Intimate Betrayal

  “Fine,” Alyssa lied, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

  “You should have called me,” Morgan admonished, bending down to kiss his wife on the forehead. He knew she had been lying by the way she scrupulously avoided eye contact with him. “I would have sat with you.”

  “There was no reason to disturb you,” Alyssa stated quietly. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Her fingers nimbly pushed the thin needle through the fine fabric as the tension in the room subtly built.

  “Caroline, where is your wayward husband this morning?” Morgan inquired, needing to divert the restless energy building inside him. “Tristan expressed an interest in accompanying me to Charter Oaks this afternoon. Lord Edmunds has a champion mare he might be willing to part with if I can tempt him with the right price.”

  “Tristan is working in the estate room with your secretary, Mr. Cameron,” Caroline responded. “I’d be happy to remind him of your afternoon outing.” She hurried out of the room before Morgan had a chance to reply, closing the door behind her.

  Alyssa rose awkwardly from her chair and stretched out the aching muscles of her back. Morgan appeared instantly at her side and reached down, his strong fingers massaging her lower back. Alyssa groaned in appreciation and arched her spine, the tension in her sore muscles lessening.

  “That feels wonderful.” She moaned. “I’m not sure why I feel all twisted in knots this morning.”

  “It is because you didn’t get enough rest last night, madam,” Morgan scolded. “You should have called me.”

  “You should have come of your own accord,” she whispered.

  Morgan sighed heavily, knowing she was right. He should have gone into her bedchamber last night to check on her. The door connecting their bedchambers had been closed last night, and for the past several weeks after Baron Welles, the family physician, firmly instructed Morgan to sleep in his own bed. Morgan understood physical intimacy with his beautiful wife was impossible, but he certainly possessed enough self-discipline to offer the comfort of a strong embrace without becoming a sexual animal.

  So why didn’t he enter Alyssa’s bedchamber last evening when he heard her restlessly tossing and turning in her bed? Because he was a coward, he admitted to himself in disgust. Because somehow, some way, his beautiful, dignified, unique wife had wormed her way solidly through his defenses and into his heart. And he felt completely unequipped to cope with these feelings. Fear of failure caused him to act like any other coward. Morgan kept a reasonable distance.

  Alyssa abandoned her embroidery and rose to her feet. She met his eyes, and the distress he saw there propelled him forward. Morgan stretched his arms around Alyssa, pulling her against his chest, her back toward him. Her temple grazed his lips, and he kissed her there gently before bending his head to nuzzle her neck. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly in her ear, so faintly she was uncertain she understood his words correctly.

  She leaned back, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around her. Reaching up she stroked his fingers, clasped together across her swollen belly.

  “I love you, Morgan,” she confessed quietly.

  He tightened his grip on her stomach. “I’m glad.”

  She knew better than to hope for any other response, but for once it didn’t seem to bother her as much.

  “Have you made any other plans for today besides fleecing Lord Edmunds?” she inquired casually, breaking the intense emotion crackling between them.

  “Ha,” Morgan guffawed. “You, madam, are obviously unaware of how truly tightfisted Lord Edmunds can be. ’Tis not merely sound business practice, but a matter of honor besting him in a deal, especially when purchasing an animal from his stables.”

  “Well if Tristan accompanies you, I pity Lord Edmunds. One of you is bad enough, but the combined strength of two is quite unbeatable. The poor man won’t know what’s hit him.”

  Morgan smiled, basking in her praise. “I suppose Tris and I do present a formidable team. Tell me, what are your plans today?”

  Alyssa walked over to the long windows and gazed hungrily out at the brilliant autumn sunshine. “First I thought I would start my day with a ride through the south meadow, followed by a brisk walk about the gardens, and spend the remainder of the afternoon shopping in the village.”

  “I know it has been difficult being so limited in your activities,” Morgan began in a condescending voice.

  “You do not have the slightest notion of how it has been for me, sir,” she interrupted, not liking his tone.

  That gave him pause. “You are right, Alyssa,” he conceded. “I don’t know. But I’d be pleased to take a stroll in the garden with you now, if you feel up to the task.” He amended his statement when he saw her face light up. “A short walk. And be sure to dress warmly.”

  “Naturally,” she retorted, ringing for Burke to summon her maid to fetch her woolen cloak and bonnet.

  “Oh, and by the way, Baron Welles will be joining us for dinner this evening,” Morgan informed Alyssa as he assisted her into her pelisse.

  Alyssa’s shoulders sagged. “Morgan, is it really necessary for the good doctor to dine with us every other evening?”

  “I thought you liked Baron Welles,” the duke said, deflecting her question. He prudently decided now was not the appropriate time to inform her he had already made arrangements for the physician to move into Ramsgate Castle a few weeks before the baby was due to arrive.

  “I like Baron Welles very much,” Alyssa countered. “It does, however, make me rather nervous having a doctor intently studying my every move. I am only having a baby, Morgan. It is not as though I were gravely ill.”

  “I find Baron Welles’s presence has a calming effect on me,” Morgan declared. “I know we will all appreciate his assistance when the time comes.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Alyssa grudgingly agreed. “I shall tell Cook to prepare the apple tarts the baron so enjoys. Now, may we please go on our walk before you think of some ridiculous reason why we cannot go out today?”

  The stabbing pain woke Alyssa from a sound sleep. Groaning loudly she tried sitting up, but another pain struck. Glancing at the ornate porcelain-and-gold clock on the mantel, she noted it was two o’clock. After her invigorating walk with Morgan she had returned to the drawing room. Feeling too tired to make the long climb to her bedchamber, Alyssa stretched out on the couch for a few minutes.

  I must have fallen asleep, she reasoned. Firmly gripping the edge of the settee, she managed a sitting position, wondering if Morgan and Tristan had left for Charter Oaks. Another sharp pain hit her, and realization began to dawn. Was it possible? Could the baby be coming?

  Alyssa sat silently, fighting the increasing pain and sudden nausea, when Tristan walked in unexpectedly.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said pleasantly. “Business prevented me from accompanying Morgan this afternoon, and I hoped we could have lunch together. When I came earlier, you were asleep. Gentleman that I am, I decided to battle my hunger and wait for you. I shall tell Burke to have luncheon served immediately. My God, Alyssa, what is wrong?” Tristan’s voice became ragged as he saw her pale face and convulsing body.

  “It’s the baby, Tris,” Alyssa ground out when she caught her breath. “I’m having the baby.” She clutched her arms around her belly, cradling the pain.

  “Now? You are having the baby now?” His eyes widened in shock. “But that is impossible. It is too early.”

  “I know, Tris,” she said, her eyes betraying her fear. “Something must be wrong.”

  “Nothing is wrong, Alyssa,” he replied soothingly, angry at himself for distressing her with his thoughtless remarks. “The baby has simply decided now is the proper time to be born.” He rushed over and yanked insistently on the bell cord for Burke. Tristan was excessively relieved when the butler readily answered his call.

  “It is the duchess, Burke,” Tristan told the butler calmly. “Her labor has started. Kindly fetch my grandmother.” Alyssa moaned so
ftly. “At once,” Tristan added.

  Burke cast a concerned eye toward Alyssa, who sat perched on the edge of the settee, rocking slightly to and fro. “The dowager duchess is out visiting with the vicar this afternoon, my lord.”

  Tristan ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “That’s right. I forgot. Caroline is with her also. All right, then call Mrs. Glyndon.” Tristan was of the opinion his grandmother’s companion could be a bit flighty at times, but he desperately needed a woman’s assistance. Mrs. Glyndon would have to suffice.

  “Mrs. Glyndon accompanied the dowager duchess,” Burke replied.

  Tristan’s shoulders slumped. Don’t panic, he insisted to himself. Alyssa needs you to remain calm. “Have Mavis sent in here immediately, Burke,” Tristan said decisively.

  “Mavis and Mrs. Keenly have gone to the village to do the weekly shopping,” Burke announced, his downcast eyes betraying his unhappiness with the answer he was forced to give.

  “Bloody hell! Are there any goddamn women left in this castle?” Tristan practically shouted at Burke.

  “Tristan, for heaven’s sake, stop yelling at poor Burke. It is not his fault.” Alyssa would have found the whole situation extremely amusing if a rather strong contraction had not gripped her precisely at that moment.

  “I am sorry, Burke,” Tristan apologized. “Please call Janet.” Alyssa’s maid was young, but at this point he had little choice. Janet should be able to prepare the bedchamber properly and assist Alyssa with her clothing.

  Burke looked miserably at Tristan. “Janet has gone into the village with Mavis and Mrs. Keenly,” the butler blurted out.

  Tristan was biting his lower lip, trying not to break into nervous laughter. This is utterly ludicrous, he thought. A loud moan from Alyssa sent him into action. His military training came rushing to the forefront, and he barked out his commands.

  “Send footmen out immediately with urgent messages for the duke, Baron Welles, the dowager duchess, and Mavis. Instruct everyone to return to the castle at once. I will stay with the duchess until someone arrives.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Burke replied, rushing out to follow Tristan’s orders.

  Tristan walked back to the settee and looked down confused at Alyssa. “What can I do to help you, Alyssa?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t know, Tris,” she admitted, her breathing shallow. “Perhaps I should go upstairs?”

  “Yes, an excellent idea,” Tristan quickly responded, pleased they had a plan of action. “Grab on to my arm firmly. I shall help you stand.”

  Alyssa took a deep breath and, gripping the arm Tristan held out to her, pulled herself upright. He immediately placed his other arm around her waist to steady her and they began to walk slowly across the room together.

  “Tris!” Alyssa suddenly called out in alarm. She glanced down at the floor and then up into his eyes. “Something strange is happening.” She looked at him with pure terror in her eyes, and he stared in amazement at a small puddle on the Aubusson carpet at her feet.

  Alyssa continued gazing at Tristan’s face, refusing to look down at the floor again.

  “Is it blood?” he finally whispered.

  “No . . . no, I don’t think so,” she answered, trying to rack her memory for some information—any information—about birth. “I think the water sack around the baby has broken.”

  Tristan took a deep breath. Was this normal? Or was something horribly wrong?

  No longer able to stand the suspense, Alyssa cast her frightened eyes downward, crying out in dismay when she saw the rug. “Oh, my God.”

  “What? What is it, Alyssa?” Tristan yelled frantically. “Is the baby coming?”

  “I’ve ruined the rug,” she whined.

  “Goddamn it, Alyssa,” Tristan yelled. “Don’t scare me like that. To hell with the damn rug.”

  “There is no need to shout, Tris,” Alyssa responded, breathing in short spurts as she felt another contraction beginning. “I am standing right next to you.”

  “Sorry.” He held on to her tightly when the contraction gripped her, and then grinned sheepishly. “We are a rather pathetic pair, aren’t we?”

  Alyssa giggled as the pain eased a bit. “We are indeed, Tris.”

  “At this rate your child will be born on the staircase,” Tristan advised. Without hesitation he scooped Alyssa up into his arms and exited the room.

  “Are you sure you can make that long climb, Tris?” Alyssa asked when they stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Are you challenging my masculine abilities?” he teased, shifting her expertly in his arms and easily climbing the winding staircase. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked when they reached the second-floor landing.

  “Like I could go dancing,” she said flippantly just before another sharp pain attacked her. Tristan turned the handle on her bedchamber door, kicking it open with his booted foot.

  “You have a very pretty room,” Tristan said, trying to distract her from the pain.

  “Wait, Tris,” Alyssa said when she realized he was about to place her on the bed. “I want to go into Morgan’s bedchamber. I want our child to be born in his bed.”

  “Splendid idea,” Tristan agreed, gladly complying with her wishes.

  He sat her gingerly on the edge of the mattress and rang for a servant. Dickinson appeared, his eyes widening in horror when he beheld Alyssa clutching the bedpost, breathing noisily.

  “Summon two maids to assist the duchess with her clothes and prepare the room,” Tristan commanded Morgan’s valet.

  When the maids arrived, Alyssa was able to give them instructions. Tristan waited outside, restlessly pacing the hallway while the mattress was stripped and clean linens were placed on the bed. With the help of the two maids Alyssa changed into a clean, dry nightgown. One of the maids brushed and braided Alyssa’s hair. Propped up with pillows, Alyssa was sitting nervously in the middle of the huge bed when Tristan returned.

  “You look infinitely better,” he remarked, still concerned about her paleness. He fervently wished Morgan would return.

  The two maids remained on the fringes of the bedchamber, acting as chaperons. Tristan knew it was highly improper for him to be in the bedroom with Alyssa, yet he was reluctant to depart.

  Alyssa could see his indecision. “Don’t leave me, Tris,” she pleaded softly, her eyes wide.

  “No,” he assured her. “I will stay until Morgan arrives.”

  Time dragged slowly as they waited together, the pains coming at infrequent intervals, some sharp, others not nearly as intense. Tristan rambled on with stories about his childhood and various pranks he and Morgan had pulled as youths. Anything to keep Alyssa’s thoughts distracted from the ordeal she was experiencing. She was grateful for his comforting presence, holding tightly to his firm hands when the contractions intensified.

  Morgan literally burst into the entrance hall several hours later, having ridden from Charter Oaks in a record two hours’ time. He was dusty and sweaty and nearly frantic with worry for Alyssa.

  “Where is my wife?” he barked at Burke as the butler tried to assist him out of his greatcoat. Morgan slapped away the butler’s hands impatiently and ripped the garment off himself, spewing buttons on the marble floor.

  “Where is my wife?” he repeated, his face tensing with worry.

  “Upstairs, Your Grace,” the butler began, but Morgan did not stay to listen to any additional information. He took the stairs two at a time and had gained the landing before Burke stooped down to pick up the duke’s recklessly discarded greatcoat.

  Morgan flung open the door to Alyssa’s bedchamber, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the empty bed. He bellowed loudly for Burke and then Dickinson as he rushed into the hallway, muttering profanities as he strode.

  “Morgan,” Tristan called out. “We’re in here.”

  Morgan stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning toward his bedchamber door in total bewilderment.

  “Tris?”
<
br />   “In here, Morgan.”

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Morgan shouted, yanking open the door. “And would you please tell me where my wife is?”

  “I am right here, Morgan,” Alyssa responded from her position in the bed.

  He took one look at her pale, tense face and let out the breath he was holding. He strode quickly across the room and drew her into his arms.

  “How are you, love?” he whispered, lightly stroking her silky hair. “I came as quickly as I could.”

  “The baby is coming, Morgan,” she blurted, feeling the sobs choke her throat. As he held her tightly in his arms, the control she had been exerting on herself slipped, and she succumbed to her fears. “It is too soon, Morgan,” she whispered.

  Morgan held her against his broad chest, looking over the top of her head at his brother. “Where is Baron Welles?” Morgan asked, his expression grim.

  “Burke sent a footman to summon the good doctor several hours ago. I am sure he will arrive shortly.”

  Just then Mavis entered the room, clucking and fussing, with Mrs. Keenly on her heels. “Well, my girl, seems as though we have an impatient babe waiting to be born,” Mavis said, crossing over to the bed. Alyssa moved back, disengaging herself from Morgan’s tight embrace so she could see her old nurse. He allowed it, but his hands still rested comfortingly on Alyssa’s shoulders.

  “Mavis.” Alyssa sighed with relief. “Thank goodness you are here.” The older woman smiled reassuringly at her, reaching a gnarled hand to brush away the few loose tendrils of hair on Alyssa’s forehead.

  “Why is this room so crowded?” Mavis announced in a brisk tone. Burke and Dickinson hovered in the doorway while the maids exchanged glances with Mrs. Keenly, and Tristan’s color heightened. The distinct sound of shuffling feet could be heard. “Are you staying?” Mavis addressed her question directly to Morgan.

  “Yes,” he answered quickly. “I’ll clear everyone else out.” The room emptied before Morgan had a chance to voice his command. Only Tristan remained.

  “Good luck,” Tristan said to Alyssa, squeezing her hand in farewell.