by Stacy Reid
She jerked, not at his vulgarity, but the torment that darkened his eyes to ash. “I am truly sorry, Edmond,” she said her voice breaking. “I cannot imagine the pain and guilt you have lived with, but I cannot be caged because of your fear that I would have a similar fate.”
His gaze dipped to her stomach and lingered there for an inordinate amount of time. “I thought that night with you was a dream…a wonderful, terrifying dream.”
The soft words tripped her heart.
“I pray with everything in me, when you birth our babe you are not harmed, that he or she is not harmed. I can live with no other outcome.”
Her throat tightened. “I will be well, I promise you.”
His expression didn’t flicker. “As you said, Adeline, you are not responsible for the hands of fate, nor I. You cannot know if you will live or die. I cannot know, and that is why I had no wish to tempt fate’s capricious hand. But this is my fault and I will not hold you to blame. I had known relaxing with you, smiling and enjoying life would lead to this road. If I had been firm in my resolve to never allow such intimacies, we would not be standing here now, debating the possibility of you living or dying when you are brought to bed with our child.”
The distance in his voice had alarm shivering through her. This was going beyond anger or fear. “Edmond, I—”
“No,” he said, with such chilling softness that she faltered.
“I will never make such a mistake again.”
Suddenly she understood what he was about to do.
Perpetual estrangement.
Her eyes smarted with tears. “Stop this,” she cried fiercely. “Your unreasonable fear would see us divided forever.”
His gray eyes appeared like cold flint. “I am stopping, Duchess.”
She absorbed the finality in his tone, his demeanor. If she had thought him cold and aloof before, then the man before her now was a positive glacier…and unknown. All she had been hoping for would now be forever from their reach. Even if she delivered their child safely, he would never return to her arms, never ride with her across the fields, never kiss her, never relax and trust in the attachment strengthening between them with each passing day. His wall of reserve was now absolute, and she would never be able to shatter it.
The loss which scythed through her heart almost brought her to her knees. It took unbearable strength to remain standing and face him. “I will take my confinement at Rosette Park.”
“Is that so, Duchess?” he asked chillingly.
“Yes, I will have the consolation of Lady Harriet and our girls’ presence.”
“Send word when the child is born…if you are alive.”
She gasped, and he stormed away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Edmond swung onto the back of his stallion and powered away from the estate. Blood washing over his vision, and the pale lifeless form of his wife and son crowded his mind. Thunder rumbled ominously, a reflection of his turbulent rage, or was it fear? He saw Adeline splayed in a similar manner, their child stuck, unable to climb into the world and take his first breath, her lifeless, accusing eyes piercing him as her life drained away.
He rode, blotting the emotions until a warning clang sounded in his brain. The rain would be fierce. He drew on the reins and slowed to a canter. When he saw where he had directed them, the breath sawed from his lungs. The cottage. He dismounted, and with long strides walked over the bridge where the river below it was already swelling from the slight rain. His heart pounded as he slammed into the cottage and jerked to a halt.
Hell’s teeth!
It was as he had left it. The bed sheets rumbled. He inhaled, and Adeline’s subtle fragrance filled his lungs. Surely he was imagining her scent after so long. He moved farther into the room, his eyes drawn to the bed. Distressing lust swam in his veins as the memory of arching her hips and sucking on her soft, wet, womanly flesh, rose in his fevered brain. She had screamed, gripped his hair, and demanded more in her wild passion. She had been fierce and beautiful, welcoming and tight as she offered her body unreservedly. Edmond’s knees buckled, and he sank into the lone wing-backed chair in the room.
It truly had not been a dream.
I love you, Edmond.
Had those words been real as well? Edmond’s insides turned to ice. Adeline was truly with child, and as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow he would lose her because of it. All of the facts he had studied raced to the forefront of his thoughts.
Fifty in every one thousand women in London died in childbirth. The odds seemed like they could be on his side. Maryann had been taken, and now Adeline could be one of the thousand that would die this year because of that bad luck.
No…not bad luck. Because of childbed fever, convulsions, infection, hemorrhaging.
He struggled to breathe through his nose evenly and to calm the furious pounding of his heart. He would have to leave Rosette Park tonight. He couldn’t bear to see her swell with his child and then watch the light dim from her eyes, as the monster named death came to claim her, like it had claimed Maryann and his father.
He braced his forearm on his thighs and lowered his head, ruthlessly building the wall around his heart, for without a doubt, from the terror now tearing through his soul, he had been on the cusp of falling in love with his wife.
What a damn fool he had been. To allow himself such sentiments when his children depended on him. He could allow nothing to plunge him back into that roaring demon riddled with guilt and pain.
When Edmond lifted his head, dusk had fallen. It seemed hours had passed since he’d been sitting in the chair. Rain had lashed the cottage, and thunder had shaken its frame and he’d hardly been aware. When he stood, he felt no tender stirring in his heart for his wife. Only a simple appreciation that she was alive, that she was a kind woman who seemed to cherish his daughters as much as he loved them. That was all he’d wanted. When she died, whether it be in nine months, or several years from now, he would certainly feel its sting, for Adeline was a wonderful woman. But he would not be crippled by torment, haunted by empty, lifeless eyes, and taunted by pleading tears to save her life, nor shredded by wails that accused him of killing her and their child. No…for he did not—would not—love her.
…
It had been six weeks since the duke had departed Rosette Park for, she believed, London. There was a squeal of joy from below the stairs, and Adel tried to drum up a smile. It seemed Sarah and Rosa had received another letter from their father. A messenger had arrived every morning on horseback, with a long letter for them both. Sometimes, parcels of presents, and even a few books had come. There had been nothing for Adel. The children allowed her to read the letters to them, and the duke regaled them with sights seen in London, and what he did with his day. But not once had he asked how she fared. Like a fool she kept reading the letters daily, hoping for a sign of something.
Why had she not told him what happened in the cottage the minute she realized he’d not remembered? Regret sat in her stomach like rotten food. Though she had come to realize it would not have mattered. It was not her omission he hated, it was the very fact that she was with child. And that would have still been true even if he had known about their night of untamed loving from the beginning. He had retreated back to his old self, and she would simply have to find happiness where she could in their marriage, without him. For now, she could not contemplate the loneliness that would eventually descend. For now, she concentrated on her children and not the crushing pain she woke with daily.
She rose from the bath water, and Meg gently toweled her dry. With mechanical motions, Adel sat in front of her dressing table as Meg tamed her hair. Then she dressed in a simple white muslin day gown, donned her emerald green redingote, and added her bonnet. She would go for a walk this morning, and try to lift her spirits.
A few minutes later she strolled through the gardens, the fragrance of lily and roses filling her lungs. Dr. Graves had said exercise would be good for her health and it was ti
me she took measures to ensure she took her daily constitutional.
The wind tugged at her bonnet, and the air smelled crisp and clean. After her walk she would direct her attention to the few letters she had. Adel had become the patron to several underfunded and much ignored charities in the nearby villages, and a few in town. She had been appalled to learn the closest village to Rosette lacked both a proper school and had no bookstore or library. A few of the children in the village traveled for miles for some sort of an education but most went without and remained unlettered. A school was now being constructed, and it was being overseen by the vicar and his kind wife. One of the local shops was falling vacant in a few months and she had bought the lease intending to turn it into a bookshop. Though she immersed herself with such activities, every night she still ached for Edmond. But she was determined to exorcise the wretched man from her heart.
In the far distance the dowager duchess was strolling with Squire Wentworth. Adel smiled. She could see the affection developing between the two when they thought no one was observing.
Lady Harriet saw her and waved. A few minutes later, she reached Adel.
“It is wonderful to see you up and about, my dear. Is my foolish and stubborn son home?”
A startled laugh jerked from Adel. “No.”
The dowager duchess sighed and linked their hands together in companionable silence.
“Why have you not followed him to London? A wife’s place is beside her husband and it has been two weeks since your stomach has settled. You are fit for traveling.”
“Edmond does not love me.”
The dowager duchess froze, and then faced her. “My dear, he worships the ground you walk upon. It is fear that drove him away.”
“What utter rubbish. I told him I carry our child, and he ran away to London without writing a single word to me for six dreadful weeks. When I came to this marriage I had nothing to offer him but my eventual love. I gave it to him even knowing he would never love me in return, and now I have never felt more a-alone.”
Adel burst into mortified tears. “Oh, forgive me; I’ve been such a watering pot lately.” She swiped at her face angrily. “Did he ever tell you how we met? I snuck into his bed at Lady Gladstone’s house party. It was quite by accident I assure you, for I’d only intend to comprise Mr. Atwood. Edmond insisted we wed to avoid scandal. Before I even said yes, he told me all the love he had to give was bu…buried with his wife. He avoided my bed with a single minded purpose that even I had started to admire, and the only reason I am with child now is because he had been drunk,” she ended on a sob. “He does not want me…no gentleman has truly ever wanted me, for I have nothing to offer! Can there be any other opinion?”
Embarrassed at her emotional outburst she marched away. Edmond loved her? As she loved him? Adel faltered.
You are beautiful.You taste sweet…I could feast on you forever.
There are days when I shudder in dread at the thought, of what might have happened if you had not climbed into my bed, because I would now be wed to another. I’ve never desired another woman as I do you, Adeline.
The heated and sometimes tender words he’d expressed wafted through her mind. It probably should not have, but the memory quieted some of the pain pricking at her heart.
What if he truly loved her? Would he really have felt such fear if he only felt mild affections?
Oh!
Lady Harriet regarded Adel for a lengthy moment. “Come, let us retire to the parlor and ring for tea.”
Adel glanced toward the lawns. “And what of Squire Wentworth?”
“He’ll keep,” she said on a light laugh. “He knows I will not be long, and he may do a spot of fishing in the lake.”
A few minutes later they entered the main house, and Adel rang for tea and cakes. They entered the warmth of the parlor and sat on separate sofas. A footman arrived in short order with a tea tray and several pastries.
The dowager duchess faced her. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for weeks now,” she said softly.
Adel lifted startled eyes to her. “I have done nothing.”
“Since your marriage to my son, he has laughed.” This last bit was said so wistfully Adel’s heart ached.
She had thought his icy reserve had only been for her. Had he always been like this? “Is Edmond not a man to laugh?”
“Hardly.”
Not even with his first wife? Adel ached to know. “I take no credit for it, but I thank you for the sentiments.”
“My son abhors grief,” she said, surprising Adel.
Lady Harriet retrieved the cushion she had been embroidering earlier and resumed her task with dazzling skill. “I witnessed something in my eldest son I had not observed in years. Peace. It made me feel hope and fear for my sweet boy in equal measure.”
A small smile curved Adel’s lips to hear Lady Harriet refer to a man so virile and ruthless with his power as sweet. “I have yet to uncover this sweetness.” Though if she admitted it, there had been nothing experienced in her life as heavenly as the sweet bliss of his kisses. The way he watched her sometimes, the intensity in which he loved her had given her hope. The mere memory was enough to make the flesh between her thighs ache. Heat crawled up her neck, and she hastily poured tea into a cup and raised it to her lips, praying Lady Harriet would believe it was the steam from the tea that would account for her flushed appearance.
“Edmond lost his father, a man he idolized, at the tender age of twelve. I was selfish in my grief.” She lifted pain eyes to Adel. “I almost lost my son because I was caught up in my own despair.”
A drop of blood stained the cushion, and with a gasp, Adel clattered the teacup onto the table and rushed over to the dowager duchess. Adel gently withdrew the cushion and the needle from her.
“Please do not speak of it, for it causes you pain.”
Adel understood, it had been four years since her mother had passed, and she could hardly think of her without her throat burning from the need to hold back the tears. There were days where her heart seemed to split in two, and she wondered when the void would ever be filled. Reading had only delayed the inevitable return of dreaded grief. Though since her marriage, life had been mostly pleasing, and she had thought little about the loss of her mother.
“Sit my child,” Lady Harriet said gently. “Though it pains me, I wish to speak of it, for I want you to win.”
Win? “I was not aware I was vying for a prize.”
The dowager duchess’s intensity finally penetrated, and Adel’s heart beat an alarming thud. She sank to her knees beside her, uncaring of the unladylike position. “Then tell me, quickly.”
Lady Harriet closed her eyes and spoke in a clipped voice. “I was so lost in my own grief I did not realize Edmond was wasting away. He’d cried himself to sleep every night, and was barely eating. I’d given orders for his tutoring to be paused, and for his friends to give him space. I did not help him, I allowed him to create a haven in which he could grieve and rail unrelentingly. And he did so for weeks, months. When I came out of my own stupor my boy was skin and bones. I called for the doctor and he gave me the alarming prognosis that Edmond’s heart had been weakened from the weight loss, and he needed special attention to encourage eating. A few days later he contracted a fever, and in his weakened state it was a brutal battle. The fear I encountered I never wanted to endure again.”
She took a shuddering breath and Adel squeezed her arm. “He recovered. I wanted to cosset him, wanted to keep him close, but he refused. It was as if something had died in him when his father passed. My sweet boy hardly laughed and played. The joy in him had been dimmed. He had been close to his younger brother Jackson, and he pulled from him. Edmond even insisted on returning to boarding school, instead of his tutors coming back to the estates. It was as if he wanted to flee the memories. Then he returned on his eighteenth birthday and met Lady Maryann.”
Lady Harriet smiled. “Maryann was beautiful and demure, and she lit something insi
de of him. It was a small spark but I was joyful. I encouraged the attachment, and I could sense his reluctance. It was as if he feared being too close to Maryann. But she persevered, and he offered for her. Yet he remained wary. As if he was waiting for something to happen. Though he loved her, he was remote at the best of times. It hurt and confused Maryann, but she coaxed, and he thawed, and it was beautiful to see Edmond enjoying the hope of a happy future. He basked in his beautiful children, and I would dare say he was happy. Then she died.”
Lady Harriett pushed from the settee and walked to the windows. “Suffice to say, my child, since he married you, for the first time I have heard my son laugh out loud since his father’s death.”
Adel flinched.
“I do not care what you did or the why of it…but I thank you. The coldness he exudes now, it is because he cannot bear the idea of losing you, too. I see your unhappiness, and I urge you, do not give up on him.”
Then as if embarrassed for her emotional state, she inclined her head and walked with evident false serenity from the drawing room.
Adel slowly gathered herself. Edmond loved her. The assessment felt right, but if he really did, based on what Lady Harriet just revealed, he was truly lost to her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Weeks of being apart from his duchess had not dulled the agony pounding through Edmond’s heart. He rolled his head back against his shoulders, trying to ease the tension. Though when he wrote to his daughters, he was careful not to feed his weakness to learn about Adeline. Sarah and Rosa had no such qualms.
He glanced down to the letters he had splayed on the desk in his library. Dozens of them, and he had taken ink and underlined the phrases that mentioned his duchess.
Dear Papa, Adeline is puking again and seems very low in spirits.
Papa, Adeline smiled today, but then she promptly burst into tears when Mrs. Fields mentioned another letter had come from you.
