Trudging toward the park for her daily walk, she ignored the traffic. Her focus remained on the gray, miserable round of days since she’d left Castle Craven. The gray was almost comfortable now. In this limbo, nobody prodded her to feel anything.
She crossed to Hyde Park. While nothing offered peace, the nearest she came was here among the trees. Blankly she stared into the Serpentine’s green water. She had no idea how long she stood there, not thinking, not feeling, before the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
These days, such awareness of her surroundings was unfamiliar. Vague annoyance more than anything made her raise her bonneted head. She surveyed the area. The oily surface of the pond. Swans. Ducks. Seagulls squabbling over a crust. Children wrapped against the cold like round dolls. A trio of nursemaids gossiping on a bench.
Still that uncanny sense that someone watched her.
Reluctantly she turned. She wasn’t surprised to observe Jonas leaning against the trunk of an elm several yards away. His arms were folded over his powerful chest and he was better dressed than she remembered. While she couldn’t read the expression on his face under the stylish beaver hat, she could tell he wasn’t happy to encounter her.
Still she didn’t feel anything. Grayness permeated her soul to the point where even seeing Jonas didn’t bring her alive.
Jonas waited for Sidonie to start or gasp or run away. But as her eyes rested upon him, she seemed calm. Uncharacteristically calm. She was deathly pale and her face was drawn. Only now that the crackling energy was absent did he realize how essential that quality had been to the Sidonie he remembered.
“Jonas,” she said evenly as if continuing a conversation.
“Good morning, Sidonie.” Through seething anger and his damned invincible, unwelcome delight in her mere presence, he struggled to keep his voice neutral. He didn’t want to frighten her away.
“I assume you’re looking for me.” Her manner betrayed no trepidation. Purple shadows under her eyes hinted she’d slept as little as he had since their rancorous parting. “It seems too coincidental to run into each other.”
She sounded distant, uninvolved. She didn’t sound like the vibrant, exciting woman who had shared his bed. This woman was literally a shadow of her former self. She’d lost weight. He couldn’t see her body under that ghastly cloak, but her cheekbones protruded and hollows formed in her neck.
“I followed you from your lodgings.”
Not even that admission seemed to bother her. Her gloved hands clasped loosely before her and her shoulders slumped. “I suppose Roberta told you where I was.”
That wasn’t all Roberta had told him. “Yes. She came to visit me yesterday.”
Dull brown eyes examined his features as if trying to discern his thoughts. With difficulty he kept his expression cool. “You said you never wanted to see me again,” she said flatly.
“I didn’t,” he said equally flatly.
“So why are you here?”
“Circumstances have changed.”
“They’ve changed for you. I hear you asserted your claim to the title with minimal fuss.”
After deploring his disinheritance all these years, he hardly cared anymore whether he was Viscount Hillbrook or plain Jonas Merrick. Both were pitiful sods. “Once the clergyman’s signature was confirmed, all barriers crumbled.”
“Congratulations,” she said with no warmth, although with no spite either. It was as though she didn’t care. This new Sidonie didn’t seem to care about much. “Is being a viscount all you expected?”
“It has its benefits.” He couldn’t immediately think of any when he stared at the woman he wanted but could never have. “It means dealing with a lot of toadies and sycophants.”
“So it’s not worthwhile?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I was born for.”
“Yes.”
An awkward pause fell. He’d descended upon her certain of what he meant to say and how he meant to say it. But this wan, impassive girl vanquished his domineering intentions. He’d thought Sidonie vulnerable in Newgate when he’d played the bully fit to rival William. This woman before him now was so fragile, she looked as if she’d shatter into a million pieces if he so much as touched her.
She sidled toward the path, carefully keeping her distance. “I’m glad you got what you wanted, Jonas. I’m glad you’ve reclaimed your name and your parents’ honor is no longer in question. I wish you well. I know you won’t believe it, but I only ever wished you well.”
She must think him the biggest slow-top in Creation. Fragile or not, he wasn’t letting her go like this. “Not so fast, bella.”
The endearment slipped out inadvertently. He cursed his reckless tongue. He’d promised himself no matter how livid he was, he’d be calm and reasonable and treat her as a beautiful stranger. He’d persuade, not coerce. He’d prevail without unleashing either rage or hurt.
Jonas should have known she’d shoot good intentions to hell. She always shot good intentions to hell.
He mightn’t trust himself to touch her, but nonetheless he reached for her arm. Through the cloak, he felt its thinness. His grip gentled, although he’d meant to be stern with her, not tender.
She didn’t withdraw. He had a horrible feeling she hardly noticed his touch. She’d always noticed his touch. Three months apart had turned her into someone he barely recognized. She stood docile under his hand as if nothing united them, as if that tumultuous, radiant week had never existed, as if they were indeed strangers.
Anger stirred but he ruthlessly reined it in. He had a task to accomplish and losing his temper wouldn’t help. “Don’t you have something to tell me?”
She didn’t look at him but her face under the ugly bonnet went deathly white. “No.”
“Don’t lie, Sidonie.”
“I have nothing to say to you, Jonas.” Slowly she turned to him, her eyes glassy. Trembling in his hold, she raised her free hand to her bloodless lips. “Please let me go.”
“Not on your life,” he said grimly, tightening his grip.
“Please… I beg of you.” To his alarm she started to sway. Her complexion developed a green tinge to rival the Serpentine. “Please.”
The Sidonie he’d known would defy him, insist he remove his hand. This woman spoke in a faded voice that made him want to smash something.
“Hell, Sidonie, you break my bloody heart.” He caught her as her knees crumpled and she slumped toward the dry winter grass.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sidonie basked in warmth and safety. She knew immediately that Jonas’s arms held her high against his chest. How she’d missed this feeling. She’d been cold, so cold since he’d gone away. With an inarticulate sound of contentment, she pressed her cheek into the fine wool of his coat. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake.
Reluctant awareness pricked like a knife. Jonas only carried her because she’d collapsed at his feet. How humiliating. How distressing. How… revealing.
Her beautiful fantasy where Jonas wanted her shattered into bitter reality. She cursed her weakness. She’d tried to eat breakfast, but she’d felt too tired and ill to do more than swallow a few mouthfuls. Last night, she’d forced herself to eat but hadn’t been able to keep any food down.
Why, oh, why hadn’t she gone north immediately after leaving Wiltshire instead of staying within Jonas’s reach? But she was so sick all the time, the long coach journey wasn’t feasible. And she was grimly aware that if Jonas wanted to track her down, the likelihood was that he would.
“Put… put me down.” For the sake of the pride that was all she had left, she wanted to command, but her request emerged as a breathy whisper.
“No.”
He sounded harsh. When he’d caught her in his arms, she’d fleetingly imagined he sounded like the man who whispered endearments as he took her to the stars.
She’d never hear that man again.
Her heart raced with fear and distress. “Please, Jonas, I can walk.
”
“All right.”
Abruptly he stopped and set her on her feet. Immediately her head began to swim. She sucked in a jagged breath to curb the roiling in her belly. She couldn’t be sick. Not now. Not in front of Jonas. That would be too mortifying. Anyway she’d need food in her stomach to be sick. Bile flooded her mouth. She started to tumble headlong down a black tunnel.
From far away, she heard Jonas swear as he swung her into his arms again. She tried to stiffen in protest, but her muscles remained as floppy as wet muslin. In her heart, she was still strong and determined, but her body let her down. She waited for him to say something snide but he kept silent. This time, she didn’t fool herself she was anything other than an inconvenience.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, once she gained temporary control over her unruly digestion.
“To my carriage,” he said shortly.
She told herself it didn’t matter that he hated her. Only building a secure future mattered. Over the last months, that grim thought alone had kept her trudging ahead. It lost its comforting power when Jonas clasped her tight in a cruel travesty of how he’d once held her.
“Are you taking me home?”
“No.”
Without the strain of staying upright, she began to feel marginally more like the old Sidonie Forsythe. The Sidonie she’d been before her life disintegrated. She hoped so. She had a sinking feeling this meeting was about to become very uncomfortable indeed.
Her mind worked frantically. Jonas said he’d spoken to Roberta. She could imagine what her sister had said. Especially as he’d then set out to find Sidonie. After all, he could have looked for her any time in the last three months and the silence had been telling. Even when he’d offered her an allowance, the correspondence came from his secretary. Refusing the generous payment had sparked fleeting satisfaction. Until she’d realized her response had probably never progressed beyond some industrious underling’s desk.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“We need to talk about that.” He waited while a footman opened the door to a large town coach. “Among other things.”
“Jonas, I… I don’t want to go with you,” she said, suddenly afraid. This smacked too much of abduction. She wriggled without effect. “I’d rather walk home on my own.”
“Too bad,” he said uncompromisingly. But his touch was gentle as he placed her inside the carriage. He climbed in after her and the footman closed the door with a click that to Sidonie’s oversensitive ears sounded like prison doors slamming shut. The scents of leather, Jonas, and confined space flooded her senses, but her troublesome stomach remained quiet, thank goodness.
“You have no right to bundle me in here like a parcel,” she said mutinously, then fell mute as Jonas wrapped a rug around her so carefully, it was as if he protected a crystal vase from breaking.
Instead what he broke was her heart.
Except her heart had broken months ago. No wonder she remained so lifeless despite all her bracing little lectures to herself to look to her future. Nobody could live without their heart.
“Stow it, Sidonie. And don’t even think of running. In your current state, you couldn’t walk across the road. I’d just have to pick you up again.” He slid onto the bench beside her and turned to lift a bottle of brandy and a glass from a leather pannier on the door.
“I’ll be sick if I drink that,” she said with a spurt of resentment as the coach rolled forward.
He shot her an unreadable look. “It’s for me.”
“Am I so terrifying that you need Dutch courage?” she asked with false sweetness.
He didn’t smile. “Definitely.”
He splashed golden liquor into the glass and downed it. Then he returned the bottle and glass to the pannier with a deliberate slowness that played on her nerves. As she was sure he meant it to. When the silence extended, Sidonie could bear it no longer. “Roberta told you, didn’t she?”
Another of those unreadable glances. “When we were together, you made me a promise.”
“Then you told me to get out of your sight.” Those words had rankled for months.
“It didn’t alter your commitment.” The inscrutable mask cracked and briefly she glimpsed his real emotions. He was angry. She’d known that from the first. He’d tried to hide it, but the muscle flickering in his cheek betrayed him. Worse than that, he was hurt. Hurt beyond bearing. Her belly twisted with remorse and regret and useless, agonizing love.
Shame kept her quiet, although there was little point concealing the truth. When he mentioned her promise, she knew the game was up. Blast Roberta for an interfering witch.
“So you still won’t tell me,” he said grimly. “What must I do to make you confess? Get out the thumbscrews?”
What use putting off the evil moment? She met his eyes, iron gray in the shadowy coach, and spoke with a defiance she hadn’t felt since she’d left him. “I’m pregnant.”
“I know.”
“I ask nothing of you.”
“That’s hardly the point. No child of mine will be born a bastard.”
“You don’t want to marry me.”
She wondered if he’d deny that. She almost wished he’d lie.
But of course, he didn’t lie. His jaw set in unforgiving lines. “No.”
She struggled to maintain an argument. It was difficult when she felt so weary and sick, and this meeting with Jonas reminded her of everything she’d lost. Shortly after their last acrimonious encounter, she’d discovered she carried his child. Most of the time since, she’d felt sick. Morning sickness seemed to be a twenty-four-hour-a-day affair. At least nausea stopped her stewing on how she’d botched her life. “I told you I’d never marry.”
“And you said if you conceived my child, you’d become my wife.”
She hadn’t. Not in so many words. But her actions had given tacit consent to his ultimatum. She couldn’t pretend he accosted her today under false pretenses.
“You can’t force me to marry you.” Her voice shook because right now the easiest decision seemed to be leaving all decisions to him. Then a nasty thought struck—her statement wasn’t entirely true. “You wouldn’t cut off Roberta’s allowance and the boys’ school fees, would you?”
Reading his mind in this if nothing else, she watched him consider claiming such intentions. Then he shook his head. “No, this is between us.” He paused. “Or rather between you and your honor. You more than anyone know the miseries of my childhood. Surely you won’t visit that torment on your son or daughter.”
“People needn’t find out I’m not married,” she mumbled, tugging the rug up to shield her against his remarks and the conscience that until now self-pity had silenced.
“People always find out,” he said uncompromisingly.
She had an unwelcome inkling he was right. One hand cradled her belly. She hardly showed yet, but in a few weeks, her secret would be a secret no more. By then she needed to be away from London, settled where nobody knew her. She needed to be able to travel more than a mile without casting up her accounts, too. The journey from Wiltshire to London had been bad enough. Right now, her stomach behaved, but of course, Jonas’s carriage was the first stare of comfort and hardly jolted at all.
Decisions she’d been too miserable and frightened to make screamed for attention. It was all very well to plan an incognito future as a widow with a child in some northern hamlet, but the prospect of living a lie until the day she died made her shudder. The pathetic loneliness of doing everything alone without the man she loved was too cruel to contemplate. When Jonas mentioned his boyhood sufferings, he cut straight to her dilemma. She didn’t want her baby to be a fatherless waif. She wanted her child to grow up with two loving parents.
Once she’d almost accepted Jonas’s proposal. Then she’d trusted his regard. Could she bear to marry him knowing he was furious with her? Perhaps one day, he might forgive her for sacrificing him in favor of Roberta. Nor did she mistake that he viewed
the secrecy about her pregnancy as another betrayal.
Because they both knew it was a betrayal.
The very air vibrated with his repressed emotion. How she wished she’d kept her head in the park. She’d rather conduct this conversation in the open. The carriage, for all its luxury, seemed suffocatingly cramped when so much lay unspoken between its occupants.
“Sidonie, we have to marry.” He sounded sad but determined.
She blinked back tears. This was a million miles from the proposal she wanted. Of course there was that sweet moment at Castle Craven when he’d asked her to be his wife, but later memories tainted that recollection.
“You’re such a bully,” she burst out as the jaws of her fate snapped shut. Her hands fisted in the rug.
His sigh was unutterably weary. “Think what you wish. No child of mine will suffer abuse because of our sins. Get used to it.”
“I don’t have to like it.” She winced at how childish she sounded.
To her surprise, he gave her a cold smile. Until she realized she’d conceded victory. “Good.”
Jonas leaned back in the corner, stretching his long legs into the well between the seats. He seemed to occupy all available space. Sidonie shrank into her blanket and told herself without conviction that what she did was for the best. She was far from sure. Life with Jonas when he didn’t love her promised disaster, whatever legitimacy it gave their baby.
“Now will you take me home?” she asked with resurgent strength, although it was too late to do any good. She was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.
“No.”
She tensed with resentment—and a healthy dose of dread. “Just where are you taking me?”
When she felt the coach slow, she realized she was about to find out. The curve of Jonas’s lips indicated triumph but no pleasure. “To St. Marylebone. To pledge your troth, my faithless love.”
She winced. The insult hurt like a razor drawn across her skin. “I only just—” She straightened. “I haven’t agreed to marry you.”
Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed Page 29
