He nudged her chin up until their eyes met. Something intense flared in his gaze. “I didn’t think I wanted children anymore, or cared about having them any longer until you.” His hand left her chin, and both palms cupped her face. “You make me want things I never thought I would again, like a home filled with your tinkling feminine laughter and the sound of our children’s bare feet pattering wildly through our halls as they chase each other or we chase them.”
Audrey stilled, unbelievable hope filling her. His words were so tender. So full of the promise of his loving her. Did she really need him to say it? How foolish would she be to marry Lord Thortonberry when her heart, her soul belonged to Trent. Surely he would come around. The need to tell him exactly how much she loved him exploded inside her. “Trent―”
“There you are.” Whitney’s voice rang out, making Audrey jump.
Audrey swiveled around to find her Aunt Hillie clutching Whitney’s arm. Irritation at being interrupted when she had just gathered the courage to once again confess her heart to Trent flared, but then her aunt swayed a bit and Audrey focused on her with a frown. “Aunt Hillie, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, my dear, but I’m not feeling well. I think I’ve a cold or some such nonsense. I came to see if it would be all right with you if I have Mr. Barrett take me home.”
Audrey shot a regretful glance at Trent, which he acknowledge by quickly squeezing her hand before letting her go to her aunt. “Nonsense, Aunt. I’ll accompany you and take care of you.”
Her aunt, usually so independent, practically wilted into Audrey’s arms. “Thank you, dearest. I did hate to ask, but I do feel awful.”
Audrey patted her aunt’s hand. “Come, then. We better get you home and to bed.”
Trent came immediately to her aunt’s other side, and Whitney discreetly stepped away before saying, “I’ll go tell Gillian you’re departing.”
Audrey nodded and locked gazes with Trent, glad for a few more minutes with him, even if she couldn’t say what she wanted to. Trent asked her aunt, “Might I see you safely to your carriage?”
Aunt Hillie gave him a sardonic smile. “It’s about time you thought of someone besides yourself, Lord Davenport.”
“Auntie, do hush,” Audrey hissed.
Trent chuckled. “Your aunt is undoubtedly correct.” After helping Audrey get her aunt settled into the carriage while Audrey exchanged goodbyes with Gillian and her husband, Trent leaned into the enclosed carriage compartment. “Might I take you on a picnic tomorrow, if your aunt is feeling well enough that she doesn’t need your care?”
“I’m sure I’ll feel perfectly fine,” Aunt Hillie said before Audrey could respond. “But where are you planning on taking my niece on a picnic? I must insist it be somewhere very public, unless I’m coming along as a chaperone.”
Audrey gawked at her aunt. It was rather unlike her to demand such a thing.
“Do you approve of Hyde park?” Trent asked.
Aunt Hillie nodded. “Certainly. You’ll be surrounded there. Make sure to bring an open carriage.”
“Indeed I will.” Trent stepped away and tapped on the carriage.
As it pulled away, Audrey turned to her aunt. “Whatever was that about?”
Her aunt smiled gently at her. “Dear, whatever you did to that man today is working. I see a softening in his eyes when he looks at you.”
Audrey’s heart squeezed a bit. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I cannot in good conscience allow you to be alone with him until you’ve decided whether or not you wish to accept his proposal.”
“Why ever not? You allowed me to be alone with him today.”
“Well, yes.” Her aunt closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. “That was before he had that look in his eyes.”
Audrey leaned forward, eager to hear what her aunt thought she saw in Trent’s eyes. “What look?”
“The look that says it’s only a matter of time before he realizes he loves you.”
“But that’s wonderful,” Audrey exclaimed, happy to hear her aunt’s thoughts echoed her own.
“To be sure,” Aunt Hillie murmured. “But before when he looked as if he merely desired you, I had no qualms the man would keep himself in check. His honor is quite obvious.”
“And now?” Audrey clutched at the seat.
Aunt Hillie slit one eye open. “To everything there is a season.”
Audrey sighed. “What do you mean?”
Aunt Hillie sat up, her gaze spearing Audrey. “When that man accepts he loves you, I promise you he’ll be willing to dance with the devil himself to keep you as his. Honor be damned. Rules of Society won’t stop him from claiming you, so I must, until you make up your mind. Tell me, dear, have you any progress with that?”
“I love him.” Audrey could not stop the grin from spreading across her face. “And I now have reason to hope he loves me to. The things he said today…” She let her words trail off with a happy sigh. “Perhaps I will have a marriage of love as I always dreamed.” She grinned at her aunt. “I feel so happy.”
Her aunt patted her hand. “That’s wonderful, dear.”
Audrey frowned. “It is, and if everything works out it will be almost perfect.”
“Almost?” Her aunt quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I wish Richard would return home. Perhaps I can ask Trent if he knows anyone who can help me locate Richard.”
“An excellent idea, dear,” Aunt Hillie said before succumbing to a coughing fit that took Audrey’s concern away from Richard and to her rather flushed-appearing aunt.
Later that night, Trent ascended the steps to his home with a frown on his face. Things were going perfectly with Audrey, and he should have felt nothing but happiness, but something bothered him and left his gut tight. He’d gone to White’s and had a drink by himself to brew over what it could be, but he was no closer to uncovering what was dispelling what should have been an excellent mood, given he was fairly certain today in the garden Audrey had been on the verge of accepting his marriage proposal.
As he opened the door and thought of her laughing in the garden, with the sun beaming down on her hair and the child on her back giggling, Trent’s chest tightened almost painfully and it struck him suddenly what he was out of sorts about. It was her. No, it was him and what he was offering to her.
The door swung open before his thoughts got any further and Pickering rushed out of the house, breaking his customary routine of greeting Trent when he stepped through the door. Pickering appeared disheveled and nervous. Instantly, Trent’s senses tingled. “What’s wrong?”
Pickering waved Trent inside. Once the door was shut behind them, Pickering moved close. “You’ve a visitor, my lord.”
“A visitor? At this hour?”
“Yes, sir,” Pickering replied in a whisper.
Trent frowned. “Why are you whispering?”
“The lad is asleep.”
“What lad?”
“I do believe she called him Julian.”
A knot formed in Trent’s stomach. “Julian.” A French name. It couldn’t be, yet instantly he swept his gaze around the room, looking for Gwyneth, though he knew she was dead. He stopped on the stairs. This was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Could the priest have lied? If Gwyneth wasn’t dead after all, but here, and brought a child, did that mean the child was his? He tried to shake the ridiculous scenario his mind had conjured, but it would not shake. It took, it seemed, long moments for his brain to start again. “How old is the child?” he asked woodenly, calculating exactly how old any child he could have had with Gwyneth would be.
“I cannot say for certain, my lord, but he looks to be the age of my nephew and he’s half a year shy of his second birthday.”
“Bloody hell. I thought you might say that.” Any child he and Gwyneth would have conceived would have been just about that age. “Where’s the woman?”
“Upstairs in the guest room tending to the child. He is sick. I’m sorry to have
taken such liberties, my lord. I did not think you would mind, knowing you as I do, but if you wish to dismiss me…”
Trent waved his butler’s offer away and tried to take a deep breath but his lungs did not want to function properly. There was only one way to find out exactly who was upstairs. He took the stairs two at a time, his blood pumping furiously in his veins. Whatever hatred he felt for Gwyneth would never include a child of his. If he had a son, he would love him. An intense ache coursed through his body as he flung open the guest chamber door and stormed in.
For a moment, his gaze focused on the woman’s form with her backside to him hovered over the bed. Red hair trailed down her back and he grimaced, recalling Gwyneth’s red hair. She stood and turned to him, and relief flowed through him. He walked toward Gwyneth’s sister, Bridgette, and paused directly beside her as he glanced down at the sleeping child. Unsure what to think, he silently motioned to the hallway. She nodded and followed him out.
Once they were outside the bedchamber, she closed the door almost all the way and turned to face him. “Monsieur, is there somewhere private we can speak?”
“Yes, my study. Follow me.” He had a hundred questions racing through his mind, but they would have to wait. As they descended the steps, his thoughts turned to Audrey. Even if her aunt was better tomorrow, he couldn’t take Audrey to the park with Bridgette here. No matter what Bridgette might tell him in a few minutes, it wouldn’t make him trust her enough to leave her alone in his house. He doubted he’d feel relaxed until she was no longer in England.
At his study, he waved her in. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back momentarily.”
A few minutes later he’d located Harris, scribbled a quick note to Audrey telling her an emergency had arisen and he couldn’t make tomorrow’s picnic. He added a line at the end that he would contact her as soon as he was able. By the time he returned to the study, Bridgette looked agitated in the extreme.
“Please, sit.” He motioned to the settee and took the chair opposite of her. What the hell should he ask first? Only one thing really mattered at the moment. “Is the child mine?”
Bridgette quickly nodded, her gaze not wavering from his. “Yes. Why else would I have brought him here?”
He saw her point, still…Trent studied her. Her gaze didn’t dart, her hands and feet were still, her breathing normal, if the pulse at her neck was any indication. In every aspect, it appeared as if she was telling the truth. Then again, he’d been utterly duped by her sister. “Can you prove it?”
She smiled gently. “When you look at him, you will know he is yours. He has your exact eyes, color and shape of mouth, full with a slight upturn, and your golden hair with the same wave in the front.”
Absently, Trent touched the front of his hair that had always parted to the right. His gut tightened. Did he really have a son? His mind simply couldn’t go there until he saw the child awake for himself. “We shall see.” That was all the commitment Bridgette would get from him.
“Completely understandable, monsieur, after what my sister did to you. If I were you, I would want to judge for myself as well and not take anyone’s word.”
“Tell me of your sister.” He braced his hands on his knees.
“She’s still dead,” Bridgette said bluntly.
Trent exhaled a sharp breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I’m sorry,” he quickly said, seeing Bridgette’s eyebrows dip inward. “I’m not sure where to ask you to begin, so why don’t you decide?”
“The day after I left you at the bar, I received a note from my brother’s friend that Pierre was not going to make it through the night and he begged me to come and see him. When I arrived Pierre brought the child out.” Bridgette paused and twisted her hands together. “Julian was dressed in rags and filthy.”
Fierce protective anger flared inside Trent, surprising him. “Continue,” he demanded, wishing the child were awake right now, so he could go and see him and judge for himself if he was his.
Bridgette cleared her throat. “After Gwyneth died Pierre tried to raise Julian, but then Pierre, of course, became ill. When I contacted him, he came to see me to beg me to take Julian, but Pierre decided I would be better persuaded if I saw the child. During the night, however, Pierre took a turn for the worse and feared he wouldn’t live another day. That’s why he called me to him the next day. On his deathbed, he told me of Gwyneth’s British spy husband, whom she’d wed and then left for dead. He told me of the man’s escape and how Pierre had seen the man tumble off a bridge and float facedown with the river current. Pierre believed you dead.”
Trent stilled, his body tensing. “But you knew different.”
Bridgette stared at him, the silence in the room growing until his nerves seemed to crackle within his body. Finally, she spoke. “I asked Pierre to describe Gwyneth’s husband. His description didn’t fit you, except for your eyes. You have unusually green eyes. Pierre said the same thing. Besides that, I had just met you and you had claimed to have loved Gwyneth. I put the pieces together, and it made sense that you would have lied to me and disguised yourself so Pierre wouldn’t recognize you.”
Trent clenched his jaw to stop the ticking on the right side. Once sufficiently under control he asked, “What did your brother want you to do with the boy?”
“He thought I might be able to bring Julian to London and find you, or rather since he believed you were dead, he supposed I might be able to find your family. He knew you were wealthy and I believe he had hopes your family would take one look at Julian and see the resemblance and take the child, because he was yours. Despite everything bad about Pierre, I believe he loved Julian.”
“Do you want me to take the child?” When he saw Julian, if he believed the child was his, he would not let her leave with his son. He had to know what he was going to be up against.
She cast her gaze down. “I love my nephew, but I cannot raise a child on my own. I deserve a life, and he’s your son. Will you not take him, because of Gwyneth?”
“Gwyneth be damned,” Trent snapped. He gentled his tone when Bridgette flinched. “If I see the resemblance you say is there, the child will never be apart from me again.”
Bridgette grabbed his hand, surprising him. “You are a good man. You will see it.”
Trent pulled his hand away and stood to pour himself a drink but halfway to the liquor cabinet, he remembered Pickering saying the child was sick. “Is Julian sick?”
“A small cold. Nothing serious.”
Trent strode to the door and flung it open. “Pickering,” Trent bellowed down the hall.
Pickering appeared before him within minutes. “My lord?”
“The minute Harris returns send him to fetch my physician to the house with all due haste.”
“Yes, my lord. Shall I prepare the lady a guest room?”
Trent caught Bridgette’s wary gaze. Damnation. He couldn’t turn the lady out in the middle of the night, whether the boy was his or not, and he certainly couldn’t put her up in an inn. Too many prying eyes would see them and he couldn’t chance questions that may lead anyone to delve into his past. The best course of action would be to keep her here, until he could see her safely on a ship headed back to France. Yes, that was a good plan and would ensure Audrey didn’t hear anything questionable.
He nodded at Pickering. “Prepare the lady a room.”
After Pickering departed, Bridgette walked out of the study and stood by Trent. “I’d like to check on Julian if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, of course,” Trent replied, eager to see the child himself.
A few minutes later they stood at the child’s bedside. Julian’s breathing rattled in his tiny chest. Trent reached out and placed his hand over the boy’s heart. Underneath his palm, he counted a steady beat. Trent’s heart constricted in response as he evaluated the boy’s face. Julian’s hair was the same golden color as Trent’s and it did seem the child had the same full lips, but it was hard to tell while he slept.
Moving quietly away from the bed, he waited as Bridgette bent down and pressed a kiss to Julian’s forehead. After they departed the room, Trent walked her down the hall to the guest chamber Pickering had prepared for her. “Why don’t you wash up and try to get some rest.” When she started to protest, he held up a forestalling hand. “I’ll check on Julian while you’re sleeping, and the minute the physician arrives, I’ll wake you. You have to be exhausted.”
Bridgette nibbled on her lip, but the dark circles under her eyes revealed what she would not say with words. Finally, she sighed. “You promise to check on him and wake me when the physician arrives.”
“I promise.”
“All right, then.” She stepped into her bedchamber as Pickering came out and closed the door, leaving Trent standing in the hallway with his butler. The silence stretched for a few awkward moments before Trent turned to Pickering. “Bring me a glass of whiskey to the boy’s room.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Trent made his way back toward Julian’s room as the sound of the butler descending the steps echoed in the quiet house. Once Trent pulled up a chair to the child’s bed, he yanked off his cravat and loosened his shirt. His throat tightened as he stared at Julian. Was this his son? The funny feeling he always felt in his chest when he was around Audrey tugged inside him.
A few minutes later, Pickering returned and Trent accepted the glass of whiskey his butler silently handed him. Without drinking it, Trent sat in the dark contemplating what it might mean if this boy was his. He squeezed his eyes shut, losing track of how long he remained that way, his mind locked with disbelief. Then a memory of earlier today skittered across his thoughts. His belly had ached when he’d given the boy Martin a pony ride. He loved children, and no matter what havoc Julian being his son might cause his life, he would accept him.
Trent slowly opened his eyes and stretched his hand out to lightly touch his fingertips to Julian’s brow. By God, the boy was hot.
Fear lodged inside Trent’s gut. He shoved the chair back and was out the door, down the hall at Bridgette’s room and rapping on the door within a few breaths. She opened the door right away. “What is it?” Fear made her voice tremble.
Dancing With A Devil Page 27