him like his father had done. Like he was worthless and he didn’t think he could bear that.
Not from her. Anyone, but her.
His legs wobbled as he found the right gangplank and he grabbed hold of the rope railing as he ascended to his ship. He could have returned to his townhouse, but tonight he needed the security and comfort of the only place he’d ever felt accepted and at home.
Besides Rosamund’s arms.
The ship was largely silent except for the few men on watch and they tipped a hand to their foreheads as he shuffled past them and to his cabin.
He shoved the door open and flung himself onto his bed.
He’d always insisted on a bed on his ships. Large, and anchored to the wall, it allowed him to stretch out in a way a hammock simply couldn’t do with his massive frame.
“What the devil is going on, Da?”
Derek groaned. Tony.
His son had never seen him wallowing in self-pity and he wasn’t about to let him see such a thing now. Still, he contemplated for one brief moment ordering his son out and burying his head into the blankets.
“Your dear friend is making my life a living hell.”
“Rosamund?” he scoffed. “Impossible.”
“Wait, lad.”
“Wait for what? An angel?”
“Do you know what angels are really like?” He stared at his son and said pointedly, “They’re fiery and furious and God’s avengers. They destroyed cities, lad. Decimate everyone around.”
“Rosamund is kind and good natured,” Tony said calmly.
“Well, that’s probably why she’d rather go to Egypt than marry me.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
“Well, perhaps she’s not ready—”
“She’s with child,” he slipped. He shouldn’t tell Tony. He shouldn’t. But he needed to tell someone and, frankly, his son was the only one he trusted.
“Oh, Da. What did you say to her?”
Derek sighed. “I told her we should marry.”
“I don’t understand the dilemma then.”
Derek felt a wave of self-pity. “She won’t have me.”
“Did you tell her the truth about you then? She rejected you?”
Derek let out a laugh that had no mirth. “Never even got to tell her my deep, dark secret, my boy. She doesn’t want me.”
He couldn’t quite bring himself to say that she’d demanded his honesty and he’d been unable to give it. But if he was honest, she’d never have him. Not when she’d not wanted him before for no more particular reason than his possibly dangerous past.
“I’m sorry, Da.”
“Thank you, lad. But none of your pity. We are made of sterner stuff, after all.”
“What are you going to do?” Tony asked, wiping a hand over his face.
“Well, I can’t let her go,” he said at last.
“You love her, don’t you?”
Derek smiled a hollow smile. “Everyone insists I do.”
“Don’t mock, Da.”
“Yes, Tony,” he said softly somehow able to confess it in the dim light of his ship’s cabin. “I love her. I love her obstinate, head-strong, red head and I love the way she won’t yield. I love the way she isn’t afraid of me and how she sees that the Duke of Aston is nothing but a giant show.”
“If she sees that, then she’s a wiser woman that I’ve ever known.”
“Can she grow higher in your esteem still?”
Tony grinned. “Yes. She can marry the best man I know. You.”
Tears stung Derek’s eyes. “How was I ever so blessed to have you in my life, Tony?”
“Don’t know. It’s a mystery. But you are the best man I know, Da. Despite what you think about yourself.”
Derek shoved himself to his feet. “Come here, lad.”
Tony crossed the room and Derek held out his arms.
They embraced and Derek held on to his son, savoring the love between them and the honesty.
That’s what she wanted, he suddenly realized. The way Tony and he could speak would never be possible if Tony didn’t know the truth.
And there it was.
Come hell, come whatever may, he’d never find the kind of love, the open love he had with his son, with her if he didn’t tell her the truth.
Oh, there might be passion, but as the years stretched that would never be enough.
They had to be together with no secrets. No lies. And so, he was going to have to stand before her, heart in hand, and confess that all his life had been a sham. That his father had hated him.
That he was exactly what she’d called him.
A bastard.
Chapter 20
You’re being a coward.
Those were the last words her usually vivacious friend, Lady Gemma had uttered to her as she’d stepped aboard the Dolphin.
Without her even confessing, Gemma had deduced her predicament and she’d not held back as she’d passed judgement.
The sea salt air brushed her face and she drew in a deep breath. Neither did much to fortifying the aching emptiness twisting her heart.
Luckily, her morning sickness had faded a bit and as long as she stood on deck in the fresh air she felt mostly well. At least physically. Her spirit was entirely out of sorts.
It would be several days before they reached Naples which was perfect. She needed days of nothing to think. Then. . . Then she’d decide what to do because while she had told the Basingstokes that she was going to go to Egypt, that was an impossibility in her condition. It would be far too dangerous. She could not risk contracting a serious illness. And such travel to such places often meant the chance of illness. . . Even if she was usually as healthy as a plow horse.
And so, once she had reached the Neapolitan city, she’d find suitable, quiet lodgings and allow herself to decide if she was going to stay in Italy.
That’s all she truly longed for. Time to think. Time to resign herself to the marriage she’d never wanted to the man she’d dreamed about. Or a life lived in scandal.
She clutched the railing of the ship and gazed at the last shadowy vestiges of England as they sailed away.
Those last thoughts hadn’t been quite right. She wanted to marry Aston. Oh dear lord, how she longed to! But not with those unscalable walls between them.
Somehow, she knew if she was to marry him as they were now, they’d grow farther and farther apart and that closeness that had been inherit to their relationship would vanish. They would be strangers on separate shores with a great sea of loneliness between them.
She refused to be one of those cold ton wives who had affairs by the dozens. . .
Tony was right. There was a certain hardness to those women as if they’d realiz
ed that love was never going to be theirs and they were required to settle for temporary pleasure, instead.
Well, she would settle for nothing less than love.
Or so she told herself. She had wavered several times in the long nights in the last days as she had imagined raising her child with no father and no name.
She’d never be able to return to England unless she gave the baby up or came back insisting she had adopted some charming child from a ghetto.
She would never give her child up. Of that, she was certain.
And so, it had also become clear to her that if she didn’t marry Aston she might be making an irreparably selfish decision. She had so much more to consider now than just her own wishes. She had a beautiful baby to think of and its future.
“I say, should I be concerned? You’re not thinking of pitching yourself over are you?”
Mr. Basingstoke, the Basingstoke who had helped drive Derek mad just weeks ago, approached her.
“Do I look so desperate?” she asked, unable to keep a slight strain from her voice.
“You don’t look at peace.”
“Just nerves,” she said with forced cheer. “You see, unlike you, I am unfamiliar with traversing the globe.”
He nodded but his beautiful mouth was pursed with skepticism.
She stared up at him then said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not a whit. But I won’t force a confidence.”
What the devil was it about this man that made her wish to tell him every secret? “Do you have this effect on everyone?”
“Which effect?”
“Does everyone cast up their innermost thoughts to you? Every time you’re nigh I feel the urge.”
“Yes,” he replied with a dry laugh. “There’s something about my face. It can be most trying, if you must know.” He leaned down and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Ever so many secrets to keep, don’t you know.”
She laughed. “How exhausting for you.”
“Feel free to unburden yourself,” he said softly. “I’d quite like to hear your secrets.”
“I think I’ve mucked up any chance of happiness I have.”
“My God, what a dramatic claim from someone of your years.”