‘I doubt if going to my room will endanger anything. But if you really must come with me, then you must leave your dinner because I am going now.’
Her pronouncement had the desired effect. Mrs Foster cast a longing glance at her plate of roast beef, peas and potatoes. ‘Then go, but I will check on you as soon as I come up.’
That had been easier than she had thought. But perhaps Mrs Foster was used to dealing with very young frightened girls, a thought which was even more revolting.
She left the parlour, the smell of the hall making her more nauseated. She could hear coarse laughter from the taproom. She shivered and slowly climbed the stairs to the narrow hall above. With absolute certainty, she knew she had made a dreadful mistake. She could not possibly leave England. Not with this woman who watched her every move. She had no doubt it would be the same in Italy, perhaps worse. She knew too, with a sickening certainty, that Lady Georgina had no intention of allowing her to keep her child.
She had not been completely stupid, however. She had money, an amount sewn into the pockets she wore under her shift. She had more than enough to return to London, but she would not go to London, she would go first to Tunbridge Wells and then decide what she should do.
And if Lady Georgina chose to spread tales, then let her. But no one was going to take her child. Or control her in the way Lucien had.
She turned the key in her lock and stepped into the narrow room. She closed the door. And then nearly screamed.
Justin rose from the chair near the bed. ‘Good evening, Belle.’
Her blood pounded in her head so hard she was forced to lean against the door for support. Her vision swam for a moment and then she felt strong arms around her. The next thing she knew she was on the bed. She forced her eyes open. Justin’s dark face hovered over hers. His expression was grim. Relief and apprehension coursed through her in equal parts. ‘Wh…what are you doing here?’ she managed.
‘First, I plan to take you to an inn that does not smell like a pig sty. Then I am sending for a surgeon.’
She struggled to sit up. ‘I do not need a surgeon. I am rather tired from the journey.’ She was completely confused.
‘Perhaps, but you are also carrying my child. You will see a surgeon.’
‘How did you know?’ she whispered. Some part of her mind registered that he was already claiming the child as his.
‘From Brandt, who was informed by Eliza Pomeroy.’ His mouth was set. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact you’re in the condition you are, I could strangle you for this. Why in hell did you not tell me the moment you suspected you might be increasing? Do you think I would ever allow any child of ours to be born a bastard and raised by strangers?’
The reference to Eliza Pomeroy and Lord Salcombe made no sense at all. She was beginning to think she was dreaming, but the cold fury in his face was all too real. ‘I would never let my child be raised by strangers.’
‘Then why did you agree to leave England under my aunt’s sponsorship? Do you think she cares what happens to the babe? Or to you?’
She paled under his anger. ‘I know she does not. But I was not planning to leave England. I…I realised that I could not.’ Her words sounded weak and ineffective even to her own ears.
‘So what, then? You thought to hide the truth from me? Allow me to marry, do my duty, as you said, while you raise my child? Perhaps you would marry yourself and pass my child off as another man’s.’
Her own anger was starting to flare. ‘The child is mine as well, your Grace. And how dare you throw such accusations at me? You have not even stopped to listen to what I might say. How could I tell you when you were about to contract a betrothal? And when I was hardly certain myself! I have always considered myself barren. Do you not recall that even a physician claimed I was? I thought my symptoms were due to ill health. Should I have come to you with only a suspicion?’
‘Yes,’ he shot back. ‘And if you recall, the only reason we are not now betrothed or wed is because you refused me, which is about to change. You will do your duty now, madam, and marry me.’
He said it with such grimness that she nearly quailed. ‘But there is Lady Clarissa—’
‘Who has no more desire to marry me than I have to marry her. Do not argue with me, for I’ve no intention of letting you go. Nor will you be out of my sight until we are wed.’
She stared at him, her emotions and thoughts in turmoil. The rattle of the door startled them and Mrs Foster stepped into the room. Her eyes narrowed. ‘So is this how you repay your benefactor? By meeting with a lover? You will leave, sir, at once!’
Justin whipped around. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Mrs Foster, companion to this lady. If you do not leave, I will be forced to take rather drastic measures.’ She reached into the bag she carried and pulled out a small pistol and pointed it straight at Justin. Belle’s blood ran cold.
‘I doubt you’ll get a farthing from my aunt if you shoot me,’ he said coolly. ‘You’ll be more likely to hang.’
‘Your aunt? And who do you think you are?’ Her face was still belligerent, but a little less so although the pistol was still aimed at him.
‘Westmore.’
‘And how do I know that?’
He stepped forward. ‘You will have to take my word. But I would not advise you to risk shooting a duke. The consequences will not be pleasant.’ He now stood directly in front of the pistol. ‘I am going to take Lady Milborne from this hell-hole. You may tell my aunt I have done so and that we will be married by special licence.’
She dropped the hand holding the pistol to her side. ‘She’ll not be pleased and I dare say she’ll reduce my fee considerably. Won’t do my reputation a bit of good either for I’ve not lost a girl yet.’
‘You will be reimbursed suitably. You may apply to my secretary.’ He took another step towards her and she backed out of the door. He shut it behind him and locked it. ‘I am beginning to think Newgate would be too pleasant for my aunt.’
‘She only wished to protect you.’
He stared at her. ‘Protect me? She wishes to control me. And she does not care who or what is destroyed. Including you.’ He moved to look down at her. ‘I will pack your things.’
She rose from the side of the bed. ‘I can do that. There is no need for you to do so.’
‘Sit down. You are not well.’ He had already found her valise and was lifting it to the chair.
‘I am well. I am merely…’ Her tongue tripped over the word.
‘Carrying my child. Which is reason enough for you to sit.’
Her face heated. ‘It is my child also. Not only yours. I will not have him treated as if he is a possession, nor will I be treated as if I am an invalid.’
He scowled. ‘I intend to see no harm comes to you or the child. As my wife, you will do as I say.’
‘Which is why I do not want to be a wife! Because I will become nothing again, only your possession to be ordered around as you please!’ She regretted the words as soon as she spoke, but it was too late to pull them back. The words hung in the air between them.
He stared at her, his face unreadable. He finally spoke, his voice expressionless. ‘You have no choice but to become a wife. It is your duty, as it is mine, to give the child a name and a home. I suggest you remember that when you find the bonds of matrimony too onerous.’
‘Justin…’ she began, but he had already turned away and she knew anything she said would only make matters worse.
She could only watch as he packed the few things she had laid out. He was amazingly efficient, although he fumbled over the folding of her nightrail. When he finally latched the valise he looked up. ‘I will send the proprietor for your luggage. Can you walk or should I carry you?’
She bit back her sharp retort. ‘I can walk,’ she said quietly.
He took her arm, his familiar touch sending a spark of awareness through her. He did not release her even when he spoke to the innkeeper, and then he escorted her
to the inn yard. The smell rose up and she instantly felt ill. She fought back the unfortunate sensation, although the interior of the carriage, clearly hired and strongly smelling of other occupants, was not much better. She closed her eyes and prayed she would not become sick.
Justin finally climbed in and seated himself across from her. ‘Are you ill?’ For the first time she heard a touch of concern in his voice.
She opened her eyes and resisted the urge to close them again when the carriage lurched forward. ‘No more than usual. One of the unfortunate effects of this condition is that odours, carriages and a number of foods turn my stomach. I should warn you that, if you plan to take me anywhere in a carriage, I will most likely be sick a good part of the journey so it would be advisable for you to stay away from me.’ The trip from London to Dover had been horrendous. Mrs Foster had handled each episode with skill but had shown little patience. Belle had felt too wretched to care.
‘If Jackson can manage then I undoubtedly can. And you were planning to board a packet? I cannot decide if it would have been brave of you or foolish in the extreme.’
‘I fear it would have been foolish,’ she said in a small voice.
‘I think you are right. Very foolish.’
She looked away, not able to meet his eyes. She had acted rashly, but at the time she could not think of what else to do. She had only thought of going away before anyone else discovered her secret. But someone else had known. Mrs Pomeroy? She could not have possibly heard correctly.
She wanted to ask him, but she felt too tired and ill to speak. She was grateful when the carriage stopped and she stepped down into the evening air. The inn itself appeared much cleaner and did not seem to reek quite as much. Still nauseated, she was forced to sit on the nearest bench while Justin spoke to the proprietor. Then they were shown up a narrow flight of stairs to a long hallway and finally to a room. She instantly sat down on the bed and decided she really did not care what arrangements he made. He finally shut the door and came to stand next to her. ‘I have sent for a surgeon. I can help you undress and then you had best get into bed.’
Her head jerked up. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He scowled. ‘I am not planning to seduce you. However, I’ve no intention of allowing you to sleep in your stays and since there is no lady’s maid at hand I will do the deed.’
‘I can undress myself so there is no need for you to do so.’ Her face must be on fire. ‘And I am not wearing stays!’
‘You are not well.’ His brow rose a fraction. ‘Besides, I have seen you on several occasions without your clothing so there is no reason for such modesty. You may leave your shift on, if you would like.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Turn around.’
She obeyed, knowing argument was futile and would only lead to more tension. But the feel of his fingers brushing the hair at the nape of her neck and then fumbling with the fastenings of her gown was akin to a slow exquisite torture and, despite her condition, she wanted nothing more than to press back against him and beg him to take her into his arms. Instead, she closed her eyes and sat as stiffly as possible and prayed her body would not betray her.
Her gown was finally gone. He stood. ‘I will leave you so you may take care of any personal needs and then you should get into bed.’ His voice was curt and he did not look at her as he gathered her discarded garments. She nodded and, after he had draped her clothing over a chair, he left her. By the time he returned she was in bed and under the covers. He was followed into the room by a short, balding man with a bag.
Mr Carver was soft-spoken and very thorough. Despite his kind manner, Belle was still embarrassed and it did not help that Justin stated he would remain in the room. He stood near the window, arms folded, and, although he seemed to be gazing off at a point across the room, she had no doubt he was aware of everything that transpired and of all her almost-whispered responses to the surgeon’s questions. Mr Carver finally straightened and looked over at Justin.
As if on cue, Justin crossed to his side. ‘How is she?’
‘Your wife’s symptoms are not uncommon for a woman in the first few months and sometimes the duration of a pregnancy. In fact, it is considered quite good for there to be some sickness as it indicates you will be unlikely to miscarry. She is healthy and I see no reason to worry excessively, but she should not overtax herself. I would encourage her to eat as normally as possible although she should not partake excessively of meat and eggs.’ He glanced at Belle. ‘I would predict that the child will be born in January.’
‘In January?’ For a moment she could have sworn Justin sounded bewildered, but he quickly recovered. ‘Is there anything else?’
Mr Carver hesitated. ‘The normal relations between a man and his wife are possible until the more advanced months. However, if any complications arise, abstinence is imperative.’
Belle wished she could bury herself under the covers but Justin looked no less confounded. ‘Er, yes,’ he said. He frowned. ‘I wish to leave tomorrow for my estate. The trip will take nearly six hours. Will that harm my wife?’
His wife? He was already claiming her? Heat swept through her and she hardly heard the surgeon’s answer or noticed when he took his leave.
Justin shut the door behind him. He stared at Belle for a moment and then crossed to her side. He looked down at her. ‘So there will be a child in January,’ he said softly.
‘It appears so.’ She dropped her eyes under his scrutiny and nervously plucked at the bedcovers.
‘We will leave for Westmore House tomorrow. As soon as I procure the special licence we will be married. I presume you would like Lady Chloe and Lady Ralston present.’
She finally looked up at him. ‘That would be very nice. Thank you.’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘You’d best sleep.’
‘Where will you be?’ She was starting to feel lost.
‘Here.’ A swift frown crossed his brow. ‘But in the chair. Don’t worry, I’m not so depraved I’d force my attentions on you. Either now or after we’re married. But I’ve no intention of leaving you alone.’
‘I will not run away, if that is what worries you,’ she said, stung.
‘That is not the reason.’ He suddenly looked tired and she wondered how long he had been travelling. She realised she had not yet asked him about Mrs Pomeroy or Salcombe or how he had come to be here, but her mind was too tired to form the questions.
He leaned towards her and for a moment she thought he might kiss her, but then he drew back. ‘Goodnight, Belle.’
‘Justin, wait.’ Her face heated. ‘I…I think you should sleep in the bed as well. You cannot possibly be comfortable in the chair. I…I will not disturb you.’
His brow shot up. ‘My dear, your mere presence next to me would be disturbing.’
‘Oh.’ His sarcasm stung. To her dismay, tears pricked her eyes. He undoubtedly detested her—she had nearly run away with his child and it was only because of Mrs Pomeroy and his cousin that he even knew. ‘Of course. Goodnight, Justin.’ She turned on her side and closed her eyes.
She could feel his gaze on her and then she heard his footsteps as he moved away from the bed. She fought back the tears and the urge to curl into a ball like a small, wounded child. Her body tensed every time he moved and she could almost imagine him as he removed his boots and stockings and then his coat. After a while he extinguished the light and then she heard the chair creak as he settled into it. And then she drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Justin eased himself from the chair in which he’d spent the night and slowly stood. His neck and back were both stiff but he had at least managed to prop his legs on Belle’s travelling trunk. Surprisingly enough, after spending what felt like hours listening to her soft breathing, he’d finally fallen into a restless sleep.
The faint light showing through the cracks of the shutters told him it was past dawn. He wanted to leave early but he was loath to wake her. He walked softly to the bed and looked down at her. She lay on her si
de, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow and she looked vulnerable and lovely and completely desirable. It would be so easy to lie down next to her, gather her into his arms and kiss her awake as he had each morning at Falconcliff. He drew back—what the hell was he thinking of? She was carrying a child. He had never made love to a woman in that condition before, and despite Mr Carver’s assurances, he had no idea whether it would harm her or not.
And she was not his wife. At least not yet.
His wife. He doubted if even then she would want him to touch her. She had made that clear—marriage to him filled her with fear. She still did not trust that he would not hurt her as Lucien had.
He’d run through a gamut of emotions in the past two days. Fury, fear, hope, disbelief, betrayal. He’d left directly from Cheney Hall and arrived at Dover. By the time he had combed the inns and finally discovered where she was staying his fear had turned to fury. At his aunt, most of all, but, until he laid eyes on Belle, he had not realised how angry he was with her as well.
His anger had dissipated, but that she had found it preferable to run away rather than come to him still wounded him. And that she would keep the knowledge from him that she carried his child touched something raw and primitive in his being.
She stirred at the sound of a coach horn. He had best wake her for he wanted to arrive at Westmore House as quickly as possible. He touched her cheek. ‘Belle,’ he said softly.
She murmured something and turned. ‘Belle,’ he said again.
Her eyes opened and she saw him. ‘Justin?’ She looked deliciously confused and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
‘It is time to arise,’ he said more curtly than he intended.
‘Oh.’ She blinked and sat up, the covers falling away to reveal her shift. She paled.
He frowned and sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Are you all right?’
Nicola Cornick Page 23