Page 57 of A Love to Remember
Maitland snorted. “Rubbish. She’ll marry you fast enough if it’s the only way to save her son.”
Philip said nothing. Wouldn’t that be worse? How ironic that two people who loved each other could be forced into marriage in such a way that they’d always doubt the other’s love.
What would Robert have done? If he’d loved Rose he’d have married her without a second’s hesitation. What would he say about Philip’s reluctance? About his vow? Philip tossed back the last of his brandy and knew there wasn’t enough spirit in the world to dull the ache inside him. The choice between honor or love was one no gentleman should have to face.
—
It had been the longest three days of Rose’s life. For the first time since the snow fell she was grateful for the inclement weather. Otherwise she had no idea how she would have kept Drake inside. He was bored. And when little boys got bored the entire household knew about it.
Philip had been wonderful and had done his best to keep him entertained. But even he was running out of games to play and things to do. As a last resort, he’d suggested an outing and he and Maitland had swept Drake off to a meeting of the Libertine Scholars at Sebastian’s house. The prospect of an afternoon’s fun with Henry had done the trick.
Now Rose was exhausted. And oddly nervous. That unease wasn’t helped by her knowing that Philip was sleeping only down the hall. Or that she could put an end to all this by telling him about his child.
It was wearing, and emotionally draining.
Drake was so excited to have Philip staying, and Philip—well, he could not hide his feelings for her son. Each morning they would sit as a family and eat. Each night she tried to ignore the longing, need, and desire in his eyes as she said a cool good night.
The only reason she had not succumbed to her desire and crept into his bed was because she did not want him to discover her thickening waistline, or for her to have to explain away her nausea in the mornings—although it was lessening.
She hoped the men came up with something soon, and quickly. If they did not, she’d have no choice but to confess her condition and agree to a marriage. If only she knew a marriage was his choice, not his duty.
At least the snow had stopped and people once more ventured out into the street. With Philip and Drake out of the house, Rose could at last see her modiste—in private. She desperately needed new gowns to accommodate her changing figure.
Madam Durand was due at three. Rose sent Elaine off to the attic to find some of the gowns she’d worn when she was carrying Drake so they could discuss design and other ideas with Madam Durand.
In her room, dressed only in her shift and robe, Rose could not settle.
She still had not written to Lord Kirkwood with an explanation of her sudden departure from the house party. It must be done. Whether it would lull him into believing she was innocent of his plans, she did not know. She doubted it. But she could play this game, too.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not pay attention when her door opened, thinking it was Elaine returning with the gowns.
Only as the footsteps got closer did she realize the person was wearing boots.
She looked up, but it was too late to scream. An arm wrapped around her neck and a cloth of sickly smelling ether pressed into her face.
The last thing she saw as she fought for consciousness was Francis’s cold, hard eyes above her. Funny the thoughts that drift into your mind. Francis had his father’s eyes. Kirkwood had made his move.
Chapter 17
The sound of men, their voices raised in argument, brought Rose back to her senses. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Or where she was now. She only knew her head pounded, her body felt like rock, and her mouth tasted of sand. What was more, she could not lift her eyelids no matter how hard she willed them to obey her.
“I won’t let you marry her.” It was Kirkwood’s voice. “For God’s sake, she is with child. No, no, I have made an arrangement with Tremain. He’s signed a document giving me most of Roxborough’s assets upon Drake’s death.”
“A document?” Francis almost shouted the words. “What kind of fool are you? We cannot trust Tremain. That document is evidence, and he’ll use it against you. When he exposes this plan,hewill not be the one to hang.”
Kirkwood growled low in his throat. “I’m not the fool here. He will do exactly as I say. I hold proof that he killed that young girl, Claire, all those years ago. After all these years Tremain thought he’d got away with it. Why do you think he agreed to my two-thirds cut? Because he has no choice. Besides, if I know him, he’s already plotting how to rid himself of Rose as soon as possible to enable him to take another rich wife.”
The clink of glass on glass and the gurgle of liquid told Rose one of the men was pouring himself a drink.
“It’s still risky,” Francis said. “Better to keep the business within the family.”
“What if her child is a boy?” Kirkwood said. “The bloodline—mybloodline—must remain pure. I’ll not have Cumberland’s bastard take my title. The babe ruins everything. I only let the affair with Cumberland go on for so long because I knew he would never marry her, and I had thought he’d be more careful about getting her with child. However, it did give me time to build my reputation as the fair and patient guardian, so that no one will suspect me—us—in this matter.”
Francis laughed. “It won’t come to that. The child might be a girl. But even if it is a boy, the problem is not insurmountable. Many children die in infancy. Either way, we’ll have the money.”
“Money.” More liquid gurgled. “All you think about is money. We would not be in this situation had you not been so greedy. I tried my best, but you are your mother’s son. Weak. Rash. Without honor.”
“Honor!” Francis almost howled the word and then snorted with laughter. “You’re prepared to kill a child to save a title, andI’mthe one without honor.”
