There was nothing she could say, and she kissed him wordlessly and when he lay quietly, unresponding, she pulled the bell cord and went to the door to wait for the maid. When she had instructed her to arrange for a bath, Robert was sitting up. He put out a hand to her, and she took it and kissed it and then began to help him take off his clothes. She shuddered a little at the raw patch on his ribs, but she could see it was healing well, and she made no remark, merely handing him one of Perce’s dressing gowns. He stood belting it, looking down at her.
“How beautiful you are. Merry,” he said, smiling again. “I’m glad you grabbed me and were screeching ‘Robert, oh, Robert.’ I might not have recognized you. And then I would have made my bow to you as if you were a stranger.”
She laughed. “I hope it’s love that has changed my appearance and not that your eyes have gone funny because of that knock on the head.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. But maybe it’s all the finery.” Suddenly he frowned. The word “finery” had brought to mind the cost of such ornaments for a woman and that reminded him of money and a statement in his father’s letter that had shocked and hurt him—and the truth of which he could scarcely believe. “Damn it, Merry,” he exclaimed, “do you have some secret you don’t want to tell me?”
“Not now, Robert,” she said eagerly. “I’ve been waiting to tell you. You’ll be happy. In July you’ll be a father.”
“A—a what?”
She laughed aloud at his stunned expression, unaware that he was thinking along other lines. In the ship on the way home, Robert had come across his parents’ letters and for want of other occupation had read them. His mother’s was simply full of joy at his having taken a wife and concern for him—motherly nonsense. But his father’s had been read several times over in stunned disbelief. It had informed him that Merry was worth over five hundred thousand pounds and had inquired delicately why he felt the need to marry for money.
“A father,” Esmeralda repeated distinctly, enjoying herself. “It is a natural consequence of…of consummating a marriage, you know.”
His mouth opened, closed. “Me?” he said, still not really absorbing her meaning. “Me? A father?”
“I swear to you that I have been faithful.” Esmeralda giggled. “Unless this is another immaculate conception, you must be the father”
“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Sit down. Or should you lie down? Can I—”
“Robert,” she choked, almost unable to speak for laughing, “stop. I am not ill. Honestly, you must not coddle me or worry about me. I have been with child since we left Lisbon.”
He sat down so hard he almost bounced off the bed. “Since Lisbon? You could have killed yourself! You might have died on that retreat! Merry, for God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me? Why?”
“I didn’t know myself,” she assured him. “I wasn’t sure until we were at Sahagun. One doesn’t know right away, Robert. There are so many things that can cause a woman to…to be irregular. And after Sahagun…oh, Robert, my love, what could you have done for me? What good would it have done to tell you? If I had lost the child, you would have blamed yourself for what was not your fault.”
“But it was. I never should have let you come. I should have sent you home from Lisbon. I will never—”
She put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it, Robert. Don’t. There is no need. I did not lose the baby. I do not think I will ever live through a worse experience than that retreat. I survived, and I still have our child. Don’t you see? I want to follow the drum, Robert. I love it.”
He pulled her close and buried his head in her breast. “I don’t know what to say, Merry. I missed you. I can’t tell you how different everything was when you were gone. I felt empty inside. But…but it isn’t right. I don’t want you to endure—”
“Oh, Robert!” She kissed the top of his head, which was all she could reach. “When we’re on the march together, even the fleas are fun. The retreat… That isn’t likely ever to happen again. You know it. And you told me yourself that the worst of it was…was not necessary. It’s not because you want me to do it but that I want to do it.”
“What about the baby?” he asked, without looking up.
“Your mama will be delighted to keep it, or Sabrina would. She expects a baby a month or two before ours should come, and Katy can nanny both of them with a nursery maid to help her. Robert, this war can’t go on forever. And when it’s over we can have our son or daughter with us wherever you are stationed.”
He looked up then and smiled at her. “I think I am being led down the primrose path again,” he said. “It can’t all be this easy. I’ve known other men who had children, and it was all very complicated, fetching peaches in January and tears over the nanny’s misbehavior. Is life really going to be a bed of roses?” He bent his head again to the breasts exposed by Esmeralda’s low-cut gown. “You smell like roses,” he murmured, and then suddenly turned his head aside. “I’d better leave you alone, I guess.”
“Leave me alone?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re…er…”
Esmeralda was laughing again. “Enceinte is the polite word, I think. My book of etiquette had that—although why it is more polite to say pregnant in French than in English, I have no idea. But I assure you, having a child is no reason to stop being married. My goodness, you would end up hating the poor little creature—and so would I.”
“But I thought—”
He left that unfinished and pulled her between his legs, standing up at the same time so that his hard shaft slid up her body. Esmeralda gasped with surprise. She had not had the least suspicion of the side effect their discussion was having. Before she could react in any way, however, Robert was kissing her, pulling at her dress, running his lips down the side of her neck and then around to the top of her breasts.
“Robert,” she whispered, “Robert, wait.”
But he was not willing to wait, and when the maid most inopportunely scratched at the door, just as he was removing her pantalets, he roared, “Go away, and don’t come back,” reducing Esmeralda to embarrassed giggles. When he had her naked on the bed, however, he did not mount her immediately but bent over her, gently stroking her body, placing featherlight kisses on her breasts and belly, and finally lying down beside her, still stroking her, running his fingers between her thighs, just barely touching and touching again the most sensitive spot in her whole body. She shuddered, lifted herself toward his hand in a mute appeal.
“Why did you want me to wait, Merry?” he whispered.
“There’s no reason now, my love,” she sighed, pulling at him urgently. “Come now. Come to me.”
Later, when they were both content, she started to laugh. Robert lifted his brows. “It was the maid.” She giggled. “That was why I said wait. I knew the maid would arrive right in the middle. Everyone in the house will know…”
“Everyone in this house would have assumed the worst, even if we were innocent as saints,” he said, and then sat up. “But you are not a saint, and not innocent. I’d almost forgotten. Do you have half a million pounds, Merry?”
“Oh…yes.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes were wide and apprehensive. “Because in the beginning I knew you would send me away if you found out I didn’t need your help. And after…oh, Robert, I just forgot. It was so unimportant compared with all the exciting things that were happening in Portugal and Spain… I just forgot.”
He was silent for a moment, staring down at her, wondering if any woman could “forget” half a million pounds. And then he smiled. Merry wasn’t “any” woman. She was Merry, the only perfect woman in the world.
“All right,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “you win. If you think riding all day, sleeping in flea-ridden hovels, and serving endless cups of tea to a bunch of loudmouthed army officers is more interesting than half a million pounds, I guess
following the drum is the life for you.”
About the Author
Roberta Gellis was driven to start writing her own books some forty years ago by the infuriating inaccuracies of the historical fiction she read. Since then she has worked in varied genres—romance, mystery and fantasy—but always, even in the fantasies, keeping the historical events as near to what actually happened as possible. The dedication to historical time settings is not only a matter of intellectual interest, it is also because she is so out-of-date herself that accuracy in a contemporary novel would be impossible.
In the forty-some years she has been writing, Gellis has produced more than twenty-five straight historical romances. These have been the recipients of many awards, including the Silver and Gold Medal Porgy for historical novels from the West Coast Review of Books, the Golden Certificate from Affaire de Coeur, the Romantic Times Award for Best Novel in the Medieval Period (several times) and a Lifetime Achievement Award for Historical Fantasy. Last but not least, Gellis was honored with the Romance Writers of America’s Lifetime Achievement Award.
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