Page 61 of Almost a Bride
“You have my permission,” he said, thinking wryly of John Heywood. He turned around to pin the bailiff with his gaze. “But no one else.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
~oOo~
Spencer found Roselyn kneeling in her kitchen garden, the hot sun making waves of heat rise from her black dress. In between weeding, she wiped her face with her forearm.
He stepped into the courtyard, knowing she heard him. She didn’t bother to get up, so he sat on the bench and watched her.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your baby?” he asked in a low voice.
He saw her shoulders stiffen, imagined the pain she must be feeling.
And then he understood.
He saw her serenity for what it was—a mask to disguise her feelings, to keep everything inside. When she stood up to face him, she was as dry-eyed and remote as he knew she’d be.
“Who told you?” she asked.
“I found the graveyard.”
Roselyn remained calm, letting the spasm of old grief slumber again. She wiped her hands on a rag and finally looked up at Spencer.
So now he knew. Would he mock her child as he’d mocked her marriage, calling Mary a—
But she stopped the word from even forming in her mind, and knew suddenly that he would not hurt the memory of a child.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked again.
“It is not the first thing I share with strangers.”
Was his smile sad? she wondered, and felt the prick of tears she despised shedding.
“I understand you better,” he said softly.
“Oh, do you think so?” she asked with a touch of bitterness.
“I met your bailiff.”
She stiffened. “You didn’t tell him—”
“He knows who I am. Aren’t you happy not to have to lie to him anymore?”
A rush of anger shot through her, and she stepped closer to look down on him. “Happy that he’s now in danger?”
“Roselyn—”
“One Spaniard followed you—who knows if there could be another? Don’t you think I lie awake enough nights imagining—” She broke off as her voice cracked. She had tried so hard to protect the Heywoods. “And now they know I’ve been lying to them. What must they think?”
“Come here.”
His low, rumbling voice set off a jangle of nerves inside her. “No.”
He caught her skirt with one hand and pulled her between his outstretched legs. When she would have fled, he forced her to sit down on his thigh. Roselyn perched there, feeling awkward and ridiculous—and blinking back frustrated tears.
“Heywood is very worried about you,” he began.
She felt his arm settle around her waist, while his hand rested on her hip.
