Intimate Deception

by Laura Landon

  But had.

  Vincent settled into his oversize, overstuffed chair and listened to Grace play a Chopin polonaise. Her fingers virtually flew over the keys as she immersed herself in the music. Her gaze held the look of an artist lost in her creation. Lost in a world all her own.

  He loved to hear her play, loved to watch her work at her craft—the way she leaned forward almost as if the music had the power to draw her into it; the gentle lift of her elbows as she caressed the keys, enticing each one of them to ring with beauty; the strength and power that came from someone so small. It was fascinating to watch her become so totally absorbed in the music that the notes became a part of her.

  He loved this part of the day. The time the two of them spent alone together. The precious minutes in which the outside world was not allowed to intrude.

  Grace worked the fingers of her right hand through the finishing arpeggio runs, then lifted back from the keys with a swift, sudden completion. Her chest heaved, her cheeks stayed flushed, and her eyes remained focused on the keys in front of her as if some part of her hadn’t yet been released from the magic.

  She paused. Then her arms dropped to her sides and she turned to him. “Just think what Chopin could have given us had he lived longer,” she said on a sigh.

  Vincent walked to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “The world’s loss,” he said, gently massaging her still-tight muscles. He noticed her hand go to her stomach and rub.

  “Chopin did not put him to sleep?” he asked.

  She laughed and turned around on the small bench. “I think I should have played Haydn or Brahms tonight.”

  He helped her to her feet, then sat beside her on the comfortable settee. He pulled her close to him.

  “Thank you for today,” she said, snuggling against him with her hand over his chest. “I’ve missed Hannah terribly. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see her.”

  Vincent pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Do you feel all right? Are you tired?”

  “I’m fine, Vincent. The baby’s fine. Here. Feel.” She placed his hand on her growing stomach. “See how healthy he is?”

  Vincent held his hand there, with hers atop his, their fingers entwined, the life of their child beneath his palm. With her in his arms like this he could almost forget his fears. With her beside him so glowingly healthy, he could almost forget the risk he’d taken. Could almost convince himself he would not be asked to make such a sacrifice again. Would not have to give up someone he loved as much as he loved Grace.

  He took a deep breath, struggling to forget how it had been before. Struggling to forget the last time and the—

  “You are worrying, Vincent,” her voice interrupted, jarring him from his memories.

  She turned in his arms and framed his face with her small palms. “Do you remember what I told you?” She brushed her fingers across the stubble on his jaw. “I told you not to worry. That I had enough courage for the both of us. Just look at me.” She glanced down at her belly. “There’s nothing to worry about. Your babe will be born healthy and I will survive. Trust me in this. I will tell you if you need to worry.”

  “Oh, Grace.”

  Vincent leaned over and kissed her, then leaned down to kiss her more deeply. He pulled away at the knock on the door.

  “Come in, Carver,” he said, knowing only Carver would interrupt them.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace. But a messenger just arrived from Lord Wedgewood. He wanted to inform Her Grace that Lady Wedgewood is being delivered of her child and asked for her company.”

  Grace jumped up from beside Vincent as quickly as the babe she was carrying would allow. She faced Carver with an excited look in her eyes. “Get my wrap, Carver. And have a carriage sent round.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.”

  “Grace, no!”

  He heard her small gasp and saw the expression on her face turn to one of disbelief. Then unstoppable determination. Carver stopped with his hand on the door.

  “You do not have to go with me, Vincent,” she said. Her voice was strained, her words pronounced. As if she were forcing herself to remain calm. “But I am going to be with Caroline when she has her babe. You will not stop me in this.”

  Several long, tense moments passed and neither of them spoke. The defiant glare in her eyes said she would not give up on this. Not without a battle that would have long-lasting repercussions. Finally he moved his gaze to where Carver still stood with his hand on the knob.

  “Send for the carriage, Carver. And get Her Grace’s wrap—and my cloak as well.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Carver left, and she walked into his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Vincent,” she said, then rushed from the room.

  Vincent followed her.

  “You do not have to come with me,” she said as Carver placed a cloak around her shoulders. “I can go alone. Or take Alice with me.”

  He flashed her an over-my-dead-body look and told himself he would survive this night. The woman having the babe was not his wife, after all. Only the sister of his wife and a woman he thought of as a very dear friend.

  They handed their wraps to Wedgewood’s austere butler, and Vincent walked to Wedgewood’s study while Grace rushed up the stairs. Viscount Carmody was already there as well as the Earl of Baldwin and Wexley.

  “Josalyn, Francine, and Anne are upstairs with Caroline,” Wedgewood said, handing Vincent a glass of amber liquid. “I expect Hansley and Adledge will arrive shortly.”

  Vincent looked around the room, taking in the serious expressions on the others’ faces.

  “I should have known what was up this morning when she ordered the staff to polish the silver,” Wedgewood said, raking his fingers through his hair. “Even Mrs. Marble, the housekeeper, knew. She told them in the kitchen to bake extra because there’d be the whole lot of us here before the day was out.”

  Vincent frowned at Wedgewood, not having the slightest idea why polishing the silver had any significance.

  “Francie spends the day in the kitchen. Cook says it’s the warm dough. Although I don’t know what that means,” Baldwin said, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know what Annie will do,” Wexley said. “I guess I’ll have to wait my turn to find out.”

  Baldwin thumped Wexley on the back. “Well, your turn won’t be for a while. We’ll all be going to Raeborn’s next go-around.”

  Vincent tried to put a smile on his face and hide the fear that weighed down on him like a heavy yoke.

  “How long has it been?” Carmody asked, settling in one of the wing chairs scattered throughout the room.

  Wedgewood glanced at his watch. “About three hours.”

  “Oh hell,” Baldwin said on a laugh. “She’s just begun. Might as well get out the cards.”

  The mantle clock in Wedgewood’s study struck ten. Then eleven. An eternity later, the clock struck midnight.

  Vincent tried to keep his mind from imagining the struggle going on above stairs. But that was impossible when the muffled sounds of Lady Caroline’s pain carried down the open stairway. He tried to concentrate on the card game Carmody, Baldwin, Hansley, and Adledge were playing, but he couldn’t focus on anything except the vivid memories of the two tragic nights he’d suffered through, waiting word of the birth of his child.

  Most of all he tried not to look at the worry and concern on Wedgewood’s face. He found that impossible. He knew that fear. Had lived it twice before in his life. Was going to have to live it again.

  Vincent refilled his empty brandy glass and made for the open terrace doors. He needed to escape. Needed to breathe in some fresh air and clear his mind of the nightmares eating at him.

  He walked outside and braced his outstretched arms against the balustrade. His chest heaved and his head throbbed as he took one gulping breath after another.

  He stared out into the blackness. He didn’t know how he’d survive it when Grace’s time came. He could ba
rely stand to stay here knowing what was going on up above.

  “I think it’s bloody inconsiderate of them to put us through such torture,” Wedgewood said from behind him.

  Vincent turned to face his brother-in-law. He hadn’t realized Wedgewood was there. Vincent looked at him. Saw the worry. An agony he understood all too well. “How do you do it? This isn’t your first. How do you survive the waiting?”

  Wedgewood crossed the distance that separated them at a slow, thoughtful pace. “I don’t know. There’s a time during it when I’m not certain I can.”

  Wedgewood lowered himself to the railing and sat. He lifted his gaze and stared at the stars. “At times like this, you tend to pray harder than you’ve ever prayed in your life. You surround yourself with friends and family who know exactly what you’re going through. You want desperately to suffer the pain for them because you know it’s your fault they’re going through this. And you’d gladly trade places with them because you know if something happens you’re not nearly so important as they.

  “Then, as the hours stretch on, you bargain with God that if He lets her come through this birth safely, you’ll never touch her again. That you’ll never risk getting her pregnant. But you know you’ll never keep your promise because you can’t wait to hold her in your arms and make love to her again.

  “So you die a little inside with every minute that drags by and pretend to all the world that your nerves are made of iron and you’re in control.”

  Vincent took in everything Wedgewood said and felt the words press against his chest like a painful weight. That was exactly how it was.

  “Don’t mind me,” Wedgewood said, finishing off his brandy. “Blame my maudlin behavior on too much brandy, too little sleep, and too much time to think.”

  The mantle clock struck one o’clock and Wedgewood pushed himself away from the balustrade. “We’d best get back inside before Adledge loses his country estate to Carmody. The man’s deucedly pathetic at cards.”

  Vincent took a deep breath and followed him inside. Adledge hadn’t lost his country estate to Hansley—only his London town house and his firstborn.

  Wedgewood made Hansley give back Adledge’s heir and told them they could fight over the town house in the morning.

  A few minutes later, a servant brought in a tray with hot tea and coffee and plates of sandwiches and the pastries the kitchen had spent all day baking. The hours stretched by with interminable slowness and eventually each of them found a spot to relax and doze for a few hours.

  All except Vincent and Wedgewood. The uneasy feeling that overwhelmed them prevented either of them from falling asleep.

  The sky turned a lighter shade of black, then a vapid gray, and finally a riot of pinks and blues and purples and oranges. Vincent didn’t know how he’d survived. How Wedgewood had. The deep furrows on Wedgewood’s forehead showed he hadn’t fared well.

  “Bloody hell!” Wedgewood muttered beneath his breath, pacing the room like a caged tiger.

  Vincent stood by to offer any assistance that might be needed but knew there was nothing he could do. Knew there was nothing any of them could do.

  Wedgewood walked to the two double doors that opened to the terrace and threw them open. The sun was already in the sky, the day having begun. And yet the house was as silent as a tomb. Not even the servants dared to come anywhere near while the master stalked the rooms like an angry predator.

  His footsteps echoed to every corner of the downstairs as he paced from the study, across the large foyer, then to the bottom of the stairs where he stopped and waited for someone to come down to give him the latest news.

  But no news came.

  “What’s taking so blasted long?” he demanded, striding back into the study. “It’s been twelve bloody hours. It’s never taken this long. Never.”

  “Patience, Wedgewood,” Baldwin said, nervously shuffling the cards they’d used the night before.

  Carmody rose from his chair and stretched his arms above his head. “Yes. Sometimes it takes longer. Remember my first? I didn’t think he’d ever make an appearance.”

  “My second one was like that,” Adledge added, moving a cup from one side of the table to the other. “Thought I was going to lose my mind before it was all over.”

  “Well, that answers where it went,” Hansley said.

  “Where what went?”

  “Your mind.”

  They all laughed, but the jovial good humor with which they’d started out the evening before was gone. Now their humor was tinged with caution. Their seemingly carefree attitudes held a hint of wariness. They all knew it had been an exceedingly long time. And no one had come down to check on them or give them any news for hours now.

  Tension hung in the room like a black pall. Vincent saw the worry on Wedgewood’s face, saw the frown lines deepen, the sunken look in his eyes turn darker. Vincent recognized the haunting fear. He felt it too. Couldn’t breathe because of it.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” Wedgewood growled, pushing himself away from the mantel where he’d been leaning. “I’m going up to see what’s taking so long.”

  He bolted across the room and had just neared the doorway when Grace and her sisters, Lady Josalyn and Lady Francine, entered the room. Their cheeks were flushed, their eyes red-rimmed, and all three looked exhausted. Vincent couldn’t tell more than that. Their expressions didn’t reveal more.

  Wedgewood’s shoulders stiffened, and Vincent took a step closer to offer support if needed.

  “The birth was difficult,” Grace said, “but Caroline is fine. You have a daughter, my lord.” She dabbed at a tear on her cheek. “A beautiful, healthy daughter.”

  Vincent heard Wedgewood’s cry of relief then watched him race toward the door, stopping barely long enough to give his three sisters-in-law a hasty kiss on the cheek. Without a backward glance, he ran across the foyer and up the stairs.

  Vincent couldn’t move. He stood frozen in place as if his feet were cemented to the floor. His blood roared in his head, his heart thundered in his chest, his relief overwhelming.

  He looked at Grace and she suddenly seemed so very small and fragile to him. The expression on her face told him that what she’d gone through helping her sister birth the baby had stolen all her strength. That the ordeal had stretched her nerves so tightly she was close to shattering.

  He took a step forward and lifted his arms. She ran to him and he wrapped his arms around her and held her.

  Her tears flowed harsh and jagged, her body trembled violently. He held her close and let them fall. Let her pour out all her fears, her relief. The two sisters who’d come down with her were doing the same. And his three brothers-in-law whose wives hadn’t come down were no longer in the room, but had gone upstairs.

  Vincent held Grace and comforted her. When he thought she’d calmed enough, he stepped with her out the doors onto the terrace and held her longer.

  “I thought we were going to lose her,” Grace said on a shudder. “The babe was turned wrong and nothing we did helped.”

  Vincent couldn’t bring himself to say anything to her. Couldn’t bring himself to say the reassuring words he knew she needed to hear. All he could do was hold on to her and tell himself that it wasn’t Grace who’d been in danger. That when her time came it would be different.

  His heart pounded in his chest and he willed it to slow, but it wouldn’t. He fought to push aside the panic suffocating him, but couldn’t do that either. It was all too real. He didn’t want to think of losing her. Not Grace. He wouldn’t survive. He’d come to care for her too much to think of a future without her. He knew he even—

  “Vincent.”

  “Vincent!”

  Her voice pulled him back from the black hole into which he’d sunk, from the nightmarish quagmire that threatened to suck him under.

  “Look at me. My time will not be like Caroline’s. I’m healthy. The babe’s healthy.”

  “So was she!”

  “Ye
s, but I’ve promised you nothing will happen. And it won’t. Do not doubt me in this.”

  But how did she know she would not be like Caroline? How could she ask him not to doubt she would survive birthing the babe when he knew the risks as well as she?

  Vincent held her in his arms and gazed into the sincere look in her eyes. Then he lowered his head and crushed his mouth against hers. He kissed her with a desperation greater than he’d ever felt before. Then he kissed her again.

  He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough to her. She answered each of his kisses as if she felt the same. As if she were desperate to calm him.

  But the seeds of doubt and fear had already been planted, and Vincent knew nothing Grace said or did would make them go away.

  Chapter 19

  Grace paced the whole length of the downstairs—around the circumference of the foyer, past the open staircase on one side of the room, down a short hallway, into the music room, through the connecting door to the library, across another hallway to the dining room, then down a wide corridor that led back to the foyer, and past another open staircase on the opposite side of the foyer. When she reached the middle of the room, one of the footmen would rush forward with a chair so she could sit and rest for a few moments before she stormed through the house again.

  The chair was positioned in the center of the foyer facing the entrance so she would not miss him the minute he walked through the front door. The repeated trek through the house was to calm her nerves and cool her temper before he arrived.

  Her efforts were not working.

  She was as furious with him now as she’d been since Josie and Francie and Sarah left over an hour ago. Since they told her the news they thought she already knew. The news they thought for sure he would tell her.

  How dare he.

  How dare he!

  Grace bolted from the chair and began her trek again.

  Carver came up beside her. “Perhaps Your Grace would like to rest in the music room for just a little while,” he said, as discomfited as she’d ever seen him. “Perhaps a nice cup of tea would—”