Page 11 of A Rogue's Downfall
He watched her eyes grow luminous with tears before she lowered them to the baby, lifted him away from her breast, and covered herself with her dress.The tears alit hope in him—and doubt. Why did shecry? Because she had felt the moment, too? Or because he had spoiled a time of intimacy with theirson? He was almost afraid to hope.
“Let me take him,” he said, and he lifted the baby off her lap, cupping the warm little head in one palmand holding the feet against his stomach. The baby’smouth had fallen open. He felt that stabbing of loveagain. He had missed two and a half months. Howcould he miss any more? How could he let his songrow up at long distance? He lifted the child towardhim and kissed his wet mouth. He tasted Amy’s milk.
“You do love him, don’t you?” she said, getting to her feet abruptly. But her voice was agitated andunexpectedly bitter. “Is that why you came? Did yousuddenly realize that you have an heir to carry onyour line and your title? Is that why you have decidedto make up to me? Because while he is young andhelpless, I am necessary to him and therefore to you?”
He looked helplessly about him. The child’s crib was in an adjoining room. He went into it, set his sondown carefully so as not to wake him, and coveredhim with a warm blanket. He remembered to set thechild down on his stomach.
She was standing at the window of the nursery, looking out. “Yes, I love him,” he said. “Because heis my son. I do not think of him as my heir. I thinkof him as my son. And no to all your other questions.I came to see you. Your letter requesting permissionto go to Hester Dryden’s reminded me of what anniversary today is.” He had come up behind her and sethis hands now on her shoulders. “The anniversary ofthe conception of our son.” He heard her swallow. “Ilove him, and I cannot say truly that I wish he didnot exist, but it is a ghastly anniversary for all that.And all that has followed it has been even moredisastrous.”
She laughed, though there was no amusement in the sound. “Ghastly. Disastrous,” she said. “Is it anywonder I held out against your first offer even thoughPapa threatened dire consequences? I should haveheld out against his insistence that I call you back.But I could not, of course. My baby did not deserveto be punished for my sins. He had to have a nameand respectability. You and I do not matter. I do notcare that you think your entanglement with me ghastlyand disastrous. Perhaps you deserve to suffer. And Ido not care that my life is an endless misery. I certainly do deserve to suffer. James is all that matters.I do not know what your game is today exactly, mylord, but it might as well end here. I want no more ofit.”
She turned suddenly and hurried across the room toward the door.
“The baby?” he asked, going after her.
“His nurse will be back in five minutes,” she said, opening the door and continuing on her way throughit.
He stopped on the threshold. Their baby was more important than they were, she had said. He could notleave the child alone even for five minutes. He wentquietly into the inner room and gazed down at hissleeping son, whose head was turned to one side andwhose bottom was elevated beneath the blanket. Hemust have drawn his legs up beneath him.
Could he read hope into her bitterness? Into her misery? Into her accusation that he had come downonly to see his heir? Did she want more from him?She had smiled at him at the lake, because he hadordered her to.
Or was there no hope at all? Was it he who perpetuated her misery because she had been forced into marriage with him and could never be free of him?
One thing was sure, he thought as he heard the nursery door open and strolled into the room to smile at the nurse’s surprised face, he was going to have someanswers before the day was over. Perhaps Valentine’sDay was not unfolding at all as he had hoped or expected, but it had begun something. And something was better than the nothing that had characterized therest of their marriage. Whatever it was that had begunwas going to be carried to its conclusion—today.
“He is fast asleep,” he said. “I shall leave him to your care.”
It was sweet-tasting, he thought irrelevantly as he walked downstairs to the dining room, wonderingwhat awaited him there. He had not expected a mother’s milk to taste sweet. He wanted to taste it again.He felt an unwelcome stabbing of physical desire.
The sight of the pink rosebud across her plate shook her. What was he trying to do? What was this day allabout? She could not help but be reminded of hisreputation as a very successful rake. Did it amuse himto come here and punish her for asking to go to Hester’s party by making her ache for what could neverbe in her life? Or was she being unfair to him? Shewas afraid to hope that she was being unfair.
She picked up the rose and crossed the room to stare out of the window. Morse was fussing at thesideboard. She relived that brief scene in the nursery,that brief moment in time when dreams had becomesweet reality. Unbearably sweet. It had started whenshe had had her eyes closed to hide her embarrassment and had felt his fingers against her breast. Ithad not been a sexual touch. James had been there,too, asleep.
She had opened her eyes to find herself looking directly into his. And something had happened—thatmomentary sweet something to which she could putno name. That sense of—oneness. Three in one, almost like the Trinity, she thought guiltily. That senseof family. But no. There was no real word to put towhat had happened. It had been overwhelmingly powerful, though. Surely she could not have felt it alone.And he had whispered her name.
Would he have done that if he felt nothing? But was it not in just such situations that rakes excelled?She turned to face him as she heard him enter theroom, but she did not look fully at him. She hurriedto her place and set down her rose beside her plate.She wanted to thank him for the rose, but she couldnot bring herself to say the words.
They reached for conversation, but could find nothing but banal comments on the weather and on the earliness of spring and the possibility that winterwould yet return before they could consider it quiteover. It was a silly conversation, as most conversationswere, in which they mouthed the obvious and saidnothing at all.
“Thank you, Morse,” the earl said at last. “You may come back later to clear away.”
Morse bowed and left the room with the footman who had been assisting him.
Her hand was on the stem of the rose. His hand reached out so that he could touch his fingers to theback of hers.
“What shall we do this afternoon?” he asked. “Walk? Jenkins tells me the daffodils are beginningto push above the soil.”
“I said the game was over,” she said, watching his fingers. Long. Very masculine. She remembered exactly how and where they had touched her a year ago,while she was conceiving their son. Or just before shehad conceived, to be more accurate. “I want no moreof it.”
But the lie struck sudden panic into her. She wanted the game to continue. Oh, she did. The rest of todaymight be all she would ever have. She did not carewhat his motives were. Sometimes pride did not seemto matter. She wanted the rest of the game, whateverit was to be. She lifted her eyes to his, and his faceblurred before her suddenly. She bit her lip.
“Why?” she asked him, her voice high-pitched. “Why? Tell me why.”
“You have been a millstone about my neck for a full year,” he said. His fingers curled about hers andheld on tightly when she would have scrambled to herfeet. “When I saw you and recognized you at thatmasquerade, I could not believe the evidence of myown eyes for a moment. I could not resist dancingwith you. I believe I had some idea of protecting youfrom all the unsavory characters that were surrounding you. Comical, no?”
It was a rhetorical question. She looked at their hands. She wondered if he knew he was hurting her.
“You were drunk,” he said. “You did not slap my face when I whispered things into your ear that I hadno business whispering. You did not shove me awaywhen I danced indecorously close to you. And so Idecided to attempt kisses. Yet when I drew you apart,you came so willingly that I decided to attempt more.I was not drunk. Irresponsibly inebriated, perhaps,but I plotted your ruin with cold intent. Knowing youboth unchaperoned and incapable of protecting yourself, I ruined you. And impregnated you into the bargain. Wonderful gentlemanly behavior. Wonderfullyprotective.”
