“Then you’ll say yes?” he asked eagerly.
“I can’t.”
His eyebrows came together. “Why not?”
“Adam,” she started, but how could she explain without hurting him more? He had been kind to her. A champion when she’d had need of one.
The front door burst open. Mrs. Pitney made a dramatic entrance. She was followed by her sister Lisbeth and her sister’s husband, a dull man named Hugh.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Mrs. Pitney declared. “You haven’t asked her to marry you, have you, Adam? You haven’t thrown aside all your chances for a decent marriage because of this woman?”
Adam’s face turned a beety color of red, and even Leah felt heat spread across her cheeks. Old Edith grinned.
Manfully, Adam said, “I asked her, Mother. I’d be proud to have her as my wife.”
“It would kill me,” Mrs. Pitney responded. “Kill me!” she repeated, turning to her sister and her husband, who made commiserating noises.
“I love her, Mother.”
Leah cringed at Adam’s declaration. She sent a helpless glance toward Old Edith, who shrugged. She could not save her.
“It is your fault!” Mrs. Pitney accused Leah in ring-ing tones. “He was always biddable until he met you.”
That description did not please Adam. He stepped forward to defend himself. His aunt Lisbeth jumped in with a few choice words of her own about “foolish young men.” Meanwhile, the baby decided the world was way too noisy. He began to cry.
Leah wanted nothing to do with any of it, especially as Adam attempted to shout both the women down. She picked up the baby blanket lining the cupboard drawer and covered her child to protect him from the cold air sweeping in through the still open front door.
She should leave. Mrs. Pitney wouldn’t let her stay anyway. Perhaps the vicar and his wife would help her find a new situation.
Suddenly, Mrs. Pitney gasped so loudly that she quieted everyone. She motioned to her son and relatives. “Hush! Hush! Look who has arrived! Why it’s the earl, right here at my doorstep.”
Leah peeked around the others, who stood crowding around the doorway. Sure enough, the earl of Ruskin’s finest coach rolled into the small barnyard. The bold red and green of the Ruskin colors stood out against the burled wood. A red-and-green liveried coachman drove the matched set of high-stepping bays.
Leah had met the earl several times in London. She’d been living with Mrs. Pitney for a month before she’d realized who owned the land. A confirmed bachelor, Rusky, as his friends called him, wasn’t one to mix with debutantes. He and Devon were fast friends and chummed around together at sporting events and the like.
The coach door opened. Mrs. Pitney was already making a curtsey, the ribbons on her black bonnet quivering with excitement. But instead of the amiable Rusky alighting, Devon climbed out. He wasn’t wearing a hat, since he’d left it in the cottage last night along with his wool greatcoat. Climbing down from the coach after him were the vicar and his wife.
Mrs. Pitney and the others stepped back from the doorway. Leah discovered herself in the forefront of the small crowd, holding her baby protectively in her arms.
She wished she could run and hide too.
Devon looked as if he’d spent the entire night up. His hair was disheveled. He hadn’t shaved. His sharp gaze honed in on her.
Leah’s heart beat an anxious tattoo as he took one step and then another toward her. He stopped when there was less than a hand’s width of distance between them.
“Benjamin,” he said, his deep masculine voice rolling the syllables.
The name was unfamiliar to her. “I’m sorry.”
“You told me I could name the baby. I’ve decided to name him Benjamin Marshall, after my grandfather.”
Marshall. Devon was giving his surname to her son. He was claiming him as his own. She was speechless, but Old Edith wasn’t. She gave an unreserved Scottish whoop for joy.
CHAPTER 8
“Exactly as I suspected,” Mrs. Pitney declared. She turned on her son. “Now will you believe me? That baby is nothing more than a Huxhold by-blow.”
Leah would have corrected her, but Old Edith grabbed her arm, warning her to silence.
Instead, Devon said, “The vicar has a special license.”
“To marry us?” Leah asked inanely.
“Yes,” he replied with all the sangfroid of one who has just been asked whether the cheese pleased him.
Vicar Wright was more kindly. “Lord Ruskin insists we keep one at all times at the vicarage. As a bachelor, he claims life is uncertain and wishes all options available to him. I’m sure he will be more than happy to let his good friend Lord Huxhold use it.”
Leah faced Devon. She saw no emotion in his hazel green eyes. “You don’t want to marry me.”
A flicker of irritation crossed his features. “On the contrary, I have returned to marry you.”
At one time, such a proposal would have been her fondest dream. Now, it filled her with uneasiness.
Vicar Wright intervened in his soothing parson demeanor. “Lord Huxhold has explained everything. My wife will serve as a witness, and perhaps you will witness, too, Mrs. Pitney?”
“Yes!” she replied enthusiastically even as her son stepped forward with fists clenched.
“Tell him you don’t want to marry him, Leah,” Adam said. “Tell him I love you.”
“You don’t know what love is,” his mother snapped.
“I know I don’t feel anything for the miller’s daughter,” he answered, a comment that sparked a response from both Lisbeth and her husband. Everyone in his family wanted him to forget Leah. Vicar Wright and his wife attempted to make peace while Old Edith cackled in glee at the nonsense.
It was Devon who restored order. Calmly he checked his pocket watch. Closing the case, he tucked it in his watch pocket and said in a commanding voice, “I must be on the road in fifteen minutes. Leah, do you wish to marry this puppy?”
Adam took offense at the description. “I love her,” he declared nobly.
“Yes,” Devon answered, “but you can’t support her. And I will not let Ben lead the life of a yeoman. Good God, man, can’t you see she was bred for better things?”
“It’s her decision,” Adam insisted stubbornly. “I won’t let you bully her.”
Devon didn’t like that comment. His jaw tightened even as Mrs. Pitney grabbed her son’s arm and attempted to pull him back. “Adam, watch what you say. This is Huxhold.”
Leah stepped between the two men, her sleeping baby still in her arms. “Stop it before one of you says something that can’t be taken back.”
“Tell him you wish to marry me,” Adam begged. “He can’t just sweep you away.”
“Adam,” the vicar said, “this is Miss Carrollton’s decision.”
“But he will take her from me,” Adam said. “I won’t let him without a fight.”
Gently, Leah said, “I can’t marry you, Adam. You deserve more than what I can give you.”
“Yes!” Mrs. Pitney agreed. “That is what I have been trying to tell him.”
“It’s because he’s a lord,” Adam accused her bitterly.
“It is because he’s the father of her bastard,” his mother countered.
Anger shot through Leah. How dare the woman attack her son! She stepped forward, but Devon took charge. “I advise you to leave immediately, Mrs. Pitney.” His eyes snapped with a fury Leah had never seen in him before.
“But it is my house,” the woman said.
“Then I’ll run your son through and we’ll call ourselves even.”
He said the words so pleasantly that it took everyone a moment for the implication to sink in. Vicar Wright began making placating noises while Mrs. Pitney and her relatives pushed Adam toward the door. But Adam wasn’t ready.
“Leah, I love you.”
“But Adam, I don’t love you.”
Those blunt words were hard to say because she knew
they would hurt him. He had saved her life, and she would have given anything to spare him pain—but she had to be honest.
Everyone froze, uncertain what to do or say.
Adam acted genuinely surprised. He stood a moment, stiff and awkward, before suddenly turning and running out of the cottage. His relatives followed, his mother calling his name and making promises about the miller’s daughter.
“Well,” the vicar’s wife said in the silence that followed, “that matter is settled.”
“Yes, it is,” Old Edith agreed without remorse.
Vicar Wright nodded absently and then said, “Um, I believe we can get on with the marriage ceremony then.”
“No,” Leah answered. “Devon, I must talk to you.”
“After we are married,” came his firm reply.
“No, now. In private.” She could be as obstinate as him.
“There are few private places in this cottage,” he responded reasonably.
“In the bedroom,” she answered and walked in there, expecting him to follow, which he did.
She waited until he’d dropped the homespun curtain in place. Through the room’s only window, winter sun flooded the room with gray light. It suited Leah’s mood. She was conscious of movement on the other side of the curtain door. She knew Old Edith would eavesdrop and probably the vicar and his wife, too. Well, there was naught she could do for that.
However, Devon had the same idea. He ripped back the curtain and caught the eavesdroppers, who scurried to the other side of the room with red faces. He dropped the curtain back in place.
“You can’t marry me,” she said in a quiet voice, coming directly to the point.
“You didn’t like the name I chose?”
“The name?” she repeated, puzzled, and then frowned. “Benjamin is a fine name. But I don’t think your grandfather will be pleased.”
“My grandfather is dying, Leah.”
His words sucked the air out of the room. She sat on the bed. “Dying?”
“The family has contacted me. I was supposed to be in London last night, if possible. I was taking a shortcut when Gallant threw a shoe. That’s how I ended up here.”
“Dying?” No one close to her had ever died. Of course, the marquess of Kirkeby wasn’t in her immediate circle, but his personality had loomed large in her life. He was the “dreaded enemy.” His presence had tainted every decision her family had ever made.
As if reading her mind, Devon said, “It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? I thought he would live forever. And now I’m not going to him without you and Ben. Now let us marry.”
Blunt and businesslike. It was hard to believe that this man had been the same one who’d laughed with her a year ago. “Devon, you don’t want to marry me.”
“I’m not leaving you behind, Leah. You heard Mrs. Pitney. Do you really wish to expose Ben to the bastard’s life?”
“But why should you care?” she asked quietly.
Devon’s gaze fell on the child. He reached out almost timidly and placed his hand on the baby’s back. “I gave him life.” He met Leah’s eyes. “I felt him draw his first breath. I don’t care who fathered him. I have more claim to him than any other man.”
A chill of disappointment swept through Leah. She realized she had been anticipating another answer. A more personal one. Once, he had begged her to run away with him because he loved her.
He had not spoken of love since they’d seen each other again.
At her continued silence, he said, “Nor do I worry what country folk or even the ton think of me. I’m Huxhold. I make my own rules.”
She nodded, her heart heavy. “What of your other children?”
“What other children?”
Leah looked away from him. “It’s well known that you have fathered children off at least a half dozen of your mistresses.”
“Only half a dozen mistresses? What did I do with the rest?”
He mocked her. Her temper flared. She stood. “I’m happy I amuse you, my lord.”
“Leah, don’t pout. I’m just amazed you listen to the gossips. At one time, we knew each other better than that.”
“There are times I believed I barely knew you at all.”
That mark hit home. “Then we are equal,” he answered. “You’ve more than surprised me too.”
“That wasn’t my purpose,” she replied stiffly.
“Nor mine.” He raked his fingers through his hair. She remembered that he’d had very little sleep the night before. He’d been busy on her behalf…and she’d not yet said thank you.
But the words died in her throat when he said, “Leah, I have no children.”
“What?” Her regrets over her churlish behavior vanished. “But everyone says that you have a host or more. You’re famous.”
“Infamous is more like it,” he said, his eyes glittering with self-mockery. “I know what they say, Leah, but I also know who I am. I’ve had the keeping of three mistresses, one at a time. I pay my bills. Honor on my word. And have never sired a child out of wedlock. Not one. Disappointed?” he asked cynically.
His jab stirred her conscience, but not enough to prevent her from pointing out, “That doesn’t mean you are good material for a husband.”
“Well let me call Adam back,” he snapped.
“I wasn’t comparing the two of you,” she answered curtly. She began swaying, gently rocking her son while standing in place. “Regardless of who I marry, I lose all my freedom. That is a sobering thought.”
He raised one eyebrow and glanced around the room, his actions saying louder than words that he didn’t think much of her present freedom.
“It isn’t a great deal,” she agreed. “But it was mine. I was attempting change, Devon, to change for the sake of my child.”
“Then continue on the bold course, Leah. I promise Ben will not lack for anything.”
Leah stopped rocking. What about us, Devon? she wanted to ask. What will happen to us? But those were questions she couldn’t ask. She feared the answers. Instead, she pushed aside her personal thoughts and considered the situation for Ben.
Devon was right. Her romantic nature wanted to believe she could pursue her own path; her common sense warned her she and Ben would starve. “Will you claim Ben as your own?”
“I will.”
“But he cannot inherit the title.”
He shifted. He’d obviously thought that far. “No. The family would never allow that. Rex or one of his sons will inherit from me.”
“Or one of our children.” There, she’d said it. It was the closest she dared go toward discussing intimacy between them.
Suddenly the air vibrated with memories of the passionate hunger that had once existed between them. Leah didn’t flinch. She was a woman now. A woman with a child for whom she would do what she had to do.
Instead, it was Devon who took several uneasy steps toward the window and placed distance between them. A frown had formed on his forehead. “Or ours,” he repeated, his voice so low she could barely hear him. “Let us worry about that when it happens.”
She sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her and then decided it was her own hypersensitivity to the subject. “What of the feud between our families?”
“It ends with Ben,” came his hard reply.
“You and I can agree to that, but will your grandfather?”
“Or Julian?” He sounded exasperated. “Leah, I can’t promise you that everything will be rosy in the future. I don’t know what the future holds. I do know that I won’t have Ben living hand-to-mouth. For once, think of someone other than yourself. Think of your son.”
“That isn’t fair! I am thinking of Ben. There will be much gossip. I have been missing for months. And when I show up married to a Marshall, our ancestors will spin in their graves and tongues will wag.”
“Tongues will always wag. However, you will return to London a viscountess. You won’t have to answer to anyone. And if you play your cards right, you may soo
n be a marchioness.” There was no disguising the bitterness in his voice.
“If it was money and a title I wished, I could have married Tiebauld,” she responded proudly. “Take your offer to the devil. I won’t marry you.” She would have charged out of the room, but he stepped in her path.
“You would refuse me? For nothing more than your own pride?”
His words pinned her to the spot. She had no answer.
Suddenly, the tension left him. He reached out and ran the back of his hand over the baby’s downy head. “May I hold him—or am I not allowed to do that either?”
She should tell him no, but she couldn’t. Silently, she gave Ben up.
Devon held the child as if it were the most precious gift in the world. He put the baby to his shoulder and almost immediately started rocking gently back and forth the way she had rocked Ben only moments ago.
Few men would be a better father than Devon, with his joy of life and good humor.
He smiled at her, a hint of self-consciousness in his expression. “Ben proved he’s a fighter last night, didn’t he? He’ll grow up to be a fine man.”
Leah felt herself relent. “If we do marry, what will we tell people about his birth?”
“A bit of the truth and a bit of a lie. How many people would suspect Draycutt is the father?”
“I don’t know. I only confided in one friend, Tess Hamlin, and she is in Wales. But people knew he was courting me.”
“There’s been a herd of men courting you, Leah.”
“Yes,” she agreed tightly. “Your point?”
Devon shrugged. He focused on something in his own mind before saying, “How many people knew Draycutt or would have registered his death in their minds?”
“Few. He was in Essex when it happened.”
“Then we tell the truth. Ben is Draycutt’s son, and you ran away with him.”
“But I didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. We will put out that you and Draycutt were married clandestinely—”
“And he had an affair with another man’s wife and was shot by the husband,” she finished sarcastically. “That doesn’t flatter me, does it?”
“No. But it is the truth.”
And, she realized, few people would question it. “But you’ve already told the villagers that Ben’s last name is Marshall.”
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