Page 72 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

“Who let you into this house?” His gaze snapped back down to Beatrice.

She raised her head. “A young lady. Very beautiful. She was wearing a summer dress—lilac, I think. I assumed she was the Duke’s niece—apologies, your father’s niece. Or a guest. I confess I was not really thinking at the time. I have been traveling for a long time, and Alexandria was fussing terribly in the curricle, so…” she trailed off, a sad smile gracing her lips as she looked at her daughter.

Lydia…

It could not have been anyone else. She must have been coming down to join him for their picnic breakfast when she had encountered Beatrice instead, and if Beatrice had mentioned that she was looking for the Duke…

“Did you tell the young lady that the child was the Duke’s?” William braced for the answer that he already knew was coming.

Beatrice nodded. “I did. Was she… the new Duchess?”

William did not answer, his mind in turmoil. It was no wonder that Lydia had departed so hastily and had demanded an annulment if she thought the child was his.

My feelings no longer matter.

That was what she had said, and now he knew what she meant—she could not feel anything for him or be with him if he had a child with another woman. Either that, or she was trying to be generous to Beatrice, demanding an annulment so thatthe Dukecould marry her instead and make the child legitimate.

“You silly, stubborn fool,” he whispered under his breath.

But Beatrice must have thought he was talking to her, as she insisted, “I meant no harm. I did not want to cause any trouble. Indeed, I feel… dreadful for upsetting your mother, though I would not blame you for thinking me a liar.” She paused awkwardly. “When your father and I began our affair, he told me that his was a marriage of convenience and that your mother lived in a separate residence. That they barely spoke. I did not realize that she had loved him, and he had been dismissive of that love.”

“Nor did I,” William admitted, more to himself than to her.

He turned his gaze toward the windows, looking out across the disheveled ruin of the rose garden and the patchy lawns beyond. A blackbird fluttered down from a tangle of dry fronds that might once have been wisteria and plucked a worm from the earth.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Beatrice urged. “I am here solely for my daughter. I want nothing for myself. I have no intention of blackmailing you or extorting you. I just want to be assured that my daughter will be provided for. I hope you can understand.”

William nodded, realizing that he was wasting time. “I am sorry that you were left to fend for yourself without assurances, I am sorry that my father put you in this unfortunate position, but you and the baby will be taken care of. Right now, however, I need to see my wife. Excuse me.”

He handed the baby back to her mother and took off without another word, wishing more than ever that he had not been a stubborn fool himself and had insisted on bringing Lydia back to the manor when he had had the chance.

All he could do now was pray that she believed him when he told her the truth if he could even get through the doors of Bruxton Hall.

CHAPTER 30

“Edwin, darling, I think we might need something stronger than tea,” Joanna said, casting a pointed look at her husband.

Edwin smiled sadly and rose from the armchair in the sunroom, tending to the matter himself, though he could easily have called for a servant.

Lydia suspected it was a deliberate act of kindness to give the two women some privacy, though she had nothing more to say; she had spilled her soul out to Joanna already, laying herself bare.

“And it is not something you can forgive?” Joanna asked hesitantly. “He did not know you when the child was created. If he cares for you, if there is something blossoming between you, then it would be a pity to let his past ruin your future.”

Lydia dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, struggling to breathe through the sobs that kept wracking her chest. “I could forgive it, I think, if it had been a lover trying to blackmail him, but I cannot destroy the life of an innocent child. I need him to annul the marriage so he can wed Miss Hart, so their child will not be a bastard.”

“There are ways around it,” Joanna insisted. “Perhaps Anthony could marry Beatrice, and they can say that the child belongs to a distant niece or cousin who died. It has been done before, likely more often than any of us know.”

Holding a hand to her chest, Lydia hiccupped and shook her head. “I could not do that to Anthony, nor should it be expected. He is… like me, I think. He longs for a love match. Yet, I know hewoulddo something like that if his brother asked.”

“Are you prepared to throw it all away, though, dearest Lydia?” Joanna said softly, reaching across the settee to take hold of her hand. “Considering the ferocity of your reaction and your obvious hurt, I do not think you are. You care for him, do you not?”

Lydia stared down at the Persian rug, following the intricately woven pattern with her teary eyes. “I think… I was beginning to love him. No… I know that I was, but it does not matter now. I will not be selfish. An annulment may bruise my reputation for a while, but it will recover. If I can persuade him to take the blame, it will assuredly recover, and I will be free to… to…”

A sob cut off her words, for the prospect of ever finding another gentleman in the country who could match up to Will felt like the most impossible task. He was everything she had ever wanted, though it had taken her a while to realize it. He was every favorite male protagonist in one person, and even then, he was better than any character she had ever read.

And what is worse, I am certain he was about to remedy his one flaw—that he could not be loyal to me.

For why else would he have arranged a picnic breakfast, simply because he could? Why else would he have ridden all the way back from London without pausing, just to apologize? Why would he have written that he was hers if he had not meant it?

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