Intimate Betrayal

  “Thank you, Tris,” she replied with a small grin. “I am so grateful you were with me today. I could not have managed without your help.”

  “Send Baron Welles up as soon as he arrives, Tris,” Morgan told his brother. With a final smile of encouragement, Tristan left the room.

  Alyssa leaned back against the pillows, sighing heavily. Mavis filled a basin with cool water and wet a clean cloth. She walked around to the opposite side of the bed, since Morgan refused to relinquish his position, and wiped Alyssa’s face.

  “Is the pain very bad?” Mavis asked.

  Alyssa chewed her lower lip, her eyes darting to Morgan’s tense face. “No,” she responded evasively.

  “Try to get some rest,” Mavis advised. “You’ll need your strength later.”

  Alyssa looked up at the two beloved faces and sighed. How can I possibly rest when I feel like my body is being twisted in a vise grip? she wondered.

  “Can’t we give her something for the pain?” Morgan questioned Mavis, his eyes alert to the way Alyssa gritted her teeth when the next contraction began.

  “No,” Mavis answered. “Usually nothing is given to ease the pain of childbirth. Perhaps the doctor will have something, but don’t count on it.”

  “I’ll be fine, Morgan,” Alyssa contended as the pain faded. “Are you sure you want to stay? I’ve heard birthing can be a messy sight.”

  “I want to stay,” Morgan insisted in a voice that clearly illustrated his determination.

  “I shall be glad of your comforting presence, Morgan,” Alyssa whispered gratefully.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alyssa labored all through the long night. Morgan remained at her side throughout, offering his support and what little comfort he could. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life as he watched her struggling desperately to give birth to their child.

  Toward morning Alyssa slept fitfully, and Baron Welles was finally able to convince Morgan to leave her side for a few moments to eat something. Morgan reluctantly agreed, but he refused to leave the room. He sat broodingly at a small table in the corner of the bedchamber eating methodically, not tasting the food, his bleak eyes riveted on the bed where his young wife dozed.

  Alyssa’s color was gone, her hair damp with perspiration. She had grown progressively weaker, the strong contractions sapping her strength. Baron Welles anxiously touched her brow, alarmed at the warmth he felt. His skilled hands traveled down to Alyssa’s abdomen, gently examining her. He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes.

  Mavis stood across from the physician, her lips moving in silent prayer. She was frightened. Alyssa had been laboring for so long with very little progress.

  “You have to do something,” Mavis whispered to the baron. “She cannot continue like this for much longer.”

  “I know,” the baron reluctantly agreed. “I’ll talk to the duke.”

  Morgan became alert as the physician approached him. “What is wrong?” Morgan demanded before the baron had a chance to speak.

  “The child is not in the proper position for birthing,” Baron Welles explained. “Often, when this occurs, the baby turns on its own. I was hoping that would happen in this case. It has not.”

  “What can you do?”

  Baron Welles cleared his throat. “Not very much, I am afraid, Morgan. I can try to save one of them.” The baron sighed heavily. “You would have to decide which one.”

  “My wife or my child?” Morgan responded with anger, the pain crushing his heart. “You expect me to choose one over the other?”

  “There is another alternative,” Mavis insisted, moving closer to the two men. “Tell him.”

  “I could try turning the baby myself,” Baron Welles admitted. “If I can move the infant into the correct position, the duchess might be able to deliver the child.”

  “Have you ever done this before?” Morgan inquired, grasping the slim hope the doctor offered.

  “No,” Baron Welles confessed. “I must tell you, Morgan, the risks are great. I could do more harm than good.”

  Morgan turned his head away, staring blindly into the roaring fire. “Mavis?” he questioned hoarsely.

  “It’s their only chance, Your Grace,” Mavis readily answered. “You see how weak she has become. If we wait much longer, she will not be able to help at all. You must let the doctor try.”

  “All right,” Morgan agreed, his calm voice masking his inner turmoil.

  “You will have to hold her down, Morgan,” Baron Welles instructed. The doctor washed his hands in clear, warm water, and nervously pulled back the sheet covering Alyssa’s body. At the doctors’ nod, Morgan leaned over his sleeping wife and grabbed her wrists. He raised them over her head, anchoring her arms securely. Then he whispered softly to her.

  “Alyssa. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

  Alyssa’s eyelids fluttered open, her head turning toward the familiar voice. “Morgan,” she croaked, licking her dry, parched lips. “Is it over yet? Is our baby here?”

  He winced at the weakness in her voice, but would not allow his concern to show on his face. “Almost here, Alyssa,” he said in a soothing tone. “The babe needs a bit of help. Try to stay calm, sweetheart. Baron Welles is going to do what he can.”

  “All right,” she answered in a trusting voice. And then the room filled with Alyssa’s piercing screams as the baron attempted to move the child.

  “Morgan,” she screamed, her body writhing in agony, the stabbing pains shooting through her body. “What is he doing to me? Stop him, I beg of you. Please, you must make him stop!”

  Baron Welles worked as quickly as he could, trying to ignore Alyssa’s agonizing cries. Morgan felt the stinging tears in his eyes as Alyssa continued pleading with him to end her torment. Her beautiful eyes were glazed with pain as she bucked and writhed against the unbearable torture.

  Morgan was preparing to yell at the doctor to stop when Baron Welles cried out in triumph. “I think I’ve done it,” he exclaimed. Wiping the beads of perspiration off his brow with his sleeve, he lifted his head.

  Alyssa slumped in Morgan’s arms, her body limp and lifeless. “Alyssa!” Morgan shouted with fear. Mavis reached out her hand to steady the duke.

  “She has only fainted, Your Grace,” Mavis declared. “Let her rest a few moments before we revive her.”

  Alyssa regained consciousness on her own, a strong contraction gripping her exhausted body. “You must try to bear down,” Baron Welles instructed. “The babe is in the correct position and should be able to pass through the birth canal.”

  Alyssa did as she was told, her hands crushing Morgan’s as she panted and pushed. Suddenly everything happened very quickly, and with a final strong push the child slipped from Alyssa’s body. The room echoed with the indignant cries of a howling infant.

  As he listened to the hearty bellows of the tiny babe Morgan knew he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life.

  “It’s a girl,” Baron Welles cried with excitement, carefully severing the cord. He handed the baby into Mavis’s waiting arms.

  “A girl,” Morgan repeated, dumbfounded. He lifted Alyssa into his arms, holding her close against his heart. It was finally over. The baby had been safely delivered. And Alyssa had survived. Morgan offered a silent prayer of thanks for the lives of his wife and daughter.

  “I don’t believe it,” Alyssa murmured weakly. “Is she all right?”

  Morgan looked down at his wife, his face splitting in an ear-to-ear grin. “Her voice certainly works very well,” he said.

  “She is perfect,” Mavis pronounced, placing the freshly washed baby in Alyssa’s arms.

  “Oh my,” Alyssa whispered, her voice choking with emotion as she viewed her daughter for the first time. Morgan gathered them both closely in the circle of his arms, his happiness overflowing.

  “She is so very tiny,” Morgan remarked, carefully touching the infant’s brow.

  “You’re not disappointed, are you, Morgan?”
Alyssa asked worriedly.

  Morgan looked down at his wife, shocked. “Disappointed?”

  “That she isn’t a boy?”

  “Good God, no,” he replied honestly.

  Mavis took the baby out of Alyssa’s arms and thrust the infant toward Morgan. “Here,” Mavis said, handing the duke his daughter. “You look after her for a moment while I take care of Lady Alyssa.”

  Morgan gingerly accepted the baby, rigidly cradling her in his arms. “Is this right?” Morgan questioned Baron Welles, his uncertainty clearly visible on his face.

  “Fine,” the doctor replied with a smile. “Hold her a bit closer to your body, Morgan. And be sure to support her neck and head.”

  Ever so gently Morgan inched the baby close to his chest. He watched with total amazement as she snuggled contentedly against him and yawned daintily. A loud knocking at the door distracted him, and when he saw both Mavis and Baron Welles were busy attending Alyssa, he barked out loudly, “Come in.”

  The baby visibly jumped at the sudden, booming noise, but did not cry. Instead she slowly opened her eyes and gazed up inquisitively into her father’s handsome face. At that moment, Morgan fell in love with his tiny daughter.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” the dowager duchess began hesitantly, entering the room. “We have been so worried, and I thought I heard . . . oh, Morgan!” The dowager duchess stared in wonder at her grandson as he proudly held his child.

  “Grandmother, come in,” Morgan called. “You too, Tris, Caroline. There is someone I want you all to meet.”

  Morgan swaggered up to the trio to display the baby.

  “So precious,” the dowager duchess cooed. She reached out and softly stroked the infant’s head.

  “Well, what is it, Morgan?” Tristan asked. “A boy or a girl?”

  “A girl, of course. Can’t you tell, Tris?” Morgan responded with a superior air.

  Caroline and Tristan exchanged a secretive smile. “Congratulations, Morgan,” Caroline said softly. “How is Alyssa?”

  “Resting comfortably.” An exhilarated Baron Welles joined the group. “She is exhausted from the ordeal, but not in any danger. There is no longer any sign of fever, thank God, but I shall keep a close watch on her for the next few days.”

  “Let me hold the baby, Morgan,” the dowager duchess commanded. Reluctantly Morgan handed over the infant, and he was very pleased to note she fussed when leaving her father’s arms.

  “She is a perfect angel,” the dowager duchess announced. “I do believe she has your chin, Morgan. And my nose. Yes, definitely my nose.”

  “She is splendid, Morgan,” Tristan piped in. “You must go downstairs and announce the good news to the staff, Morgan. Burke and Mrs. Keenly have been frantic with worry all night.”

  Morgan nodded in agreement and went over to the bed to see Alyssa. He bent down and kissed her gently on the brow. “Try to get some rest, love,” he whispered. “I’ll come back to see you later.”

  The dowager duchess seated herself in a comfortable chair near the fire, declining the invitation to accompany the others. She preferred the company of her great-granddaughter. She gazed at the babe with true adoration, refusing to place the infant in her cradle until she had been properly rocked to sleep. Only then did she quit the room.

  “Have you thought about a name for our little girl yet?” Morgan asked Alyssa. He removed the heavy tray with the remains of her evening meal from the bed and sat on the coverlet.

  “I was thinking we could call her Katherine,” Alyssa responded, glancing toward the cradle where the infant lay sleeping peacefully.

  “Katherine,” Morgan said with a grin. “You know of course that is Grandmother’s given name.”

  “Yes. Do you think she will be pleased?”

  “She will be insufferable,” Morgan exclaimed. “You see how she already dotes on the infant. I can’t imagine how much more she will spoil the child if she is her namesake.”

  “Good. I like the notion of someone spoiling my daughter,” Alyssa stated firmly. “We shall name her Katherine. And her second name will be Eleanor, for my mother.”

  And thus on a bright chilly morning in December, three weeks after her birth, Katherine Eleanor Ashton was christened in the private chapel at Ramsgate Castle. Tristan and Caroline proudly stood as godparents for the infant. The dowager duchess insisted on holding her namesake for the majority of the brief ceremony. Alyssa was forced to laugh at Morgan when he grumbled about it later that evening.

  “You hover over Katherine so protectively, Morgan.” Alyssa laughed softly as she nursed her daughter. “How ever will you manage when she is a grown woman, with suitors coming to call?”

  “Good God;” Morgan swore, blanching visibly at the notion. “Eager young bucks calling on our daughter. Do you want to give me premature gray hair?”

  Alyssa laughed louder, enjoying Morgan’s obvious distress. “Gives you a different perspective on women now, doesn’t it, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does,” he agreed with a spectacular smile. Morgan watched his wife as she suckled the baby, his controlled expression revealing none of the emotional turmoil within.

  The love he felt for Alyssa had grown over the weeks; at times the emotion nearly overpowered him. But he was frustrated. He had finally given his heart boldly away, yet poised on the verge of revealing his love, he felt simultaneously afraid and exultant. Morgan knew Alyssa believed he married her for the sake of their child. Since he obviously doted on his new daughter, he feared Alyssa would misintepret his declaration of love. Morgan wanted no misunderstanding of the depth and intensity of the love he felt for his wife. And so he waited, fearful and apprehensive, for the appropriate moment to tell her.

  “Have you been making any progress with the Christmas celebrations?” Morgan asked, expertly taking the half-sleeping baby from Alyssa’s arms. He propped his daughter up on his shoulder and paced quietly as she digested her meal.

  Alyssa observed them with amazement. Her tall, arrogant, powerfully built, impeccably groomed duke was gently stroking the infant’s back. Katherine let out a very loud belch, and her parents smiled indulgently. Morgan transferred the baby to the elegant cradle, tucking the blankets carefully around her tiny form. Then he turned to his wife.

  Alyssa had not yet fastened her gown, and he clearly saw the creamy round globes of her lovely breasts. He felt himself harden almost immediately, and clasped his hands together tightly in front of him, trying to get his randy behavior under control.

  Morgan cleared his throat and asked again about the Christmas festivities.

  “Your grandmother has been explaining some of the various traditions of the castle to me, and she is assisting with all the arrangements,” Alyssa replied.

  “Good. You are not overworking yourself, are you, Alyssa? Baron Welles has told me it will take several weeks before you are fully recovered from Katherine’s birth.”

  “I am making an excellent recovery. Baron Welles remarked upon it this morning, as a matter of fact. He also said I will be perfectly fine in just a few short weeks,” she said pointedly.

  It took Morgan a few moments to absorb the meaning of her statement, and he delighted at Alyssa’s fierce blush when he leered at her.

  “Perhaps short weeks for Baron Welles, my dear,” Morgan whispered with fierce passion, “but a lifetime for me.”

  He reached out suddenly, pulling her intimately against him. Morgan lowered his head to claim her lips with his own. His kiss was tender and giving, but Alyssa could feel the control he was exerting over himself.

  The familiar quickening excitement claimed Alyssa as she touched her tongue to his and locked her arms around his neck. Provocatively, she moved her body against his, and she heard him groan loudly as his hands slid caressingly down her waist and hips.

  “If you continue kissing me with such fervor, I shall disregard all the good doctor’s advice,” Morgan said hoarsely.

  “I’m sorry,” Alyssa replied
in a husky voice, her eyes smiling when they met his.

  “I doubt that, madam” Morgan responded dryly. He disengaged himself from their embrace and kissed her chastely on the forehead.

  “An overly large stack of boring correspondence awaits me in my study,” Morgan said, effectively shifting the subject. “I shall join you for tea later this afternoon, if you promise to rest now.”

  “All right, Morgan,” Alyssa answered, surprising her husband with her ready compliance. She grinned wickedly at him. “After all, you have just amply demonstrated it is in my own best interest if I have a rapid recovery.”

  The duke’s infectious laughter could be heard echoing down the hall as he left his wife’s bedchamber.

  Christmas day dawned bright and fair. After morning services, held in the chapel at Ramsgate Castle and attended by both the family and members of the staff, everyone gathered together in the ballroom. Alyssa, under the dowager duchess’s guidance, had turned the room into a Christmas fair to which all the servants and tenant families were invited.

  The ballroom was festively decorated with seasonal greenery and brightly colored ribbons, and lit with numerous red, green, and white candles. There were lots of gaily wrapped presents piled up on the large table, and several sideboards were filled with delectable food. There was a wide variety of culinary delights to suit all tastes, but the undisputed centerpiece of the table was an elaborate Yorkshire Christmas pie. Mrs. Keenly explained proudly to Alyssa how she had personally supervised the creation of this masterpiece, the recipe for which required stuffing a pigeon inside a partridge, the partridge inside a chicken, the chicken inside a goose, and finally the goose inside a turkey. It was all then baked in a pastry case made from a bushel of flour and ten pounds of butter.

  Mrs. Keenly was also very pleased with the dessert table that boasted a pyramid of glass salvers piled with containers of jellies, ice creams, custards, syllabubs, and candied fruits, various tarts, sweetmeats, pies, and cakes.

  After everyone had eaten their fill, the gifts were distributed by the family members. Alyssa stood next to Morgan, along with Caroline, Tristan, and the dowager duchess, as they handed out small gifts to everyone attending the party. The good feelings and laughter echoed through the enormous room as the musicians played and the dancing began.