Читать книгу Bound By One Scandalous Night - Diane Gaston - Страница 13
ОглавлениеThe air was knocked out of Edmund’s chest.
A baby.
He knew efforts to prevent a baby were anything but reliable, but he’d ignored that. He’d allowed his passion to overtake him.
‘You might wish to ask if the child is yours,’ she said stiffly. ‘I assure you it is. And I am certain I am carrying a child. I have not had my courses since—since that night. I am sick every morning, fatigued all day, and I feel...altered. No one knows. Of course, they will discover it soon enough.’
‘A baby,’ he whispered.
She lifted her chin. ‘Do not fear. No one knows of our meeting that night, and I will say nothing. You will be safe from blame. I am perfectly aware I was the cause of this.’
‘No.’ He knew who was to blame.
She took a breath. ‘Well. There it is. That is why I wanted to see you alone.’
She turned to leave, but he seized her arm. ‘Do not tell me such a thing and then leave.’
‘There is no more to say,’ she told him. ‘I ask nothing of you.’
‘Nothing of me?’ he repeated. She wanted him to have no part of it?
Her eyes flashed. ‘I’ll not get rid of it, if that is what you are about to say.’
He still gripped her arm. ‘I was not about to say that.’ He was about to ask her why she wanted him to have no part in a child they created together, why she did not see what they must do, even if she disliked it.
‘I do not yet know what I will do,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps my parents will send me to France. I have relatives there. I’ve never met them, but perhaps they will be accommodating.’
He released her and paced in front of her, talking more to himself than to her. ‘You would give the baby away? Or pay someone to care for it?’ She preferred that?
She shrugged. ‘I do not want to do either of those things, but I cannot imagine my parents allowing me to keep the child. Think of the scandal I would bring on them.’
He came closer. ‘There will be scandal, no matter what.’ But he knew the right thing to do.
‘You need not worry about that,’ she said.
He need not worry? He’d been born to scandal. He never worried about what people thought of him.
Except for one person. He cared what Amelie thought of him, and it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him.
He was so close to her now his body flared in response to her, betraying him as it had that night in Brussels. He again remembered how it felt to lie next to her, how it felt to be inside her.
It wounded him that she did not want him to take responsibility for the child, but what did that matter? She must see there could be no other way.
He began pacing again. ‘I can provide for the child.’
‘Money is no issue,’ she said. ‘I have an inheritance, and my father can easily pay.’
‘I am not speaking of money.’ He was speaking of what must be done.
She cleared her throat. ‘I have no more to say. I—I thought it my duty to tell you. I truly ask nothing of you—’
Before he could protest, before he could tell her what he thought they must do, no matter how distasteful to her, she turned and rushed down the servants’ stairs and into the house.
She left him standing on the pavement. Alone.
* * *
Amelie closed the door and ran up the servant’s staircase to her bedchamber, fighting tears.
There. She told him. She’d done her duty to him and assured him she would not use the child against him. No one would ever know it was Edmund’s child; no one but her. At least she could console herself that he would be free to live his life, to build his fortune, to have his adventure, like he’d spoken of at dinner with so much energy and passion. She would do nothing to stop him, nothing to spoil his happiness.
She tore off her cloak and flung herself on her bed.
If only he had not looked so handsome. If only he had yelled at her for being so foolish as to allow a baby to be conceived. If only he had not roused in her those wanton feelings. Goodness! Merely having his hands gripping her arms made her recall how those hands felt against her naked flesh. Even in her predicament, she’d yearned to couple with him again, to feel that intense ecstasy that he created in her.
Well-bred young ladies did not feel such things. Well-bred ladies did not get themselves with child. They married for social advantage for their families and procreated to beget heirs, not because they craved a man’s touch and the thrill he could create. This was her downfall, certainly. If she had not been so wanton, she would not be in this fix, but she was determined she would not ruin his life along with her own.
It was some consolation that she’d assured him of that fact.
* * *
Edmund returned to the Grosvenor Street town house at ten the next morning. As he announced himself to the footman attending the door, Glenville walked down the stairs.
‘Edmund!’ Glenville was, of course, surprised to see him. ‘You are back so soon. To what do we owe this pleasure?’
Edmund had come to call upon Amelie, but to say so now would only cause Glenville to ask questions. He might as well provide the answers first.
‘A moment of your time?’ he asked.
‘Certainly,’ Glenville said, still sounding puzzled. ‘Come to the library. Would you like some refreshment?’
‘No,’ Edmund handed his hat and gloves to the footman. ‘Just a word with you.’
Glenville gestured for Edmund to follow him. The library was behind the drawing room, in the back of the house. If the drawing room was designed to impress and entertain, the library was intended for comfort and solitude. It was lined with books and filled with comfortable chairs.
Glenville lowered himself into one of them. ‘Please have a seat.’
Edmund remained standing and debated how to start.
Might as well charge ahead. ‘I came to ask for something which, no doubt, you will be unprepared to hear.’
Glenville’s brows rose.
‘Actually, it is not something I think you can grant, but I owe you the courtesy of hearing it from me.’
‘And this is?’ Glenville asked.
‘I would like to pay my addresses to your sister.’
Glenville’s eyes widened. ‘Pay addresses?’
‘Court her,’ Edmund went on. ‘Marry her.’
Glenville shook his head in bewilderment. ‘But you do not know her!’
Edmund knew her better than Glenville could guess, but he could not explain. He’d promised to never speak of that night to anyone.
‘It is true we have not been in each other’s company—’ he began.
Glenville cut him off. ‘Not above twice! Once in Brussels and last night.’
Three times, actually. ‘I would still like to speak to her.’
Glenville stood again and walked over to a far corner of the room. He turned. ‘Do not get me wrong, Edmund. I think you are a fine man. I am proud to be connected to you by marriage, but I do not think this will work.’ He paused. ‘Your suit is—is just not...’ His voice faded.
‘Not acceptable because I am a bastard?’ Edmund finished for him.
Glenville lifted his hands. ‘That is of no consequence to me, but I cannot see my father giving his permission.’
‘I will have to speak to him, of course,’ Edmund said. ‘But first I would like to speak to your sister.’
Glenville frowned. ‘Are you thinking she will accept you, because her betrothal to Fowler fell apart? She is still young. My parents will expect other suitors.’
Better than he, a bastard with uncertain prospects, though perhaps not once the pregnancy was discovered. ‘I am well aware that she might deserve a better suitor than me.’
Glenville shook his head. ‘I still cannot wrap my mind around this. What makes you think she will accept you? She spoke hardly two words to you last night.’ He frowned and peered suspiciously at Edmund. ‘Are you experiencing financial difficulties? Because Tess and I would be glad to help you—’
Edmund straightened. ‘I am not after her dowry! Believe me, money does not enter in this at all.’
Glenville sputtered. ‘This is hardly making any sense!’
‘What is your objection to me speaking to her?’ Edmund pressed on. Even a decent gentleman, like Glenville, could not help but wish for a better man than Edmund for his sister’s husband, apparently. Edmund was disappointed, but not surprised. ‘I am perfectly willing to withdraw if she should refuse me.’
Glenville’s expression, however, seemed filled with kindness. ‘I do not object to you speaking to Amelie, Edmund. I do not object to you at all. I am merely taken aback.’
‘That is all I ask,’ Edmund said. ‘To speak to her.’
‘By all means. And I wish you well.’ Glenville walked to the door. ‘Wait here. I will send her to you.’
He left the room, and Edmund pressed his fingers against his temple. No one would think this viscount’s daughter should marry a mere bastard. Even Edmund did not think himself worthy of her. Her marriage to him would cause talk. More talk when a baby was born too soon, but this was the respectable solution, the honourable choice.
A few minutes passed before the door opened again.
Amelie walked in. ‘Edmund?’ She looked surprised and less than happy to see him. ‘What are you doing? My brother said you wanted to speak to me.’
She also looked unwell.
‘Are you ill?’ he asked, taking a step towards her.
She halted him with her hand. ‘Mornings are bad for me. Tell me what you are about, though. My brother looked uncertain. You did not say anything to him about—about—?’
About Brussels? ‘Never,’ he responded. ‘I gave my word.’
‘Well, my guess is that my brother is going to pound me with questions after you leave. Why would you wish to speak to me? Marc and Tess are going to want to know. When the truth comes out about—about me, this might make them think you were involved.’
‘I was involved,’ he said. ‘I am involved. Stop talking and listen to me.’
She clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms over her chest.
‘You ran off last night before I could make plain to you what we must do—’
Her eyes flickered, but she did not move.
‘There is only one solution, Amelie. We must think of what is best for the child, not for you or me.’ He was not coming to the point. He took a breath. ‘We should marry. Marry me, Amelie.’
‘Marry?’ She looked shocked.
He hurried on. ‘The baby will have my name instead of no name. He or she must never know the scandal of being a bastard or of growing up not knowing who his parents really were. The child will be able to grow up respectably.’
‘You cannot truly wish to marry me!’ she cried.
He’d never dreamed it to be possible. ‘You cannot wish to marry me, but our wishes cannot matter in this. We must do this for the baby.’
‘For the baby,’ she repeated, glancing away.
He strode up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I know what it is to grow up a bastard. It is an albatross one must carry all one’s life. It is the fact against which everything else one does is judged. I do not want that for our child. I cannot allow what I have done to so burden a child.’
‘It was my doing, Edmund,’ she said sadly. ‘You should not have to pay the consequences of what I have done.’
‘What we have done,’ he corrected. ‘I accept my part in it.’ Indeed, he knew he bore the lion’s share of the guilt. ‘But the child. He or she should not have to pay the price.’
In so many ways Edmund had been lucky. He’d not been abandoned to the streets of the Rookery. His mother had loved him. His father had acknowledged him and raised him as a gentleman, sent him to school and purchased his commission. But, even so, never, in any situation, had he been allowed to forget he was a bastard.
‘What say you, Amelie?’ he went on. ‘Will you marry me?’
* * *
Amelie glanced away, at war with herself.
The idea of it made her immediately feel safe, when before she’d been consumed with fear. To face this problem with Edmund at her side dispelled the fear.
She winced inwardly. How awful of her to think of her baby as a problem. Edmund was right that they should think of the baby, not as a problem, but as a child who would grow into adulthood. What they decided right now would affect the rest of the child’s life.
But marrying Edmund would affect his life, too. Could she rob him of his future? All his wonderful plans?
She walked over to a chair and lowered herself into it.
She lifted her gaze to him. ‘Yes, Edmund, I will marry you.’
A relieved smile crossed his face, and he sat in the chair adjacent to hers. ‘We are in agreement, then.’
‘What shall we do now?’ she said.
‘We should marry right away,’ he said. ‘I will procure a special licence.’
‘Yes, right away,’ she murmured. ‘People will still talk when the baby comes early.’
‘But not so much. All is forgiven if we are married.’ His tone was subdued.
They were both resigned to a fate neither would have chosen. They sat in silence together while the mantel clock ticked away.
‘Marc and Tess will want to know what we discussed here,’ she said finally.
‘We will talk to them together,’ he said. ‘If you desire it.’
‘Yes. I do agree.’ They might be strangers discussing how to reach a destination.
‘What do they know about that night in Brussels?’ he asked.
‘Why, nothing,’ she responded, more energy reaching her voice. ‘My family still believes I walked back to the hotel with Captain Fowler.’
‘You did not tell them he broke the engagement?’
‘There was no reason to,’ she explained. ‘Especially when he was injured. When his parents wrote that he had to withdraw from the betrothal because of his injuries, it was easy to accept it and say nothing.’
‘You were not sorry?’ Now his voice showed some emotion.
‘Not at all.’ She’d be pleased never to face Fowler again. Ever. ‘Although I was sorry he was so grievously hurt in the battle.’
‘Your brother thought I was daft to ask to court you,’ he said with some humour.
‘You told him you wished to court me? He did not say so.’ No wonder Marc had acted so strangely. She could not help but laugh. ‘He must think we are strangers!’
He smiled and her heart seemed to flip in her chest. When Marc told her Edmund was here, Amelie resolved not to think of how handsome he was, nor how skilfully and kindly he’d made love to her, but both thoughts came rushing back.
She felt the colour rise in her face and suddenly she felt awkward with him. ‘Perhaps we should speak to Marc now.’
‘Certainly.’ He stood and offered his hand.
She put her hand in his, relishing the strength of his grip and the masculine roughness of his skin, as she’d relished touching his body that night in Brussels.
That scandalous night that had changed both their lives.
They walked out of the library and into the hall, where Staines stood in attendance. ‘Mr and Mrs Glenville wish for you to go to them,’ he said.
‘Where are they?’ she asked.
‘The drawing room.’
As they walked to the drawing room door, Amelie glanced at Edmund. ‘Are you certain of this?’
‘Very certain,’ Edmund replied.
She nodded and Edmund opened the door. Marc and Tess immediately looked up and left their seats.
Tess walked up to Edmund and gave him a hug. ‘What are you about, Edmund?’ she asked at the same time.
‘Did Marc tell you why Edmund wished to see me?’ Amelie asked her.
Tess nodded. ‘Marc said... Well, it is nonsensical.’
‘I have accepted him,’ Amelie said. ‘We will marry as soon as possible.’
‘What?’ Marc’s voice grew louder.
‘You do not know each other!’ Tess cried.
Marc gripped Amelie’s arms. ‘Amelie, do not be so hasty—’
Edmund broke in. ‘I realise I am not the husband you would choose for her.’
‘I already told you it is not that,’ Marc insisted. ‘It is that you have no real acquaintance and—and our father is not likely to approve.’
Amelie’s spirits dropped. ‘I had forgotten. Papa must approve who I marry until I come of age.’
‘I had not considered this,’ Edmund said. ‘How old are you?’
‘Edmund, you do not even know how old she is!’ Tess cried. ‘You know nothing of each other!’
‘I am nineteen,’ Amelie answered.
‘Good God,’ murmured Edmund, but as if to himself. ‘Nineteen. Same age as Genna.’
Marc looked from Edmund to Amelie. ‘Why do you not wait? What is the haste about marrying? You need time to know each other. And if you wait until you are twenty-one, it will not matter if Papa approves or not.’
Amelie glanced at Edmund. He raised his brows.
‘We do not have the luxury of time,’ Amelie said.
Edmund looked at her.
She met his eye. ‘I might as well tell them.’
‘Tell us what?’ Tess asked.
‘They will know soon enough,’ Amelie went on.
‘Know what?’ Tess’s voice turned impatient.
Amelie took a fortifying breath. ‘We cannot wait, because—’
‘Are you certain of this?’ Edmund asked her.
She nodded.
‘Certain of what?’ Tess’s voice grew shriller.
Amelie faced both her brother and sister-in-law. ‘I am certain we need to marry quickly, because I am carrying Edmund’s child.’
Her statement was met by a stunned silence.
‘No,’ Marc said in a low voice.
‘Edmund’s child?’ Tess shook her head at Edmund. ‘It cannot be. This is all a hum. You have not been together.’
Edmund spoke quietly. ‘We were together, Tess. Obviously. The night of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball.’
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Amelie left the ball with Captain Fowler.’ She swung towards Amelie. ‘Is this Fowler’s baby?’
‘No!’ Amelie and Edmund cried in unison.
Amelie’s face flushed. ‘Fowler abandoned me that night, Tess. He left me alone on the streets of Brussels. I do not know what I would have done if your brother had not found me and escorted me back to the hotel.’
‘I dare say you would have been better off!’ Glenville’s nostrils flared as he turned towards Edmund. ‘You seduced my sister?’
Amelie stepped in front of Edmund. ‘He did not seduce me. It was my doing. All of it.’
Edmund pulled her back. ‘Do not try to put a better face on it, Amelie. I seduced you.’
‘No! Edmund!’ Tess cried again. ‘You would not do such a thing to an innocent girl. You would not!’
It pained Amelie to see Edmund lowered in Tess’s eyes.
‘I did do it, Tess,’ Edmund said. ‘I am responsible.’
Amelie broke in. ‘No. The fault is mine.’
But no one listened to her.
‘I do not know how he convinced you,’ her brother growled. ‘But he took advantage, of that I am certain.’
No. She had taken advantage!
Edmund looked Marc directly in the eye. ‘I accept my responsibility and my duty. For your sister’s sake, I will do the honourable thing.’
Marc’s eyes flashed. ‘Honourable. There is nothing honourable in what you have done. This will cause our family more scandal.’
‘I cannot change what happened,’ Edmund said. ‘But I can do what is right now.’
Marc swung to Amelie. ‘You still need Papa’s approval, you know. He will never give it.’
‘He will give permission,’ Tess said dispiritedly. ‘What other choice will he have? There will be a baby.’
‘I will speak to your father in person,’ Edmund said. ‘I will explain.’
Marc shook his head. ‘He will not believe you. He’ll toss you out. Your story is too far-fetched.’
‘But it is true!’ Amelie cried.
‘It sounds like a cock-and-bull story,’ Marc said, ‘even if it is true. Papa will never believe Edmund if he travels there alone with that tale.’
‘I do not believe it!’ cried Tess. ‘Not of Edmund.’
Edmund gave Tess a quelling look but glanced back at Marc. ‘Then come with me. He will believe you.’
‘Go with you?’ Marc still looked as if he’d rather accompany a pen of swine.
Why couldn’t her brother be on her side about this?
‘He will believe you.’ Edmund repeated, keeping his gaze steady.
Amelie interrupted. ‘Neither of you have to go. I will write Papa a letter.’
Edmund turned to her and gently touched her arm. ‘No letter, Amelie. I must face your father. It is the only way.’
It was good of Edmund to offer, but Amelie was certain he would be treated very ill.
Marc’s shoulders fell. ‘Edmund is right. This is not news for our parents to read in a letter. Papa is more likely to approve if Edmund tells him like a man.’
It pained Amelie that she’d caused her brother to be so angry at Edmund. Before this Marc had held him in high regard.
Her brother straightened. ‘It is but a six-hour ride. We can be at Northdon House before nightfall if we leave soon.’
‘I should accompany you,’ Amelie said.
‘No!’ Edmund cried.
‘Absolutely not!’ her brother added.
At least they agreed on that idea.
‘Not in your condition,’ Tess added. ‘You must take care, or you will endanger your health.’
Six hours on horseback could not be good for the baby.
Edmund turned back to Glenville. ‘I can ride the way I am dressed, and I do not need a change of clothing, but I need to hire a horse.’
Marc started for the door. ‘I’ll send Staines to the stables to tell them to saddle my horse and to hire one for you.’
Tess followed him. ‘I will tell Cook to pack you some food.’
Amelie and Edmund were alone in the room. Her insides were churning, not only from the morning sickness, but also from the stress of this encounter. The stress of everything.
She turned to Edmund. ‘My brother blames you. My father will blame you, too. It is I who should tell him what really happened.’
He looked down on her. ‘What really happened was I took advantage of you. Let it go at that, Amelie. That night in Brussels I should have seen you safely to the hotel and left you there. That fact cannot be disputed. I must accept their anger just as I must accept that our marrying is what we must do.’
‘But it is my fault,’ she said in a small voice.
He touched her arm and attempted a smile. ‘I have faced men in battle lunging at me with swords and shooting pistols. I’ve had cannon balls miss me by inches. Facing your father will not be so difficult nor so dangerous.’
She was not so certain.
She placed her palm on her abdomen to quiet her roiling stomach. ‘Marrying me changes things for you. I am so dreadfully sorry.’
His gaze seemed to harden. ‘We simply do what we must, Amelie. That is how we manage. One task at a time. The first task is your father’s permission.’
