“The dowager says so and she is never wrong. And not only that, my dear,” Less continued, leaning forward, “but it appears that he may have been trying to hurry his inheritance along a little. It is rumored that the young man was in the soup and owed a great deal of money. He may have promised things based on his expectations. It has been suggested that he was behind the attempts on Baxter’s life.”
“No! I will not believe that,” May said, speaking up for the first time.
Emily frowned and glanced over at her. “May, we suspected he was up to something, we just didn’t know what it was. This is logical, though I hate to think it of him as much as you do.”
“Especially after the intimate nature of your relationship,” the girl sniped.
Emily, her dark eyes wide, gravely stared into the younger woman’s blue eyes until the girl flushed and looked away. Grishelda May van Hoffen was staying with her until she could finalize the paperwork for her mother’s possession of the London house and organize the move back to Lark House. Inevitably she had suffered nightmares after her ordeal and had never recovered the equanimity of disposition she had always seemed to have. Perhaps this hinted at a reason. Had the girl fallen in love with, or at least become infatuated with, Etienne during their ride to London? She did not speak of that part of her ordeal. How to tell her the next truth if that was so? She exchanged a look with Dodo, who shrugged.
“My dear,” Emily said, taking her hand. “You were not here when Less first arrived. I must tell you something rather bad, considering that you seem to have some affection for the young man we knew as Etienne Marchant.”
May started. “What is it?”
Emily glanced worriedly over at Less, who picked up the story.
“My dear,” he said, clearing his throat. “You must understand that since this ordeal people have been looking for Etienne. If he could just have explained himself—”
“You speak as if . . . as if . . .”
Dodo moved to the other side of the girl and took her other hand.
“I’m sorry,” Less said, his voice gentle. “He was traced to the coast and to a boat that set sail to cross the channel. But the boat went down in a storm and everyone on board is presumed drowned.”
Emily watched worriedly as May took in the news. She was affected, it was clear, but she held together. Tears started in her light blue eyes, but she blinked them back.
• • •
It was anguish, May thought dispassionately, trying to identify the pain that stabbed through her at the knowledge that Etienne had died a lonely, cold death in the dark water off England. How could she feel such a sharp pain for a young man she barely knew? And one who, if reports were right, was attempting to murder Lord Sedgely. She would not believe it of him. Perhaps that is what he intended originally but he hadn’t done it after all, and he had the opportunity. She would think of him always as he had last appeared to her. He had brought her to Delafont House and left her on the doorstep that morning after her abduction ordeal. She had been so sleepy, but before knocking at the Delafont House door she had turned and watched him ride away.
At the last moment he had stopped in the middle of the quiet square, turned his magnificent horse and swept her an imaginary bow, and then he blew her a kiss. She would always remember him like that, young and handsome and vibrantly alive.
• • •
She had never thought to be here again, Emily thought, glancing around at the dimly lit gold salon in Belle Gallant’s town house. But Belle’s summons had been urgent and she had liked the girl, despite everything. If she was in trouble or needed her, Emily would be there.
She paced back and forth in the small room. Life had taken some strange turns of late, she thought. Engraved in her memory was the precious night she had spent with Baxter in that tiny inn on that uncomfortable, narrow bed, making love virtually all night. Once more she had thought of it as the dawn of a new era in their relationship, a step toward reanimating their marriage. She had had hope, especially since he had been so tender toward her as they parted the morning at Delafont House. He was the husband she remembered from the early days of their marriage, gallant and compassionate, her chivalrous knight.
True he had made no plan to see her again. When he left it was to see if he could track down any information on Dempster’s whereabouts. He had sent a note later saying the man seemed to have disappeared, presumably for the Continent, but it was a note meant for May as well and she had expected no endearments in it. But surely he could have said something, done something . . . ?
And she still had no explanation for the strange fury with which he had loved her at first, that night in the inn, anger glinting in his obsidian eyes. What had he meant when he asked if she was looking for another sample to compare by? She had ignored that strange remark, considering the teasing tone they had fallen back into as they made love in the morning. One could not refine on every comment, every moment, as if it held some secret meaning.
But then he had disappeared for almost three weeks! He was unaccountable. When he had made no attempt to visit her she had broken down and gone to his house, only to be told by Cromby that the marquess was “unavailable.” Unavailable! Even to his wife? Cromby had looked uncomfortable but had said that he had no instructions when the master was going to be home again.
How could he treat her that way, make love to her all night and then abandon her? She dreaded seeing Belle again. In some strange way it felt as though their roles were reversed, as if Belle was the wife and Baxter had gone back to her. Clearly he preferred her to Emily and that hurt so deeply that the pain was a throb in her belly, a queer twisting feeling in her gut. And seeing Belle again would remind her of everything she was not, everything that made her husband prefer the girl to his wife; she was young and slim and . . .
The door to the salon opened and she steeled herself to see her husband’s young mistress again, only to be faced by her husband! Baxter, here!
“Emily?”
He was thunderstruck, she noted with satisfaction. She hardened her heart, trying not to notice that he looked weary, trying to ignore the lurch in her stomach, the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. If only she could rip her love for him out of her heart and start over. She straightened.
He strode across the room and roughly took her arm. “What are you doing here? You must leave; this is not right! You . . . you . . .”
She had yanked her arm from his grasp and rubbed it where his strong fingers had bruised her. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again!”
“You should not be here! I will escort you back to Delafont House.” His voice was a commanding growl and he moved to take her arm again.
She moved swiftly to evade him. Chin up, she swore that he would not see the pain he had caused her, nor how her heart leaped the instant he came near. “I will go where I want and see whomever I wish. We are married in name only, sir, if you remember!”
“I remember,” he said grimly. “You have made it plain, madam. It does not change the fact that this is not a fit place for a lady to be. Good God, Em, this is my mistress!”
“And well I know it! But I have been here before, so what is so different about now?”
“You have . . .” His dark eyes burned and he glared at her. “What game are you playing? I will not be made a fool of by my mistress and my wife. Is that what that night at the inn was about? Comparing notes with my harlot?”
“You bastard!” Emily quickly crossed the short space between them and slapped him as hard as she could. She had the satisfaction of seeing a red imprint on his cheek, though he did not flinch or move or in any other way indicate that she had hurt him. He was like a wall of rock.
He smiled, but it was a frigid expression. “You can take some consolation, Emily. Not many wives could say this but Belle is jealous of you, I think. My mistress is jealous of my wife.” He laughed, a swift, brutal bark.
“You bastard,” Emily said again in a low, choked voi
ce, close to tears, her throat closing convulsively. “Was that what that was about? Proving to me that you could still perform? Or were you just trying to give me a taste of what I have been missing?”
“Ah, but have you been missing it, my lady? Have you?”
She moved to slap him again but he grabbed her wrist in his iron grip and yanked her toward him. Expressions flitted across his face but she understood none of them. She would almost think he was gripped in some deep pain, some inner turmoil that equaled her own. And then his mouth closed over hers in a demanding kiss. Despite her fury she felt the familiar swell of love and desire well up bubbling from a seemingly inexhaustible spring within her heart. Rage warred with passion, but ultimately she knew passion and love would always win where Baxter was concerned. She could not hate him as he deserved.
He released her and she stumbled back, putting one shaking hand to her mouth. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door swung open just then and Belle entered.
“Good, you’re both here,” she said. “Won’t you sit down?”
She seemed oblivious to the tension in the room and took a chair, sinking into it with a tired sigh.
“You mean you summoned us both here at the same time?” Baxter said, his words choked with anger.
“Yes,” she said, looking up at him crossly. “Sit down, Baxter, you tower so! What I have to say concerns you both.”
“Pardon me, my dear,” Baxter replied, lapsing back into his familiar sardonic coldness, all of the passion dissipating from his face. Once again his face had the carved appearance of a stern idol, deep-grooved slash for a mouth, furrowed lines from nose to mouth. “But there is nothing you would have to say that could possibly concern us both.”
“I think you should let her be the judge of that,” Emily said, gracefully assuming a spot on the lumpy sofa. She would match his coolness if she could.
Belle shot her a grateful glance then looked back at her lover. “Sit!”
“I am not a lap dog,” Baxter said in an ominous tone.
“Please, Baxter.” She pouted. “Considering you haven’t been to see me in over three weeks I think I have a right to summon you here.”
Three weeks! He hadn’t been to see her in over three weeks. Since they had made love. Emily digested this news. She had been picturing Baxter laughing with his sweet little mistress about poor Emily, who probably thought that she had her husband back, but Baxter had not been to see Belle either. Did that mean he had a new mistress? What had he been doing for three weeks? Where had he been? Damn the man anyway!
Baxter sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from Emily.
“That’s better. Now, we’ll have some tea and talk.”
“Belle,” started Baxter.
She held up one tiny hand as the maid came in with a tray of refreshments. “I could order chocolate, if you prefer?”
“No, tea is good. I have been suffering a bout of indigestion the last couple of days and tea is the only thing that settles me.” Emily glared at Baxter. “I haven’t been sleeping at all well!”
“Well.” Belle glanced from one of her guests to the other. “Well.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Emily, will you pour some tea?” Belle asked. “Nothing in mine, thank you.”
Emily presided over the tea tray and dispensed a cup to them each, even though she knew that Baxter did not enjoy tea. She purposely added cream and sugar as well, because when he did drink it, he drank it black.
“Thank you, Emily,” he said, black eyes narrowed into slits. “How sweet of you to remember how I take it.”
“I remember everything about you, Baxter, every detail, large and small.” She met his eyes and glared.
• • •
Again Belle glanced from one to the other, finally sensing the antagonism in the air. Well, what she had to tell them would solve things. She hoped. She was taking a dreadful chance, but if it worked out, then they could all be happy. “I have called you both here with a proposition.”
They gazed at her expectantly and she shifted, patting down the pretty, conservative morning gown she wore, self-consciously smoothing it over her flat stomach.
“I have learned a lot in the last couple of months,” she continued. She raised her chin and summoned her courage, hoping she could pull this off. She glanced over at Emily. “You still love your husband. If it hadn’t of bin . . . if it hadn’t been for your mother-in-law, you probably would never have separated from him.” She ignored Emily’s choked swallowing of tea.
“And you! You didn’t even have to say it,” she continued sadly, staring into Baxter’s eyes. “I knew that you felt the same about your wife, especially when you told me you’d made love to her again. You two belong together, and I can give you the only thing you were missing during your marriage, the only thing that tore you apart. I am pregnant with your baby, Baxter, and I will give him to you to raise as your heir on one condition. You two must get back together and raise him in a proper family, as his mother and father.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Emily felt a wave of nausea pass over her and blackness threatened to engulf her. In a moment Baxter was beside her and she sagged against him.
“Damnation, Belle, did you have to be so blunt?” He held Emily close, pulling her onto his lap, cradling her to his chest. “And what the hell are you talking about? It’s not possible.”
Emily felt her husband’s arms close around her in the black void and she felt smothered. What was she going to do? Belle was with child, Baxter’s child! She had been able to do what Emily in nearly ten years of trying had never been able to accomplish, and it hurt more than she had ever thought anything could, ever again. The sting pierced deep. Belle—young, pretty, slender, fertile—everything she was not and never would be.
Emily struggled to free herself from Baxter’s grasp and stumbled to her feet in an uncharacteristically inelegant movement. “I have to go, I have to . . .” She raced from the town house, hearing the voice of the maid floating after her, asking if she wanted her carriage. She needed to get away, to walk. She escaped down an alleyway, determined to evade Baxter. He would follow her—somehow she knew it—but she needed to be alone, and so she tripped down unfamiliar backstreets, behind houses, through odorous lanes.
And then she walked. She walked through parks and streets, ignoring sound and sight and smell. She walked though Hyde Park, ignoring the stares of passersby, their shock at seeing a woman of quality unaccompanied writ on their faces, and to the Serpentine, where she sat on a bench, staring with sightless eyes at the calm gray surface of the water. But her mind seemed to race in circles, with agony and a ripping sensation of betrayal at the base of every thought.
Belle, with Baxter’s child in her womb. It was too much to bear.
Hours later, with no more idea what to do than she had when she left Belle’s parlor, Emily approached Delafont House. Dodo must have been on the watch, because she bolted out of the front door and down the steps, her speed belying her age.
“Emily, my dear, I’ve been worried sick about you! Your groom came back hours ago after trying to find you and Baxter has been here three times! Where have you been?”
“Dodo, please,” Emily said, holding out one hand. Her aunt grasped it and helped her up the steps. “I’m so tired. I just need to go to bed and get some sleep and then I’ll tell you everything. I promise. All I need is some sleep, and then to come to terms with what has happened. I will be going back to Yorkshire very soon now. Tell the servants, please.”
• • •
But when was life ever so simple, she thought, two days later, pacing in her room. She had thought a good sleep and some time to think was all she needed, that she would be able to digest the changes in her life and deal with them, but she still felt as sick and anxious and nauseous as she had two days before. Dodo, appalled when Emily told her the truth of what had happened, had recommended sending her nephew “to the devil,” as she put it. Of co
urse that sage advice did not help her one bit. What should she be feeling? What should she be thinking?
She was reconciled to the notion that Belle could give Baxter what he needed and she acquitted the girl of any underhanded motives. Baxter should indeed take the baby, since it was his and he did need an heir, especially with the revelations about the French branch of the family. Etienne was dead, but who else was there, and where would they spring from? The best insurance against that kind of insecurity was a direct heir to the Sedgely title. It was unconventional but not unheard of for a man to take his illegitimate child as his heir. He could make it legal.
But Belle had very firmly stated that she wanted Emily and Baxter to raise the baby together, and she didn’t think she could do that. Every day she would be faced by the image of Belle in her child, and her and Baxter’s reunion would be in name only, for the sake of the child, because he clearly did not love her, not if he could so easily stay away from her for so long after they had enjoyed such an ecstatic physical reunion. What was she going to do?
• • •
“Merci, Sylvie,” Baxter said, placing a coin in the Frenchwoman’s outstretched hand. “I will take it from here.” He watched her slip back down the hallway and gazed at the door.
Emily was in there, he could hear the rustle of her skirts. It sounded like she was pacing. He had said some terrible things to her and could not really blame her for refusing to see him, with this mess that Belle had created hanging over them. He had come to Delafont House every few hours for the last two days, but still she wouldn’t see him. Dodo had frostily told him that Emily was making herself sick with worry and pacing and that seeing him would only make matters worse. It was clear that Emily had told her some part of what had happened from her grim expression and cold eyes. She had never thought much of him since he was a lad, but now he was irrevocably sunk in her estimation, he feared.
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