Carrying the Gentleman's Secret

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Not when you are carrying my child,’ he stated coldly.

  ‘You cannot force me to marry you.’

  His eyes glittered like shards of ice. ‘No? We’ll see about that. I always get what I want in the end. It would serve you well to remember that.’

  ‘Always is a long time.’

  ‘Don’t be difficult, Lydia. There will be no choice,’ he stated bluntly.

  Lydia was unable to argue further for at that moment Miranda swept into the room. Rejuvenated after her nap on the journey, she was her usual chattering self. If she noticed the tension that existed between her brother and Lydia, she gave no sign of it. As yet she did not know that Lydia was to bear Alex’s child, but Alex had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to marry her, and Miranda was openly delighted.

  * * *

  Throughout dinner Alex presided over the meal with his usual calm composure. He was politely courteous and attentive to both Lydia and Miranda, giving no hint of his feelings, but sensing his perusal, as if he were feeling compelled and at liberty to look his fill, Lydia met his intent gaze and, hot, embarrassed colour stained her cheeks. He responded with a querying, uplifted brow.

  As the meal progressed and the more Lydia’s mood softened, there was something in Alex’s eyes which made her feel it was impossible to look at him. There was also something in his voice that brought so many new and conflicting themes in her heart and mind that it made her wonder why she was making everything so difficult for them both. Why did she not just tell him she would marry him and that would be that?

  In danger of becoming hypnotised by that silken voice and those mesmerising eyes—the fact that he knew it, that he was deliberately using his charm to dismantle her determination to stand against him, confused her. As soon as she had finished her dessert she pleaded tiredness and asked to be excused.

  ‘Oh, but would you like some coffee before you leave?’ Miranda asked, hoping she would say yes. ‘Or perhaps you would like to stay a while longer and play a game of cards—or chess, perhaps?’

  ‘No...thank you, Miranda. I...have a headache. Perhaps tomorrow night.’

  Alex accompanied her to the door, opening it for her. ‘I am sorry you are leaving us so soon.’

  Meeting his gaze, Lydia felt her flesh grow warm. His nearness and the look in his eyes, which had grown darker and far too bold to allow her even a small measure of comfort, washed away any feeling of confidence. The impact of his closeness and potent masculine virility was making her feel altogether too vulnerable—it was just the sort of situation that had got her into this predicament in the first place.

  ‘It’s been a long day. I’m sure I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Of course. I hope you sleep well. I must warn you that the old timbers creak and groan, so don’t be alarmed if you hear anything untoward in the night. Tomorrow I will show you around. I have something I want you to see.’

  Lydia felt a sudden quiver run through her as she slipped away from him, a sudden quickening within, a quickening she was all too familiar with every time she was with him. She went up the stairs quickly, feeling his eyes burning holes into her back as she went.

  * * *

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Lydia asked, when she sat next to Alex in the open carriage the following morning. ‘And why is Miranda not with us?’

  ‘Because I want to spend some time with you alone—which is also why I’ve left the driver behind and taken the reins myself.’

  The day was fine although the night had seen considerable rain. But now the air was crisp and clean and the sky displayed a wealth of cumulus clouds. They drove through a stunning rolling parkland defined by magnificent trees of oaks and beeches and copses of birch and poplars and firs. Deer lifted their heads, as if to evaluate these intruders into their territory, before scampering off into the trees.

  Lydia was transfixed by all she saw. ‘Do you own all this?’ she asked, completely entranced.

  ‘No. Just Aspen Grange. All this belongs to David. We are neighbours—in fact, if you look into the distance, above the trees you can just see the rooftops of his house, Sunninghill Hall.’

  This was news to Lydia. She could make out the house Alex pointed out to her, but she didn’t ask him about his friendship with Sir David Hilton since it would remind her of his hostile sister. Any conversation they had about that particular woman would ruin her day.

  Alex halted the carriage on the brow of a hill overlooking a small hamlet. The sun was high, but it had rained earlier. Two rows of gardenless cottages ran down the hill. Some dwellings were inhabited, some derelict. A narrow road ran like a ribbon of mud between them. More cottages stood away from the hamlet, some standing alone in their own gardens, giving the feeling that the families who lived in them were superior to the those who lived in the rows.

  Alex climbed down from the carriage and urged her to do the same, holding out his hand to assist her. The silence was broken by birdsong. Three ragged children emerged from one of the cottages and stood looking at them.

  Puzzled as to why he had brought her to this place, which seemed like the end of nowhere to Lydia, where poverty seeped out of the dwellings and looked out of the empty eyes of the children like a visitation of the angel of death, she looked at him. ‘What is this place? It is difficult to imagine that anyone can live in this place. Those children are barefoot.’

  ‘It’s called Low Field Row.’

  ‘Does it have any particular significance?’ she asked, uneasily conscious that he had brought her to this place for a purpose.

  He nodded. ‘I wanted you to see this. I could not bear to tell you about this before. You have a vision of me in your head, a picture of a man you believe to be me. I am about to spoil that image.’

  Something in his voice, in his manner, broke through Lydia’s defences. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘There is still too much between us, too many misunderstandings. I want to recover the closeness we shared before I went to France. I cannot let you go, Lydia. I thought if you knew more about me, you’d understand why it doesn’t matter to me what you do, where you come from or the fact that your father was a convicted criminal. Do you see the dwelling at the bottom of the row on the right-hand side?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, seeing a crumbling house with holes in its roof and heavily overgrown with ivy, brambles and weeds.

  ‘That was where I lived for the first ten years of my life. It was my home.’

  There was something about the hardness beneath his tone that made Lydia feel he was about to disclose something important. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I was born in that house—Miranda, also.’

  Lydia’s unease grew. ‘But...you live at Aspen Grange. I—I believed it to be your ancestral home.’

  ‘You were wrong. There is no ancestral home. When I was a boy I would often find my way to Aspen Grange. I had an insatiable drive to learn, to succeed in everything I set my mind to. I was determined. I would tell myself that I would own that house one day—or one like it. I was fortunate. Eight years ago it was up for sale. I bought it.’

  Lydia stared at him. His disclosure certainly explained the absence of family portraits hanging on the walls of Aspen Grange. As far as she knew, Alex was a wealthy English gentleman who spent a great deal of his time working on his many business enterprises, a man who succeeded in everything he did.

  Reading her thoughts, he gave her a bitter smile. ‘I’m sorry to have to shatter any illusions you may have about me, but the truth is that I grew up in squalor—like those children down there—without shoes on my feet. I was not born with a title like Henry—or with a silver spoon in my mouth. My childhood was not in the least like you imagine it to be. My parents were drunkards. My father was a violent man—drink made him that way. Most of the time he wasn’t fit for work. What we had came from my maternal gr
andfather. It was hell for Miranda. My grandfather lived in Newbury. He did what he could, spending every penny he had on my education. He managed to send me to Marlborough. When my parents died, both Miranda and I went to live with him.’

  ‘But...your parents... What happened to them?’ The pain in his eyes made her heart ache.

  ‘They died within months of each other when I was ten years old. I don’t come here any more because I never want to remember.’ The memories nearly choked him.

  ‘I am appalled by what happened to you. How could your parents do that to you? I am so sorry for what you suffered, Alex.’

  He looked at her. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me.’

  ‘But you were just a boy.’

  ‘Maybe, but I was not the one to feel sorry for, Lydia. It was harder for Miranda. I once told you that we had more in common than you realised—that we weren’t so very different. Well, now see for yourself. This is it. This is where I lived with Miranda.’

  Lydia could hardly bring herself to believe the beautiful Miranda and her brother had lived in this squalid district. ‘Your friend—Sir David Hilton—he must know you lived here as a boy.’

  ‘No. This place and Sunninghill Hall were close but might as well have been a thousand miles apart. We neither of us knew each other until we met at school.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell him?’

  ‘No. He knew Miranda and I lived with our grandfather in Newbury—but not here.’

  ‘Were you ashamed, Alex?’

  He looked at her, the pain undiminished in his eyes. ‘Yes, I admit it, I was ashamed. Who wouldn’t be—living down there?’

  ‘Who do the houses belong to?’

  ‘The owner of Sunninghill Hall.’

  ‘David Hilton?’

  He nodded. ‘The people who inhabit them are estate workers and their families.’

  ‘And was that your father’s occupation?’

  He nodded again. ‘When he was sober enough to turn up. David’s father died recently and now David is in charge he is to demolish the houses—thank God—and not before time.’

  ‘What will happen to the people who live here?’

  ‘They will be found new accommodation—better than this.’

  When he fell silent Lydia looked at him, really looked at him. His mouth was compressed. She could still see the pain in his light blue eyes, a great deal of pain that shocked her out of all feeling for herself. She looked at his proud, lean face with its firm jaw and stern mouth, but all she saw was a dark-haired little boy—alone, frightened, trying to do the best for his sister and determined to succeed.

  How could she have been so wrong about this man? He had been hurt almost beyond bearing, so badly that he’d kept his pain hidden, allowing no one to come close enough to uncover it. That he was doing so now, to her, told her he very much wanted her in his life. She knew how much it was costing him to open up his past to her, because he possessed as proud a spirit as she.

  ‘I can’t imagine how you survived that,’ she whispered achingly, feeling a lump of poignant tenderness swell in her throat. Unthinkingly, she took his hand and raised it to her lips. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being so difficult.’ There was so much more she wanted to say to him, but she felt unfamiliarly nervous and ashamed. She stared at the strong-boned face, the face she loved so much. ‘I convinced myself that there was a social gulf between us.’

  ‘And just how antiquated do you think that sounds? Good Lord, Lydia, we are not living in the dark ages.’

  ‘No, I know that. What we experience as children, along with our backgrounds, moulds us from the very beginning to be who we are as adults—without the culture and tradition that guides one through life.’

  ‘It’s in the past—a past that for a long time refused to leave me. It followed me around like a starving dog, making me more and more determined to succeed in whatever I set out to do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before? Is it because you are ashamed, because if you are then you shouldn’t be. You are one of the bravest people I know and you should be proud of the way you turned your life around, of all you have achieved.’

  ‘I had to. Miranda looked to me—depended on me. I had to take care of her, to try to give her a better life. When she met Henry and fell in love with him, even though I had my doubts about him, I could not deny her.’

  ‘Little wonder she adores you.’

  Alex’s expression softened. ‘What of you, Lydia? Will you adore me?’

  ‘I think I already do. I don’t care where you came from—who your parents were. It’s who you are now that counts.’

  ‘That’s what I tried telling you, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘I will now. Whatever our pasts, Alex, we cannot allow it to affect how we feel about each other. Do you still want to marry me?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he said, taking hold of her and drawing her into his arms, ‘and not for the sake of duty or because I feel obligated.’

  ‘Then tell me why. I need to know,’ she whispered. Her body became still in his arms, her cheek resting against his chest as she waited, not breathing, anticipating his next words.

  Tightening his arms around her, Alex placed his lips on the top of her head. ‘It’s because I love you,’ he said fiercely. ‘When Blanche died I persuaded myself that I would never fall in love again, that I would have the strength of character to withstand such a debilitating emotion, but then I had not met you. I cannot remember when I came to love you, but I can’t deny that I have been unable to get you out of my mind since the moment I set eyes on you in Scotland. I love you very much indeed,’ he whispered. ‘I knew straight away that you were different to any other woman I have known. I didn’t recognise what I was feeling. But suddenly you became the light of my life and my body and my soul craves for you.’

  Lydia turned her face up to his, her eyes shining with all the love that was in her heart. ‘I can’t bear to think I could have lost you.’

  His mouth quirked up in one corner. ‘Does this mean that you are finally warming to me?’

  She nodded, looking up at him with tear-bright eyes. With sudden heartbreaking clarity the fact that she might have lost him when he had come to mean everything to her was overwhelming. ‘I think I must be. I can think of no other reason why I am crying.’

  ‘Even though you refused my proposal of marriage—when I would have made you my wife, child or no child.’

  ‘I know. It was foolish of me. I’m a very complicated woman.’

  His lips curved in a leisurely smile. ‘I’m beginning to realise that.’

  The smile she returned was tremulous. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Not in the least. I’m beginning to warm to you, too.’

  ‘I’m glad. You see, I love you, too, Alex. Very much indeed.’

  An unbearable sense of joy leaped in Alex’s heart. The yielding softness in her eyes, the rosy flush that bespoke her youth, brought faint stirrings of an emotion he’d thought long since dead. Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his fingers, tilting her face to his and gently placing his lips on hers.

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘I’m relieved we have finally reconciled our differences.’

  Lydia tilted her head sideways. ‘So you would like to think. There is still one important matter that concerns me.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘My work.’

  ‘You will have a child to focus your energies on. Why would you want to work?’

  ‘Because I do. I will not give it up, Alex.’

  He looked at her hard, love glowing in his eyes as he considered her words. Taking her face in his hands, he gave her a light, lingering kiss full of promise for the days and years to come. ‘I will not expect you to do that. We will work something out.’
/>   ‘Thank you.’

  She was glad she had heard what he had to say. It was strange to think she had held herself from him, from his proposal of marriage, because of who she was, because of what she was. Now she wondered if it even mattered.

  Chapter Ten

  Surfacing from a deeply passionate kiss, seated beside Alex in the carriage before they set off back to the house and knowing their newfound happiness could not be concealed, Lydia sighed, relieved that all the deliberations and heart searching were over. For better or for worse she was going to be Alex’s wife.

  Holding her in his arms, Alex was content to let his eyes dwell on her beloved face, to gaze into the depths of her eyes, to glory in the gentle sweep of her long dark lashes which dusted her cheeks. Unable to resist her and overcome by a strong desire to draw her mouth to his and taste the sweetness of her quivering lips once again, he placed his mouth on hers and she parted her lips to receive his kiss, her heart soaring with happiness. He kissed her slowly and deliberately, and Lydia felt a melting sweetness flow through her bones and her heart pour into his.

  With a deep sigh Alex drew back and gave her a searching look, his gaze and his crooked smile drenching her in its sexuality.

  ‘There are times, Lydia Brook, when you confound me,’ he murmured, placing his warm lips on her forehead before he took up the reins. ‘Now enough of this—you are in danger of being made love to here and now if we do not get a move on. We should get back. There’s going to be rain soon.’

  Lydia sighed and settled against him. ‘I can’t believe I am to marry you.’

  ‘Believe it, my love. I intend to marry you as soon as it can be arranged.’

  ‘You know I am not cut out to be a lady of leisure, Alex, with so many servants to do my bidding.’ She smiled. ‘Still, when I’m not designing my dresses, I can always look after you—iron your shirts...whatever it is that wives do.’