by Jo Beverley
If she’d had a son, things would be very different. She’d be the earl’s mother. And even if she’d had a daughter, there would be that life she and Oxbury had created together.
Alex sat down heavily in the brown leather wingchair and stared at the fire, cradling his brandy in his hand. He’d thought a lot about children, about legacy, in the year since Da and Mama died.
When he died, there would be no one to mourn his passing. Oh, David would—and perhaps David’s children would miss old Uncle Alex—but that was different. He would have no direct descendent; no son to carry on his name; no daughter with his blood. And no one to inherit Clifton Hall. He blew out a long breath. Perhaps he would leave it to David’s second son.
If David had a second son.
Nonsense. David had to marry and have children—he had a title to pass down. It looked a bit uncertain at the moment that his bride would be Lady Grace, however. Something had happened this afternoon to cause a falling out. At dinner tonight, the two would not let their eyes meet. If by accident their gazes did connect, they looked away as quickly as they could. When David had entered the drawing room after dinner, he’d looked for Grace—and then gone to the other side of the room. Grace had retired shortly afterward.
It was unfortunate, but David was only thirty-one, still relatively young to be considering matrimony. And, given Standen’s dislike of all Wiltons, choosing a different bride would probably increase David’s domestic harmony.
But he was not young.
He swirled the brandy in his glass. He’d seriously considered marriage a few years after Kate’s wedding. He’d wanted children, and he’d found a lady who seemed congenial. But he’d vacillated and she’d married someone else.
That was the story of his life—he failed to act decisively and he lost the prize. If only he’d flown with Kate to Gretna Green twenty-three years ago, just as Luke had taken Lady Harriet…
He took a sip of brandy. All that was water over the dam. History. This was today. He had a decision to make now.
If Kate indeed carried his child, there was no decision to be made. He would not let his child be born a bastard.
He put down his brandy, rose, and strode toward the connecting door. It was time to put an end to his uncertainty.
“That will be all for tonight, Marie. Thank you.” Kate rubbed her temples. She was developing a crushing headache.
“Would ye like a spot of tea, my lady?”
Kate’s stomach twisted. Regretfully, tea would not help in this instance. “No, thank you.”
Marie made a small huffing sound and lingered by the door. Kate looked up. It was obvious the woman would burst if she didn’t open her budget. Unfortunately, Kate was certain she knew exactly what Marie wished to say—and she did not want to hear it.
She could ignore her—she should ignore her.
Whom was she fooling? That tactic had never worked in the past; there was no indication it would work this time. Marie was capable of standing there until tomorrow.
She sighed. “Did you have something else to say, Marie?”
Marie’s chin came up. She looked quite pugnacious. “Happen I do.”
Kate nodded; Marie glared.
Zeus! If Marie wanted to ring a peal over her head, she should just do so and be done with it. It was hard to imagine she could say anything Kate had not already said to herself.
Kate looked down and pressed her fingers to her forehead. It didn’t help. “Yes? And you wished to say…?”
“Ye know ye have to tell him soon, don’t ye?”
Kate didn’t need to ask who “he” was. There was only one male in attendance whom she needed to tell anything. She had decided earlier she would do so tonight, but now that tonight was here…She glanced at the connecting door. Perhaps tomorrow.
She looked back at Marie. Her maid actually appeared sympathetic. Damn. Tears pricked her eyelids.
She would not cry.
“I will get to it, Marie.”
All trace of sympathy vanished; now Marie merely looked exasperated. “And when will that be, my lady? Ye said the same thing last night.”
She had, hadn’t she? “Well, yes, but the house party has just begun.”
“And it will end all too soon with poor Mr. Wilton no more the wiser, I fear.”
Poor Mr. Wilton? What was poor about Mr. Wilton? He didn’t puke his breakfast up every morning. He wasn’t worried people were looking at his stomach; he didn’t wonder if it had begun to protrude, if everyone would guess…exactly the truth. And in just a few months—perhaps a few weeks—no one would have to guess. It would be painfully obvious to anyone with eyes in his—or her—head that an interesting event was expected.
She pressed the heels of her hands into her forehead. What if Alex laughed at her when she told him? What if he washed his hands of her, said she’d seduced him so now she could pay the price?
No, he would never do that. He might be very, very angry, though, and she couldn’t blame him. He’d gone all these years without any encumbrances, and now she had to tell him…
She couldn’t do it.
She had to do it.
“I’ve hardly had time—”
“Ye’ve had plenty of time.” Marie clicked her tongue. “I see how it fashes ye. Ye’ve nae been eating or sleeping well. That canna be good for ye or the wee bairn.”
“Well…” Certainly worry was contributing to this blasted headache.
“It’s nae gonna to get any easier, my lady. Just think if ye wait till ye are showing, how awkward that will be. I canna think Mr. Wilton would like to find out then that he’s the cause.”
“Nooo…” Where was that basin? She was going to be ill.
Marie crossed her arms. “If ye do nae tell the man tonight, I will tell him in the morning.”
Kate’s head snapped up. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would.” Marie looked exceedingly mulish.
“But I should go to Lady Grace. She appeared very upset in the drawing room this evening.”
Marie just stared at her.
“And I’m not dressed.” Kate spread her arms. “See, I am already in my nightgown.”
Marie snorted. “The man has seen ye in yer nightgown afore, my lady. He’s likely seen ye without yer nightgown—or any gown at all. I do nae think he’ll be complaining of that when ye walk into his bedroom.”
Dear God! Walk into Alex’s bedroom…she could not do it. It was as simple as that.
“I’ll speak to him tomorrow morning, I promise.” She could meet him in the garden. That would be private enough.
“Ye’ll speak to him tonight, my lady, or I’ll speak to him tomorrow morning.” Marie slammed the door behind her for emphasis.
“Ohh.” Kate covered her face with her hands. What was she going to do?
She was going to tell Alex…somehow. She had to. Marie was a woman of her word; if Kate did not find the courage tonight, Marie would march up to Alex tomorrow.
When had she so offended the Fates? She had lived a good life. She had done as her brother insisted and married Oxbury. She had been faithful to her husband. She gave alms to the poor, visited the sick, said her prayers every night…almost every night.
Other widows entertained gentlemen in their beds, and they did not become enceinte. And she had only done it once. It was not fair.
“What do you think, Hermes? What should I do?”
Hermes yawned and put his head down on his paws. He appeared completely unmoved by her troubles.
She blew out a long breath and looked at the connecting door. How difficult could it be? She and Alex were both mature adults. They could discuss this rationally, couldn’t they?
Panic grabbed her throat so tightly she could barely breathe.
Perhaps she should practice. She walked over and stood in front of the looking glass.
“Mr. W-Wilton—” She cleared her throat and took a few deep breaths. “Mr. Wilton, I wish to…to…”
She c
ould not sound frightened. There was nothing to be frightened about—
Of course there was something to be frightened about…it was growing in her womb right now. She put a shaking hand on her stomach.
What did she want from Alex? A marriage proposal? How could she accept? She would be making him pay for her folly. She was too honorable for that. Perhaps a proposal of a different sort? But men did not want pregnant mistresses and squalling brats.
She put both hands over her abdomen. Her baby would not be a squalling brat. He or she would be loved and well cared for…if they both weren’t starving in the workhouse.
She leaned on the dressing table and took some more deep breaths. This was not working.
The important thing was to tell Alex that she was…that he was…that there was a child on the way. Once that basic task had been accomplished, she could address all the other issues. With luck—a commodity that had been sadly lacking in her life of late—Alex would not totally desert her. He might even have some constructive thoughts on how to address the problem.
Yes, of course. Two heads were better than one…She touched her stomach once more. Not two—three…Oh, dear.
She squared her shoulders and stepped up to the connecting door. Enough. It was time to find some courage—past time.
She put her hand on the knob and took one more sustaining breath. She could—
She was jerked forward as the door opened from the other side.
“Eek!” She reached out with her free hand to brace herself and encountered a hard, male chest. “Oh!”
“Kate! Are you all right?” Alex grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“Um.” He smelled of brandy and linen and…Alex. He’d taken off his coat and waistcoat. His fine lawn shirt was so soft under her fingers.
His skin was softer. She remembered the feel of him very clearly…
She snatched her hand back as if burned. He frowned down at her.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but her stomach was jumping around like Miss Smyth’s monkey. She cleared her throat—her mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara. “May I come in?”
The right corner of his mouth slid up into a half smile. “You already are.”
She flushed. “Well, yes, but may I come farther in?”
The left corner of his mouth turned up to match the right. He stepped aside. “Of course. Would you like a glass of brandy?”
Brandy was not one of her favorite drinks, but it might help steady her nerves now. “Yes, thank you. That would be very pleasant.” She stepped past him. She glanced briefly at the bed—she was already as red as a ripe tomato, so her added blush would surely go unnoticed—and then focused on the chair by the fire. The single chair.
She stopped. Where should she sit?
“What’s the matter?” Alex looked up from pouring the brandy.
“I, er…nothing.” She would stand.
His brow furrowed. “You don’t look very comfortable.”
She was not very comfortable—in fact, she was exceedingly uncomfortable. She was nervous. And he wasn’t helping matters.
A man should not be so handsome. Alex had discarded his cravat. The neck of his shirt was open, revealing the strong column of his throat. She remembered exactly how he’d looked with no shirt at all, how broad his shoulders were, how soft the hair that spread over his chest, trailing down to…
She turned away quickly to stare at the fire. She was certainly hot. And…damp. Wet. Achy and…
“Go ahead and sit in the chair, Kate.”
She clasped her hands tightly together. Kate. She loved it when he called her Kate instead of Lady Oxbury. She was tired of being Lady Oxbury. She wanted to be just Kate, just herself, and to hear her name in his voice. It was so intimate. Just the two of them, just Kate and Alex. No interfering brothers, no obnoxious cousins-in-law, no gossiping ton—just them.
And one other. She put her hand over her stomach. She had to tell him.
She looked back at him. “Where will you sit?”
He waved his hand vaguely. “Somewhere.”
Mmm. His hands. He wasn’t wearing gloves; his long, broad fingers were naked.
She remembered exactly how those hands had felt on her skin. Slightly calloused; strong but gentle; sure and tantalizing; teasing; promising…
Her knees felt weak. She definitely needed to sit. She lowered herself into the chair—and shot back out of it. It was still warm from Alex’s body.
“What’s the matter?” Alex’s voice roughened with concern. “Did you sit on a pin or something?”
“N-no.”
He came over, handed her the brandy glasses, and bent to run his hands over the seat. She had a glorious view of his breeches stretched tight over his muscular arse.
She wet her lips. And she remembered exactly how his naked arse had felt under her hands as he’d pumped his seed into her…his seed which had taken root, his seed whose fruit was the impetus for this visit.
She had to tell him she was increasing.
She took a swallow of brandy.
“I don’t feel anything sharp.” He straightened. He was so much taller and larger than she. “I think it’s safe for you to sit now.”
“I…I think I’d prefer to sit on the ottoman, if you don’t mind.” She suited action to words. Unfortunately, this brought her eyes directly on level with Alex’s fall. If she raised her hand, she could touch him there. If she leaned just a little forward, she could kiss…
Did she see a more pronounced bulge?
Alex sat down abruptly and took his brandy back from her. “Did you have a particular reason for…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, why did you come…” He shook his head. “No matter.” He smiled. “I am delighted to see you, Kate.” He leaned forward and combed his free hand through her hair. “I’ve missed you.” His thumb stroked her cheek.
She swallowed. Her condition was making her very weepy. “Ah…” They had just seen each other downstairs, but she knew that was not what he meant. “I’ve missed you, too.”
The last time they’d been together in a bedchamber, he’d left so abruptly—both her bed and London. That had been her fault—it was the first thing she should apologize for. “I’m sorry for what I said. I never meant to hurt you.”
He did not pretend to misunderstand. “What did you mean, Kate?”
She pulled back a little and looked down at her brandy. “I-I’d dreamt of you for years, Alex, all the years of my marriage. And then, when I saw you in the Duke of Alvord’s ballroom…”
She paused. She wanted to say something that sounded like the truth, but wasn’t quite. She couldn’t. Alex deserved to hear all of it, the carnal with the sweet.
She tried again. “I wanted you, Alex. I’ve wanted you all these years. I wanted to see if…loving you would be as good as I’d dreamt. But I didn’t want you to feel compelled to offer more than a pleasant romp in the sheets.” She smiled briefly. “I thought a single romp would be enough to satisfy my curiosity. The actual act…with Oxbury, it hadn’t been…well, I could have lived without it. But with you…”
His hands gently tilted her face up so she had to meet his eyes. “It was never about a romp in the sheets to me, Kate. Never. Was it really that for you?”
More truth. She bit her lip. “No.” The word came out in a whisper. “No, it was never that.”
“What was it then?” He took the brandy glass from her fingers. His hands slid down to her shoulders and then her upper arms. He urged her closer. She half stood and he swept her forward onto his lap. “If it was not purely physical, what was it, Kate?”
“Um.” He expected her to think, sitting on his lap in her nightgown, unprotected by stays or shift?
She didn’t need to think—she knew it was love, on her part at least, but she didn’t have the courage to say so.
“One chair is eno
ugh, don’t you agree?” he said.
“Ah.” One chair seemed more than enough. She was overwhelmed by sensation—his thighs pressing against her bottom; his arm firm around her; his chest cradling her; his fingers stroking her jaw. She tilted her head to rest on his shoulder.
She should tell him now. “Alex.”
“Hmm?” He had that very intent, very hot look in his eyes. His mouth was coming closer. She let her eyes drift shut as his lips touched hers.
She would tell him later.
His fingers left her jaw to cup her breast.
“Eep!” She’d swear a jolt of energy shot from his fingers directly to the aching place between her legs.
He chuckled. “I’d rather make you sigh than squeak, my love. Let me try again.”
His tongue slipped between her lips and stroked deep into her mouth. His thumb found her nipple. Thankfully, her breasts were no longer sore.
She had to tell him.
She would tell him later when she could think of something other than the feel of his tongue sliding over hers. He was working loose the little buttons that ran up the front of her gown. His large male fingers were taking much too long with the task. She would be happier if he would just rip the gown open.
He’d called her his love. Had he truly meant it? Or was that just a casual endearment, something he said to any woman he had panting in his hands.
She was definitely panting. Ah. He finally had the nightgown open. He was touching her, his fingers sliding over her skin. It felt so very good. And…oh. His mouth left hers to move to her jaw and then to the sensitive spot right below her ear…
Yes. He was moving in the right direction. She arched a little to encourage him.
“Eager, Kate?”
She would think him exceedingly obnoxious, cocky even, if she hadn’t heard the catch in his voice, the slight breathlessness.
She shifted on his lap. Hmm. Perhaps he was cocky. Very cocky. There certainly was a large ridge growing under her—
“Ohh.” His mouth, his tongue, had reached her nipple.