Of course the Count has something I can’t give. Of course a betrothal to him is more attractive than I could ever be. He took everything from me, why would Ada be any different?
As soon as my brother died, I knew my life would change forever. I just didn’t expect to feel this kind of pain all over again. This time, I’m losing someone I never even had in the first place.
I lift my eyes to hers. “Is this what you want?”
Ada’s eyes scream. Lips drop open. She shakes her head, then lets out a heavy sigh. “No. But…” When my black-haired beauty lifts her eyes to mine again, my heart clenches. Cracks split across its surface, sending pain radiating through my chest.
This hurts more than anything. My feelings for her are stronger than I realized, but she’s being snatched away from me before I had a chance to admit it.
But what can I do? I can’t give her what her family needs. As I stand there, realizing the true depths of my feelings for Ada, I almost want to laugh.
If she marries the Count, I have to stop my investigations. I can’t bring any charges against him. I can’t avenge my brother. I can’t clear my family’s name. I can’t fulfill my last promise to my parents by showing the world what a monster Count Gregory really is.
I can’t do any of that, because if I go after the Count, I’ll hurt Ada.
Is this why he’s marrying her? Because he knows how close the police are to being able to charge him with a litany of crimes? He knows I’m dying to stand before him in the witness box, gloating?
Now, I can’t. Clever monster. He’s using the only protection I can’t break through.
Ada.
I give her a curt nod. “I understand.”
“Heath—”
“Do you need someone to drive you home?”
Her lips snap shut, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Ada’s throat clenches, as if she struggles to swallow. She shakes her head. “That won’t be necessary,” she answers in a tight voice.
“Good. Well, congratulations.” I give her my back and walk out, catching one final glimpse of her crumpling face.
I’ve lost everything.
My brother, my parents, the family business, the honor of our name. All I have is a big, empty castle and a loyal staff, but no one to share it with. No little dukes and duchesses to fill these halls with laughter. No future. No wife.
No love.
The Count took everything from me, and now he’s taking the last hope I ever had at love.
19
Ada
Why did I come here? What did I expect? For the Duke of Blythe to fall to his knees and beg me to marry him instead? To tell him about the baby and expect him to be filled with joy?
Ha.
Ridiculous.
It takes every ounce of power and pride within me to hold myself together as I’m led back out of the expansive castle and to my vehicle. A footman holds the door open for me, the ignition already started and heat turned up to a comfortable temperature. I slip into the driver’s seat and nod to the footman before backing out of the garage.
I make it down the long driveway and through the gate before I have to pull over to sob.
He wouldn’t even listen. Wouldn’t even let me speak. How was I supposed to tell him about the baby? The Duke’s face was shuttered. Closed off. Unreachable.
He thought I wanted the Count. Thought I had already accepted the proposal.
And now?
I can’t go back there. I can’t tell him about the baby now that he’s tossed me aside like a used tissue.
I’m on my own.
Even if I march back there and tell him about the baby, can I handle a rejection? Can I withstand the assault of his cold, hostile eyes?
I swear he thinks less of me for considering a marriage to the Count, but what choice do I have? Unless some other eligible bachelor begs one of us to marry them, I have to accept the Count’s proposal.
Eligible bachelors aren’t exactly in great supply.
A dagger embeds itself in my chest as my heart breaks. It was naive of me to come here and think the Duke would save me. He wanted me when I was pliable and available. When I could distract him at boring parties. When I could be the one to sneak off with him for a bit of fun.
But now, when the reality of our lives comes into sharp focus?
He turns his back on me and walks out.
We’ve known each other for three weeks. How could that possibly lead to anything real? How could I think it would end well?
Stupid, silly girl.
I cry, my forehead resting on my steering wheel. Then a wave of nausea makes me open the car door and throw up all over the ground. Lovely. How very regal of me. I let out a dry laugh, staring up at the dark sky and wishing it would fall down on top of me.
With a sigh, I’m able to gather myself up again. I close the door, wipe my eyes on the back of my hand, and take a deep, clearing breath. Then, I put the car in gear.
When I get home, Maggie is waiting for me. She wraps me in a tight hug, letting her own tears soak into my shirt. I know she wants to take my pain away, but she can’t.
“I’m so sorry, Ada. I wish it were still me.”
I pull back, taking a deep breath. “I have to tell the Count about the baby.”
“You’re going to keep it?” she asks, eyebrows arching.
I grind my teeth. “Yes.” My eyes flash, daring her to protest. Shame smarts my skin as I gulp down my fear. I nod. “I’m keeping it. It’s the only thing that feels good right now.”
“And the Duke?”
I take a deep breath, remembering the chill in his voice. I shake my head. “Our relationship wasn’t what I thought it was.”
Maggie bites the inside of her cheek, her brows drawing together. She drops her hand to mine, squeezing gently. “I’m proud of you, Ada.”
“For getting knocked up?”
“For staying true to yourself.” She wraps me in another hug, pulling back to look me in the eye. “When you tell the Count about the baby, tell him that I’m still willing to marry him if your pregnancy is a dealbreaker.”
“Even though he refused you for me? Maggie—”
“I’ll do it,” my sister says, nodding once. She gives me a tight hug, but I don’t think she realizes how much it means to me.
Even though I’m pregnant with another man’s child. Even though her supposed future fiancé rejected her for me. Even though I’ve been irresponsible and silly and naive, she’s still right here beside me. Ready to take the load on her shoulders. Ready to give up her life and happiness for me. For the family.
I don’t deserve her.
The next day I find myself standing in another man’s living room, staring out a different window at a very similar landscape. A few fresh inches of snow fell overnight, the glittering blanket of white almost blinding in the midday sun.
A sound behind me makes me turn. I give Count Gregory a small curtsy, bowing my head. My expression remains neutral.
Ever since my visit with the Duke of Blythe, it feels like my emotions have been locked away somewhere deep. The Count’s dark eyes stare at me over his long nose, but his gaze doesn’t make me feel sick. There’s no prickling of the hair on the back of my neck, or slithering disgust crawling down my spine.
Just…nothing. I’m empty.
When I straighten up again, the Count gestures to a small bar at the side of the room. “Drink?”
I shake my head, resisting the urge to put a hand to my stomach. Ever since I took those pregnancy tests, it’s like a protective instinct has flared inside me. I’m constantly touching my stomach, shielding it from anything and everything.
Today, though, I force myself to stand tall.
Count Gregory pours himself a drink, a big ice cube clinking against the crystal glass. He raises it to his lips, watching me over the rim. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he says, gesturing to a long sofa. “Your mother told me you were ill last night.”
; I perch myself on the edge of the couch, nodding. “Yes. I apologize for my…hasty exit.”
“You’re here to tell me your answer to my proposal.”
“I am.”
The Count sits opposite me, leaning back on the sofa and crossing his legs. He looks completely at ease, comfortable in the knowledge that he’s in control. He’s blessed me with a proposal, and I’m here to show my gratitude.
Isn’t that what this is? I should kiss his feet for helping my poor family.
The only hurdle is the baby growing inside me.
I take a deep breath, straightening my spine. I clasp my hands on my lap, lifting my eyes to his. “Before we go any further, there’s something I need to tell you.”
The Count’s body stays completely relaxed. He doesn’t move at all, except for an almost imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow.
Blood pumps hard through my veins, and fear arcs up inside me. I know I need to tell him. I can’t marry him without him knowing I’m carrying another man’s child.
But—this could ruin everything. I’ve already lost the Duke, and now I’ll ruin my family’s future, too.
Shoving those thoughts down inside me, I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The Count stiffens, not quite able to hide his surprise. His legs uncross, a foot hitting the ground with a thud. He leans forward, opening his mouth, then pauses. His glass of amber alcohol touches his lips, and he takes a deep gulp.
Silence stretches longer. I look away.
My cheeks redden, and I try to push aside the shame. I shouldn’t be ashamed. This is the twenty-first century, and I’m a grown woman. People get pregnant all the time. If my family’s situation was any different, I would feel nothing but joy. I’m sure of it.
Count Gregory watches me, leaning forward. His face is impassive. The way his lips pinch makes me think he’s angry, but he hides it well. His eyes darken, dropping down the length of my body.
Finally, he speaks. “Who…” A sharp intake of breath. Understanding washes over his features. Then, a cruel, victorious smile. “Blythe.”
I gulp. “The father isn’t important,” I say, using all my years of training to keep my face flat and my voice strong. “I merely wanted to tell you before we take this any further. Maggie is still—”
“I don’t want Maggie,” the Count says, waving a hand.
I frown.
His smile widens. Dipping his chin down toward me, the Count lets out a low chuckle. His eyes flash, and a sense of dread twists my stomach. The Count puts his crystal tumbler down on a side table, wiping his hands on a thick white napkin. He nods. “I’ll raise the child as my own. We can marry soon to avoid questions. Christmas Eve? I’ve always liked the thought of a Christmas wedding.”
“I don’t—” I stop, not even sure what I was going to say.
Christmas Eve is only a few days away. He wants to marry me within days.
My mask falls, and I frown. “You still want me?”
“My darling Ada,” he croons, standing up and reaching for my hand. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
When my palm slips against his, nausea makes my head spin. This isn’t what I expected. I thought he’d be angry. I thought maybe he’d take Maggie instead. I thought I might be shamed, cast out of polite society.
But the Count…he still wants to marry me? He’ll accept this child? This isn’t some sick ruse?
Confusion freezes my limbs, and I let the Count wrap his arms around my waist. He drops a cold kiss on my cheek, then grabs my chin in his hand. I wince. He’s gripping my face so tight it’ll leave a mark, his other hand clamped around my back.
When his lips dip down to mine, I pinch them closed and try to push away. He lets his lips cover mine, the stench of mothballs making me want to retch. His lips are cold and hard against mine. I struggle, letting out a whimper.
The Count releases me, laughing. Laughing. At me. At my struggle. At my predicament. At my complete and utter powerlessness. “I’ll make arrangements. We’ll marry on Christmas Eve.” He throws me a cruel look. “That should save the tatters of your reputation.”
And with that, Count Gregory turns and walks out, and my world shatters.
20
Ada
White dress. Veil. Makeup. Hair.
I look like a bride.
I feel like dirt.
Kiera fluffs the hem of my dress, smiling up at me from the floor. “You look beautiful, Ada. I can’t believe you’re getting married. Only a month ago, you were going to the Christmas ball!”
I smooth my hands over the lacy dress, sucking a breath in through my teeth. “I know. I can’t believe it, either.”
“And on Christmas Eve, too! It would be romantic if—” She stops herself, biting her lip. “I mean, it is romantic.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You mean it would be romantic if I were marrying anyone else?”
She stands up, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s okay.” I spread my arms, giving my little sister a hug. The door opens behind us, and Maggie steps through. She gulps at the sight of me, wrestling her lips into a weak smile. Wrapping her arms around the two of us, my sisters and I stand in a silent hug.
This isn’t where I thought I’d be just a month after the Christmas ball at Farcliff Castle. I never should have gone. I wouldn’t be pregnant or engaged or feeling like my life was ending.
But here I am.
What choice do I have? If I don’t marry the Count, I’m not only securing a fall from grace for myself, but I’m basically ensuring that my entire family will follow. I’d be stopping Kiera’s higher education and failing to provide stability for my parents.
I have to do this.
But as I stare at myself in the mirror, dropping my gaze to my still-flat stomach, my heart clenches. I’m carrying the Duke of Blythe’s child, but he’ll never know. He’ll see me bear a child with the Count. Maybe he’ll imagine me in bed with Count Gregory, desecrating the memories we created together.
I squeeze my eyes shut. The thought of Count Gregory touching me anywhere—let alone down there—makes me want to throw up.
But this is what I have to do. It’s what my family needs. It’s what my child deserves—a stable upbringing without the disapproving whispers of society. Without the shame.
A knock on the door signals that it’s time to go down to the main hall. We’re in Count Gregory’s mansion, in a room in the east wing.
I turn to the door, nodding to Maggie. She opens it up, greeting the footman on the other side. My sisters and I exchange one last glance, then start walking. It’s a slow, somber procession through the shadowy halls of the Gregory Castle.
My new home.
This place has none of the warmth and lightness of the Duke’s estate. None of the family photos and easy comfort. None of the love. It’s cold and lifeless. Dread snakes through my chest, emotion crushing my ribs so tight I can’t breathe.
Our footsteps echo in the silence, until we round a corner and hear the faint music of the classic wedding processional song. Each note hammers another nail in my coffin, and I blink back tears.
I need to do this. I need to do this. I need to do this.
It’s for my family. My sisters. My parents. My child.
I need to do this.
It’s a mantra, repeated with every step. But as we get closer to the chapel, my stomach clenches. Every instinct tells me to run. The arched doorway leading to the chapel opens like a wide maw, waiting to swallow me whole.
I shiver.
My mother exits the chapel, nodding. This is it. In minutes, I’ll be a married woman. My honor will be saved, and my family’s future will be secure.
So why does it feel so awful?
I pause outside the chapel, letting my sisters walk ahead. I hear the shuffling of fabric, like a small crowd of people turning to watch their entrance. Closing my eyes, I swallow my emotion. I’m
next.
One step forward, and I cross the threshold. Another, and I’m in the aisle. A third, and the Count comes into view.
His thin lips are curled into a mean smile, his narrow, dark eyes dropping down the length of my body. There’s a dirty, possessive look on his face. And something else glittering in his eyes.
Triumph. Like he’s won a prize.
I feel sick.
I take one more step, my bottom lip trembling. I know I should hide it. I know I should pretend to be happy—but why? My family knows I don’t want this. The only other guests are a few witnesses for the Count, and a few members of his staff. Who cares if I cry?
The Count’s smile widens, darkness unfurling across his features. He likes my suffering.
Then, his smile freezes. The edges of his lips drop a fraction of an inch, and I hear shouting behind me. The four-piece string orchestra falters, playing a few discordant notes before stopping.
I pause, turning to look behind me.
My eyes widen, a tear finally spilling down my cheek.
A dozen uniformed police officers are rushing down the hall, followed by two men in suits and—
Oh my goodness. The Duke. He’s here.
He’s here.
I freeze, letting the police officers rush past me, followed by men with royal crests on their uniforms. From the palace? Their dirty, snow-covered boots stomp all over the train of my dress, but I don’t care. My heart hammers, watching them march right up to the altar.
One of the men trailing behind, wearing a brown suit and an oversized trench, pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “Chester Gregory, you’re under arrest for fraud.” He rattles off a long speech of rights as I stand there, dumbfounded.
The Count’s eyes stare just past me, glued to the Duke’s face. When the handcuffs click over his wrists, his trance finally breaks, and a roar rips through his throat. A ripple passes through the tiny audience as Count Gregory’s face twists, his teeth snapping at anyone around.
I tremble, shrinking away from the animal in cuffs.
Then, like a warm blanket on a cold day, an arm circles my waist. The Duke pulls me back and to the side to let the procession of police officers carry a struggling Count Gregory past. Heath’s arm stays wrapped around my waist as the Count spits in our direction, yelling obscenities until his voice fades down the hallway.
Yours for Christmas: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected) Page 10