by L. R. Olson
Of course, it couldn’t be proven. In fact, I had witnesses that said otherwise. But whether she spread the gossip or not no longer mattered. Let all of England believe what they would…I had Jules, I had Millie…
A sudden cry interrupted the silence.
A baby’s cry.
And apparently I had a new child.
I bolted down the hall and tore open the door. “Jules?”
Vaguely, I was aware of the doctor washing a squirming bundle in a basin near the fireplace. But my gaze remained upon Julianna, who looked so vulnerable and small in my large bed.
“Julianna.” I raced across the room and knelt by the bed. She was pale, so damn pale. Her gaze met mine, blue eyes hazy with exhaustion and pain. She’d told me Millie had been easy enough. Was this what easy resembled?
“Tell me you’re well.” I clutched her hand. Her lashes were fluttering as if she meant to sleep. “Tell me.”
Her hair lay in a long braid across her shoulder, her white nightgown damp with sweat. And there was blood, dear god, brilliant red blood across the white sheets. My heart clenched.
Somehow she managed to smile. “I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.”
The relief I felt was immediate. I pressed my lips to her forehead, lower to her lips. Although there was a doctor, Julianna’s mother, and a baby in the room, it felt completely intimate, just Julianna and me. “Hell, I was frightened.” I wanted to pull her close, to hold her tight, but feared I’d hurt her. “I can’t take this again. No more children, understand? No more.”
“But I do believe you once said I had to give you two sons,” she teased.
“Julianna,” I insisted, wanting her promise, as if a woman could vow such a thing. “No more—”
“Out with you,” her mother said. “And take the baby.”
Suddenly, the child was shoved into my hands. A tiny thing barely larger than a puppy. I’d thought Millie had been small at six weeks, but a newborn was as delicate as a baby bird. I stared down at it’s tiny, red face in horror, awe and utter fascination.
“Come now, Whitfield,” her mother said. “You’ve done this before. You’ll be fine. Now go on into the hall, while my daughter puts on a fresh gown and makes herself presentable.”
But I hadn’t done this before…Millie had been born and Julianna no worse for wear when I’d found them. Nothing could have prepared me for this.
“I don’t give a damn what she looks like,” I growled, merely wanting to be with Jules. “It’s not a bloody ball.”
Her mother tilted her chin, her lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. “I’ll forgive you for snapping at me, my dear. Now, take your son out into the hall.”
“Son?” I repeated, stunned.
Jules gave me a knowing smile from the bed.
My mother-in-law shoved me toward the door. I suddenly found myself in the hall, alone with the baby and not quite sure how I had gotten there. The babe murmured, making the softest sound. Intrigued, I stared down at my son feeling incredibly vulnerable and unsure. Millie had been so very easy. I’d missed the most difficult part of her birth. She’d been born adoring me, and I adored her.
But this boy…I didn’t know what to do with a lad. Ironic, considering I’d been surrounded by the male species. I only knew that I didn’t want him to ever feel about me the way I’d felt about my father. I wanted him to be proud of our family. More importantly, I wanted him to grow up to be sure of himself, not ashamed. Not desperate to prove he was worthy.
He blinked his eyes opened. I saw the innocence there in his blue gaze, the trust, the knowledge that somehow he knew I was his father. My chest grew tight. I would do him proud.
“We’ll be all right, won’t we?”
Of course he didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. An odd warmth of reassurance swept through my body, tingling my hands and toes. All would be well.
The door opened and the doctor stood there with a smile in place. The same man who had brought me, Rafe, Will, Oliver and Evangeline into this world. He was a kind man who had tried to support my mother despite my father’s wrath. “You can see her now.”
“Thank you.”
“Your mother, God rest her soul, would be proud of you.”
My throat felt tight. I could only nod. He patted me on the shoulder as I moved by him and into the room. A fire burned brightly in the hearth. The sheets had been changed, Julianna’s mother had left out the adjoining door, probably to check on Millie.
Jules was propped up against a mound of pillows. She still looked pale, but her hair had been combed and her nightgown replaced. There was an eagerness in her eyes that swept away her exhaustion. “How is he? Is he beautiful?”
I glanced down at our son’s scrunched, red face and almost laughed. He looked rather like a grape that had been left out in the sun too long. “Yes, of course.”
She lifted her arms. “Let me hold him, please.”
I rested on the bed beside her and handed over the baby. He murmured, as if sensing she was his mother and already finding comfort in her arms. I studied every inch of her face, looking for signs of discomfort. I had to be sure she was well. She held our baby close, her bright gaze on him, studying his features with the same scrutiny that I studied her. “Have you thought about a name?”
She smoothed her palm over his downy hair, as dark as Millie’s. “Do you have one in mind?”
I hesitated, for I didn’t want to make her cry. Especially in her state. “I do.”
“What?” Sensing my hesitation, she tore her attention from the little one and met my gaze. “What name do you have in mind?”
I trailed my fingers down the side of her face. Did she have any idea how dear she was to me? How much I needed her? How much she had given me? I could never repay her, but perhaps this would be a start. “I thought we might use your father’s name.”
“Edward?” Her surprised gaze widened in obvious delight. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. He gave you to me, after all.” I cupped the side of her face. I’d do anything for her. “I think he knew, despite our reluctance, that we needed each other.”
She smiled, a smile like the very sun, sending rays of warmth through my body, sweeping aside any doubt, any worry, any sorrow. “Edward James.”
I couldn’t help but kiss her. “I love it.”
“And I love you,” she whispered.
Content, I pulled back and leaned against the pillows next to her. Together, we studied the miracle we had somehow created, arguing over who he resembled more, until Jules, completely depleted, fell asleep and I was left to watch over my family.
I am the Earl of Whitfield.
Two years ago I didn’t believe in love.
I thought emotion of any kind was a weakness.
Two years ago I’d thought I needed to marry someone proper and demure, someone who would obey me without question. Someone to help restore the family name that had been so thoroughly tarnished by my father.
And then I’d found Julianna.
She was rarely proper.
She rarely obeyed.
She could be angry and stubborn and damned annoying at times.
She’d ruined my carefully constructed plans.
And for that I would be forever grateful.
The End
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A Dangerous Deception
Volume One
Chapter 1
William
“I do apologize if I misheard, but did you actually say you’ve never met your fiancé?” Rafe choked dramatically on his drink, always the one to make a scene. “The very woman who will be here within the hour? The woman you’re to marry in four weeks’ time?”
Amused, I leaned back in my chair and waited for Charles to respond. With the fire warm at my side, and a glass of whiskey in hand, I was content to spend my afternoon listening to our cousin’s excuse. I had a feeling I was watching what would soo
n become a comedy of errors to make Shakespeare himself proud.
Charles shrugged. “Why so surprised, Rafe?”
I took a drink, the alcohol burning welcomingly down my throat. He had a point. Really, there was nothing untoward about a match between strangers. He would marry a woman his father had uncovered, as if she was some ancient buried treasure, for the benefit of the family name. A common occurrence in the ton. Thank heavens I was the third son in my family. No one cared if I married.
However, being a second son, I could understand why Rafe found the idea appalling. If only our older brother James would marry and have a child already, perhaps Rafe wouldn’t feel such unease. While most spares were eager to take over, and would in fact go to extreme lengths to grasp that power, Rafe reveled in being free from responsibility.
The fact that James was traipsing around the continent as if he wasn’t the least bit important worried Rafe. God forbid James never married. I slid Rafe a glance. He, as the heir apparent? The man to carry on our family name? The thought was as insane as it was frightening.
Although polite society had never deemed me nor my brothers of high moral character, they still grudgingly accepted us into their ballrooms. It was amazing what an old lineage and money could get one. They would expect even us to carry on the family name. It was just the way of things.
“We will marry in a very lavish ceremony, I might add,” Charles said, sipping his port. He really had no concern at all over the fact that he was being forced to bond himself to a stranger. Then again, he was an only child. The sole heir. Which meant he really had never had control over his own life. “Already in the post and all.”
Rafe sighed. “Trapped then.”
I couldn’t hold back my grin. Rafe found the idea of marriage to anyone horrifying, let alone someone he’d never met. If James didn’t marry, it would be up to Rafe to settle down. Would he marry, if he must? Would he do his duty? If there was one thing that Rafe hated it was following the rules. More likely he’d be killed in a drunken brawl before he’d settle down. Which meant…dear Lord, I’d be next in line.
“Oh please, don’t look down your shocked aristocratic nose at me,” Charles continued, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his navy jacket. “It’s all very English. And need I remind you that you’re English as well, even though you drink whiskey, so start acting the part.”
“Yes, marrying for advantageous reasons,” Rafe murmured, settling on a settee that looked much too fragile to hold his tall, lanky frame. A feminine piece left over from Charlie’s mother, God rest her soul. Like most women who married into our family, she’d been too delicate to last long. “So very English. No hand-holding. No kissing. As little touching as possible, even with your own bloody wife. What exactly is the point of getting married? Well, besides passing on the family name and all that nonsense.”
Charles snorted as he pushed away from the mantel and paced to the windows. “Money, my cousin. That is the point. Her father has made millions in the railroad. Sad time for England indeed when we’re forced to marry American heiresses to keep our estates afloat.”
“Yes, but money or not, usually you’ve at least spoken to your fiancé.” Rafe insisted, regarding our cousin with raised brows. He was enjoying this much too much.
“What do you expect, Rafe, a love match?” Charlie sneered.
The idea of anyone loving Charles was so preposterous, I almost laughed. Blood made me loyal to the man, but even I knew he was a selfish bastard.
“Seen her. Met with her,” Rafe continued. “She could be a troll.”
“I’ll bed her with the lights out.” Charles lifted his glass into the air as a salute. “They’re all the same between the legs.”
“I highly disagree,” Rafe muttered, resting back onto the settee as if he meant to take a nap. He had no problem making himself at home no matter where the place. He just didn’t care a bloody whit about protocol. If only I could be more like him. But hell, someone in our family had to be proper. Had to at least carry on a façade of decency.
“Besides, I’ve written her—what was it—two letters?” Much to my chagrin, Charlie looked to me for confirmation. I had to resist the urge to pull at my collar. “Wasn’t it, Will?”
Even though I gave him a pointed glare, he hadn’t caught on. Really, the man was an idiot at times.
“Why would you be asking Will?” Rafe wanted to know, his voice laced with suspicion as he stacked his hands behind his head and studied my features.
I could feel the heat race up my neck and into my cheeks. Rafe knew me well, too well. “I merely helped him write the letters. She seems like a highly intelligent, thoughtful woman.”
Charles cursed under his breath, raking his hand through his hair and leaving the dark strands mussed. “Highly intelligent? Thoughtful? Hell, why not just say she’s going to resemble Farmer John’s pig down the road.”
“Good lord, you wrote his letters?” Rafe said, bolting upright and ignoring Charlie’s comment. “Say you didn’t.”
I knelt by the fire, stoking the flames with a poker, mostly to avoid my brother’s astute gaze. “I didn’t write them, merely suggested a comment or two.”
It sounded guilty even to my own ears. Christ, what was I supposed to do? Charlie wasn’t even going to respond to his own fiancé’s missives. I did what any decent man would…I saved his arse.
“So you’ve never met her. Only written two letters… Correction, Will has written her two letters.” Rafe shook his head in disgust. “And to top it off, your fiancé will be here at any moment but you’re going for a picnic in the orchard?”
“You make me sound so dastardly,” Charles grumbled. “Like a villain in a gothic novel.”
I sank back onto my chair, content to watch this play out. Perhaps Charles was finally seeing the err of his ways. Most likely wishful thinking on my part.
“Villains are rather dashing,” Rafe admitted, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, God help us all. When Rafe spent too much time thinking, it always led to one mishap or another. “The hero can be so bloody boring and predictable.”
I rubbed my brow. Having a conversation with the two was much akin to conversing with a couple of highly spoiled toddlers. “Only you would think that, Rafe.”
“Don’t fret William, it will give you wrinkles.” Charles moved by and clasped my shoulder in a companionable way. “Your handsome features, your dashing personality…no wonder why all the ladies like you.”
Suspicious, I shot him a wary glance. He was buttering me up for something alright. What?
“You’re truly leaving, and won’t be here to welcome your fiancé?” I said, returning the subject to one that actually mattered.
He shrugged as he paused in front of a gilt-framed mirror to smooth down his hair. “How can I resist a picnic? The orchard is so lovely this time of year. Besides, I do have guests to entertain. She won’t mind, you’ll be there to meet her…won’t you?”
And there it was. This time I did sigh, rather long and loud. Rafe slid me an amused glance. I knew what he was thinking: I let Charles take advantage of me. For the most part I hadn’t minded. We saw each other only a couple times a year, and he was family, after all.
“William, can you pay off the milliner? I purchased a new bonnet for my mistress and he’s breathing down my neck. I’ll pay you back, of course.”
Of course he never had.
“William, Lord Tippens is irate, thinks I slept with his wife.”
“And did you?”
“What does that matter? Can you speak with him, set things right?”
The memories didn’t help my mood. I shifted, growing rather irritated. It was bad enough I had to be the rational one to my three brothers and their philandering ways, but somehow over the years my cousin had been added to the list. “And if I say no, the poor girl will be left to welcome herself?”
“The butler will be in attendance.” Charles brushed his hand through the air in a dismissive
manner. “I assumed you had a book to read, or maps to study, and would be here anyway.”
“Yes, because that’s what I do all day…sit around studying maps,” I drawled out, picking up my glass. I had a feeling I was going to need another drink.
“Nothing wrong with being the good one, my lad. There always has to be one in the family to make our parents proud.”
Rafe rolled his eyes. As if our father would have been proud of anything we’d accomplished. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about his thoughts as he was cold and buried. Charles didn’t have the same luxury. Perhaps that was another reason why I gave our cousin so many chances. I felt sorry for him.
Charles started across the room. “Rafe, you coming?”
I knew our cousin would not be dissuaded. He was leaving whether I met his fiancé or not. And because I was too damn honorable to ignore his request, I’d be there on the front stoop, smiling and welcoming.
“Of course,” Rafe replied. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh Charles,” Lady Sybil called out, appearing on the threshold. Her saucy grin appealed to more than one eager buck. She wore her bodice too low and her morals too loose. If she hadn’t been a wealthy widow she probably would have been given the cut direct by most of society.
She’d flirted with me not a month ago. When I hadn’t had the time for her interests, she’d carried on to Rafe, and apparently now Charles. My cousin quickened his steps, only too eager to be in her good graces.
“I thought you were seeing Lady Sybil,” I couldn’t help but say to Rafe.
“Seeing is a rather strong word for fucking.” He set his glass upon the mantel, grinning. “I got bored, so she’s moved on to Charles.”
“You always were rather good at sharing your toys,” I said wryly.
He bowed low. “A veritable saint.”
“Have a jolly good time,” I said, reaching for the book on the side table. Staying here to greet Charlie’s clueless little fiancé was sounding better and better.
My cousin had met Lady Sybil in the hall. They were leaning close, whispering and giggling, so obviously intimate. Surely he would keep his indiscretions private once his fiancé arrived. I frowned, biting back the sarcastic comment just begging to drip from my tongue. The good one indeed. I could be a downright bastard when I wanted. The sudden urge to protect a woman I didn’t know was an unwelcome distraction.