Inhaling at hearing his vow, Clarinda finally allowed a nod as she regarded him for a time. “I wish you had told me she was alive.” She frowned then, the fold of skin reappearing between her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
David allowed a sigh of relief at the same time he wondered how to respond. “I love you, Clare. I admit, I didn’t expect to. But when you had that miscarriage, I realized I was desperately, thoroughly in love with you. More than I ever was with Arabella. I feared if I told you about Isabella, you would hate me, and I... I couldn’t abide that.”
Thrilling at hearing his declaration of love once again, Clarinda allowed a nod. Then her eyes suddenly widened. “Does Isabella know? Does she know you’re her father?”
David blinked. “Not yet. I’ve written a letter...”
“Coward,” she accused gently. “How could you keep it from her?”
David grimaced at hearing the word, wondering if she had heard the duke call him that. Then he sighed at hearing the question. “I only explained what happened with Craythorne,” he said. “Hunt was going to give her the letter when he got back to Huntinghurst—today, in fact. At some point, he’s going to propose marriage.”
“Coward,” she said again, although her grin betrayed her happiness at hearing his words.
“I’ll tell her I’m her father in person, of course. I’d like you to come along if you would. Tomorrow?”
Clarinda gave a nod. “I will, of course.” She paused before she allowed a grin. “I cannot believe Izzy will be a... a duchess,” she murmured.
“I wanted you to know before she learned of it,” David explained. “But I feared if I told you she was alive, you would want to know why, and then I would have to tell you the whole sordid tale, and then you would tell your friends, and then Isabella would be the topic of conversation in every Mayfair parlor, and then Craythorne would learn she was alive and demand to know where she was, and... I couldn’t take that chance, Clare,” he explained. “Isabella feared for her life. I feared for her life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as frightened as she was the day she appeared at The Elegant Courtesan. She rode the entire way from Basingstoke—”
“In the middle of the night?” Her eyes widened. “She went to the brothel?” she asked in a louder voice.
“Indeed. Her horse was half-dead that morning. She was sure Craythorne would kill her because she had paid witness to what happened that day.”
Settling her head onto his chest, Clarinda considered his words. Although she was disappointed to learn he thought she would share the news of Isabella’s fate as gossip, she understood why he would believe such a thing. She spent her days either hosting other ladies in her parlor or visiting them in theirs. “I would have kept her a secret,” she whispered, wondering if she really could have kept the news from Adele Worthington. The woman had become her best friend and confidante. “Truly.”
Touched by her words, David finally allowed a nod. “Then I shall not keep such secrets from you,” he vowed.
Giving a start, Clarinda stared at him. “You have more secrets?”
David blinked and struggled with how to respond. “Of course not. I just meant... I wouldn’t keep future secrets from you,” he amended. “Not that I expect to have any.”
Regarding him with a bit of suspicion, Clarinda arched an eyebrow. “I shouldn’t wish to learn of any after you die,” she warned with a teasing grin.
David kissed her again. “I love you,” he whispered.
Clarinda allowed a nod of her own. “And I suppose I love you as well.”
Although she realized just then she should have been prepared for what was about to happen, Clarinda was rather surprised at David’s immediate response. His intense and thorough worship of her body resulted in sensations she had never before experienced. His lovemaking had her body succumbing to a series of frissons and orgasms that seemed to go on and on until she thought she might faint. And then, just before he allowed his release and spilled his seed inside her, he made a vow never to keep another secret from her.
Clarinda fell asleep with her husband atop her, her fingers buried in his silken hair and a grin of satisfaction on her lips.
“I have a stepdaughter,” were her last words before she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 33
A Laborious Night
Two o’clock in the morning
Even before he heard the sharp knock on his bedchamber door, Octavius knew something was wrong. He was sure he’d heard a cry in the night, although he thought it merely a bird.
Or Jane.
She had been featured in his dreams nearly every night lately. Dreams that soon turned into nightmares that had him struggling to wake up and then too upset to return to slumber.
Hurried footsteps on the hallway’s Aubusson carpeting had him sitting up in bed, and he was nearly halfway to the door before he realized he was naked. Cursing, he found his dressing gown and pulled it on before opening the door.
The sight of Isabella had him jerking back in horror. Her face, apparently streaked with tears, was smudged with what appeared to be blood. Her hair was a mass of tangled curls interlaced with bits of straw. But what frightened him the most was her night rail. Stained with a wash of what appeared to be dark red water, she looked as if she had been doused with the cook’s concoction for coughs. The damp fabric clung to her torso and legs, leaving nothing to the imagination when it came to the shapely figure beneath. The lantern she dangled from one hand only accentuated the effect.
“Please, Your Grace. I’ve just come from the stables. Enyo needs help. I’m not strong enough,” she started to say, a sob interrupting her plea as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Jesus,” Octavius whispered as he gave his head a quick shake, the remnants of his troubling dream finally leaving him so he felt a bit more clear-headed. He couldn’t go out to the stables in his dressing gown, even if she had obviously worn her night rail.
What was she thinking to do such a thing?
“Wait here. I’ll be but a moment,” he said before he disappeared into his darkened chamber.
Isabella concentrated on slowing her breathing, mentally counting in an attempt to sort how much time had passed since she had left the stables and run up the stairs, Nelson on her heels. The dog now sat in the middle of the carpeted hallway, his tongue hanging out as he struggled to catch his breath. Isabella hadn’t even realized he had followed her from the stables!
How much time had passed whilst she attempted to pull the second foal? Twenty minutes at most, she remembered Constance telling her. After that, the foal will most likely have died in the womb.
At least Enyo had been able to deliver the first on her own, a colt who was already standing on its spindly legs, wobbling about the foaling stable when Isabella realized Enyo was in distress.
The groom had confirmed just the week before that Enyo was carrying twins. But then, so did some other dams in her line, the man had said with a dismissive wave. Isabella remembered how surprised she had been at learning of multiple foals in Enyo’s lineage, for she knew Ares shared some of the same dams as Enyo. Twins were so rare!
The pedigree charts she had managed to locate didn’t include that information, though. She might have reconsidered her carefully researched plans for the two horses if she had known.
Suddenly noticing the large stain down the front of her night rail, Isabella let out a gasp and crossed an arm over her torso. What must the duke have thought when he opened his door to find her so disheveled? So bloodied?
I must look like his worst nightmare.
Movement from inside the duke’s bedchamber captured her attention then, and she froze as she watched him, in profile, pull on a pair of breeches. He had been naked for that brief moment before the breeches covered his buttocks. Before his efficient fingers buttoned up the placket that strained to contain his erection. His bare chest was on full display just before it was suddenly covered in lawn, the white shirt settli
ng over his shoulders, its bottom edge dropping to well past his waist.
Releasing her breath in a whoosh—Isabella hadn’t realized she’d been holding it—she hoped he wasn’t wearing one of his good shirts.
Then he was suddenly filling the doorway, the top edge of a pair of boots gripped in one hand. “What’s become of Mr. Reeves?” he asked as he leaned against the door jamb and pulled on one of the boots. “Deep in his cups, is he?”
“He took the wagon to Weald for hay. He won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon,” Isabella replied in a quiet voice, rather surprised the duke didn’t know. “And Master George’s arms are too short. Not that I would have even woken him up for this,” she added. Although he had seemed fascinated by the last foaling he had paid witness to in the pasture out back, Isabella remembered how his eyes suddenly rolled up into the back of his head, and he fell to the ground in a heap. “He fainted when Hera delivered Hermés last year.”
Octavius leaned over to tug on his second boot, wondering at her reference to the stableboy’s arms. And then he furrowed a brow.
Had Isabella attempted to pull a foal? It would certainly explain the condition of her night rail.
All at once he remembered the pedigree chart for Enyo and Ares’ foal. There were two blank lines on the left side of the paper instead of the usual single line.
Were both foals at risk? And what about Enyo?
“But you thought nothing of waking me?” he groused as he pulled his bedchamber door shut and hurried down the hall to the back stairs, suddenly understanding the need for expediency.
“I apologize, Your Grace, but...”
“There was no one else you could awaken, I’m quite positive,” he said, rather surprised to find both her and Nelson on his heels. As he descended the servants’ stairs, his boots making a thumping sound as he went, he was aware of how close behind him she followed, her own half-boots barely tapping on the wooden runners while the light from the lantern cast gruesome shadows ahead of them. Nelson’s bulk followed behind, the thumps on the treads a testament to his huge paws.
At the bottom, Octavius turned and headed out the same back door he had used to get to the stables the morning before, pausing to allow Isabella to come up alongside him. She held the lantern out in front of her as they ran, lighting the crushed granite path and flags that led to the stables. Nelson rushed on ahead.
Isabella managed to put an arm out to slow Octavius as she said, “We don’t want to startle the colt,” she warned, her steps slowing as they entered the stables and headed for the stall holding Enyo and her first-born. Nelson stood at guard, a slight whine sounding as if he understood the mare’s predicament.
Enyo was lying on the same side she had been on when she dropped the colt. “Oh, Enyo,” Isabella breathed, disappointed to see the horse still in distress. Although the second foal still hadn’t made an appearance—and wouldn’t without assistance—the first looked as if Enyo had already cleaned it. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“How long has it been?” Octavius asked as he knelt to place his hands on Enyo’s belly. He was about to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, but cursed and then simply stripped it from his body. He murmured something to the horse as his hands continued to slide over her hide. Enyo knickered in response, but she didn’t raise her head.
“Fifteen minutes,” Isabella said as she moved to check the chronometer she had set up when she had arrived to pay witness to the first colt’s birth. “Perhaps a few minutes more.” She had to suppress the urge to gasp at the sight of the duke wearing only breeches and boots. The light from the lantern fully illuminated his chest, his arms, the cords of his neck, and the expression of determination on his face as one arm slowly disappeared into the mare. She realized she shouldn’t have been shocked the duke seemed to know what to do, but she rather doubted Craythorne would have known despite his extensive stables.
“Everything had gone so well, I was sure the second would follow... and then... nothing. I think she was too exhausted,” Isabella explained as she held the lantern.
“I’ve found the front hooves,” Octavius said suddenly, his familiar frown appearing when he seemed perplexed.
“What about the head? I couldn’t find it,” Isabella said as she moved to lightly stroke Enyo’s nose, ignoring Octavius’ arched brow.
“I suppose that explains why you look as if you’re the one who gave birth to that colt,” he said as the mare knickered again, her breathing labored. The duke pushed his arm further into the horse.
Isabella gave him a quelling glance. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to,” she claimed, allowing a wan grin when the colt suddenly took an interest in her hair. At least it no longer looked as if it wanted to escape the foaling stall. “I think its head may be turned back when it should be between the knees.”
“I’m well aware of where the head should be,” Octavius responded between gritted teeth. Grunting with exertion, he seemed to push his arm ever farther into the mare before he sighed and paused for a breath.
“Eighteen minutes,” Isabella whispered, tears once again coming to her eyes.
“I think... I think I’ve got it back where it belongs,” Octavius said suddenly. He had used the flat of his hand to move the foal’s head into place just above the knees, reaching farther to be sure the neck was in alignment. “Now let’s hope the neck isn’t broken,” he murmured, mostly to himself. He knew Isabella had heard his comment, though, when she let out a quiet wail.
“She’s having a contraction,” Isabella whispered before a sob robbed her of breath. “Pull. Pull hard,” she ordered.
His hand firmly gripping the front pastern, Octavius pulled, his efforts helped with Enyo’s contraction. He continued to pull even after the contraction subsided, and soon his arm was completely free of the mare. Repositioning his body so he was nearly pressed against the stall wall, the duke continued to pull the entire colt free from Enyo.
“You did it!” Isabella shouted, which had the colt retreating to the corner behind her, and Enyo letting out another knicker as her body seemed to relax.
Octavius couldn’t help the combination of relief and contempt he felt just then. Had she doubted him? Doubted he could at least save Enyo? He didn’t expect the second foal to live. It had probably been far more than twenty minutes since Enyo had delivered the first given how old the colt in the corner seemed to be. Given how this one’s neck had been turned so far from normal. Given how it lay still in the straw at his knees.
He was resigned to a stillbirth—Jesus, was he really so jaded by the loss of his son that he would think all births would end thus?—until he paid witness to Isabella’s sudden determination to see to a live foaling. He watched as she crawled over the straw to the foal at his knees, tears still streaming down her face. When the filly still didn’t move, Isabella stabbed a finger into the sac surrounding the newborn and broke the membrane. She peeled it away from the filly’s face. “No, no, no,” he heard her whisper. And then Octavius watched as she lifted a piece of straw from the bedding and tickled the filly’s nostril.
When the filly suddenly sneezed, its head jerking and its hind legs attempting to straighten, Octavius closed his eyes in silent prayer.
“Yes!” Isabella whispered, new tears of happiness joining those that already stained her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Octavius blinked. Something inside his chest seemed to contract just then. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Overcome at how she gazed at him—as if he were some medieval knight who had vanquished a dragon—he reached for her. His left arm pulled her body hard against his chest as he leaned his back against the foaling stall, and his head came to rest against the wooden planks.
Isabella settled her head into the small of his shoulder, one hand pressed against his bare chest. Beneath her hand, his heart beat in a staccato that soon calmed to an even tattoo. His breathing followed until he finally dropped his head so his cheek rested atop Isabella�
��s curls.
Meanwhile, the newborn kicked its way free of its confines and struggled to stand. Enyo lifted her head and regarded the filly for a moment before she reached over and nudged it with her nose. Curious, the first colt did the same, and soon, after two or three attempts, the second foal stood up on wobbly legs.
“We need to leave them alone,” Octavius whispered. “Let them get some rest.”
“I’d like to be sure Enyo doesn’t reject...” She lowered her head to peek between the second foal’s legs. “Her,” she said with a tentative grin. She angled her head up to regard Octavius for a moment. “You may have two contenders in the St. Leger,” she whispered. She glanced over at Enyo, relieved to see she had already expelled the placenta.
Octavius regarded her for a moment before he suddenly lowered his lips to hers. The first kiss was light—a bare brush of his lips over hers. But the second kiss claimed her, his tongue slipping between her lips to open them so that he could lock his own over hers. He tightened his hold on her when she responded, the hand that had been pressed against his chest moving up to rest on the side of his face.
Isabella wasn’t sure what possessed the duke to kiss her just then. Perhaps it was merely the sense of relief he felt at seeing the filly come alive. Or perhaps he merely saw an opportunity to be a man for a moment, rather than the duke he was so very good at portraying every day.
Or perhaps he felt affection for her.
Isabella raised herself onto her knees, turning so she faced him, and regarded him for a moment. They exchanged no words, but after a moment, her lips were back on his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hands moving to his head so her fingers could spear his silken hair.
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