Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) (18 page)

“Your Grace?”

A ripple of dread and pleasure shimmied down his spine.
Rosamund.

He didn’t turn. If he didn’t turn, she’d walk away and leave him safe. Leave him alone.

“Derek,” she hissed, apparently not dissuaded by his pretended deafness.

He coughed but he still ignored her. He felt frozen, a completely foreign sensation.

A well-placed kick hit his heel and he yelped.

“I am not a figment of your blasted imagination. So pay attention, won’t you?”

He eyes bulged and he hopped in quite an unmanly fashion as his foot throbbed.

At last, he faced his most worthy opponent.

“Lady Rosamund,” he managed, limping a few steps towards her.

She was positively glowing and simultaneously fuming. A stunning rose hue lit her cheeks and her red hair shone with an extra golden sheen.

My God, she was stunning in her pale green frock and softly curling hair. Her gaze though? Her gaze was pure daggers.

“You have my undivided attention,” he said, as the pain lessened from his foot. She had remarkable aim.

She nodded. “Follow me.”

There was no hesitation or doubt that he would obediently follow as she headed for the hedges.

He gave a single glance back to the almost out of sight, well-dressed and influential crowd milling about the garden to the sound of the string quartet.

They couldn’t be spotted heading off together, but nor was he about to have an argument with her so nearly in full view of everyone if he lingered.

So, he followed her down the pebbled pathway, keeping silent until they, at last, came out to a rather large fountain with a beautiful pool and tall shrubberies around it.

In the distance, they could hear the faint laughter of the guests and the sugary notes of matrimonial music.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“You look well,” he said at last.

She said nothing. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on her skin.

“Actually, you look a touch. . .” His eyes wandered over her beautiful face. Something was different. Something wasn’t quite right. And as he contemplated what it could be, he recalled the self-hate he’d felt walking home the morning they’d made love.

Derek gulped.

“I’m. . .” She swallowed, her face going suddenly pale. “I’m. . .”

He should be panicking because he knew the words that were going to slip past her lips. But instead of panic, he felt something else. Something else, indeed.

Glee. Pure glee.

“I’m. . .”

She couldn’t seem to say it. Her lips clamped together and she looked on the verge of tears.

“You’re with child,” he declared brightly.

Her eyes flared. “How the devil did you know?”

“It is the natural conclusion to our last meeting and your reticence now—“

“Don’t be an arrogant arse.”

He couldn’t help himself. He was smiling.
Smiling
. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in years. If he had suddenly floated off the ground, he would not have been surprised.

“Do forgive me,” he replied. After all, one should always be agreeable with a woman who was enceinte. If one wished to keep their gullet intact.

She looked away. “I had no idea it was such a likely conclusion to what happened between us.”

“It isn’t with everyone,” he said. “But one or both of us must be—“ 

She raised a hand and gave him the eye. “Fertile. Yes. But being likened to a prime cow is not how I wish to be seen at present.”

“Do forgive me.”

“You said that already.”

“Shall I say it again? I’ll say it as often as it pleases you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re not upset.”

She made it sound a statement rather than a question.

“No,” he agreed.

“My God,” she gasped.

“What?”

She paled. “You’re pleased.”

It hit him then that she was not entirely sure of how she felt about being with his child and that his own sudden pleasure was shocking to her. What had she expected? Anger? He supposed that many men would be angry.

“I
am
pleased,” he admitted. “I love children. I imagine I shall love ours exceedingly.”

“But Derek,” she protested. “It shall be a bastard.”

“Why?”

She let out a frustrated sound. “I should think it rather obvious.”

“We are not wed. Clearly. But that can be resolved easily enough.” 

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t inflict bastardy on anyone,” he said evenly. He had to tread carefully. Somehow, he’d find a way to keep his secret and marry Ros. He had to, after all. And whilst lying was the least desirable thing, he suddenly felt absolute, bloody happiness that life had taken care of his dilemma. He
had
to marry her. Whether he was deserving or no. Somehow he’d make it up to her.

“What about Tony?” she asked softly.

“I’d have married his mother if I’d known.”

“B-but you’re a duke.”

It was true, Tony’s mother had been of common station. Even lower in some eyes as an Irish gypsy. But he’d cared for her and she’d been the mother of his child. If he’d known about Tony, it would have been his only chosen course.

“I wasn’t a duke then,” he said. “And frankly, I wouldn’t have cared if I was.”

“Truly?” Rosamund asked, shock making her voice higher than usual.

“Yes.”

She was silent for a long time before saying flatly, “You didn’t want to marry me before.”

“No. But not because of you,” he explained. “Because of me.”

“What is it about you that would prevent it?”

To that, he couldn’t reply. “That’s none of your business,” he said with a degree of seriousness that he had not intended.

“It bloody well is, mon.”

He nearly laughed as her accent came full force, but he suppressed it. He doubted she wished to be laughed at just now but, God, he loved to see her in her full glory, eyes flashing, voice thick with a burr.

“It isn’t,” he said, holding firm.

She gaped at him. “You wish me to be your wife but it’s not my business?”

“Husbands and wives don’t have to share everything.”

Her eye twitched.
Twitched
. And he realized he’d taken a very wrong tack. His pleasure at her passion dimmed as he realized he’d backed himself into a dangerous corner. Now what? He couldn’t go back. No. He’d have to go further, wouldn’t he?

“You don’t wish to marry me, now do you?” he said lightly. “Not if there wasn’t the child.”

Something flitted across her features before she lifted her chin and said, “No. I’m not sure I wish to marry you now.”

“But you will,” he said, suddenly unable to stop smiling. His emotions seemed entirely at contrast to what he was supposed to be feeling.

“Why are you so happy?” she demanded.

“I told you. I love children.”

“No.” She eyed him up and down, suspicion written across her face. “That’s not it.”

“Yes it is,” he said, now feeling a hint of panic. Rosamund was a savvy person. And he didn’t wish her to see that, perhaps, he hadn’t held back when they’d made love because on some subconscious level, he’d hoped she might bear his child. He hadn’t done it on purpose. . . But he had not taken steps to prevent it.

“You were determined not to marry,” she pointed out. “Now, you seem all too pleased.”

He gave an exaggerated shrug. “I have to marry sometime. You’ll do nicely.”

“
I’ll do nicely
. As what?” she roared. “As your brood mare?”

“No!” he defended quickly. “As my duchess. Though several children would be perfectly acceptable. Since we’ve achieved one on our first go, I would assume that in the future—“

She advanced so quickly he staggered and tumbled backwards.

Right into the pond.

Chapter 19

Rosamund had, with some manipulation and some honest discourse, managed to get her brother to vacate the Highlands. It was true, she’d used tactics that wouldn’t be considered to be quite above board. But when such a thing as one’s happiness was at stake, well . .. One couldn’t really always be fair, could one?

All that mattered was that she had been successful and it was a pure delight watching him gnash his teeth as he followed Lady Cavendish around with hungry eyes.

In the past weeks, her brother had run a gamut of emotions. But now? Now, he was married! To the woman he loved, and Rosamund felt a heady dose of triumph which trumped her other, more permanent, mix of feelings.

Truly, there was only one problem. Her triumph was accompanied by horrific waves of fatigue and a nausea which might make the stoutest of fellows cast up there accounts.

There was nothing for it.

She was in that one state that the Dowager Duchess of Hunt had warned her about.

Oh, the dowager duchess had sounded hopeful that such a state would be unlikely. After all, how cruel could the gods be? It had only happened once and it had been her first encounter.

Apparently, either she or the duke was exceptionally fertile. Because that was all it had taken.

Now, she had to decide what she was to do.

She hadn’t seen Aston in weeks but she knew she’d see him today at her brother’s wedding. The two dukes had struck up an accord which had surprised and delighted her.

However, if Duncan learned that she and Aston had been playing at all sorts of intrigue without his knowledge, her brother very well might have his fellow duke murdered, honor or no. All that would matter was that Aston was dead.

So it was absolutely essential that Duncan never get hint of such a thing.

The dowager had been her confessor and had also immediately noticed her sudden unwillingness to eat and desire to head to bed before the sun had lowered beyond London’s horizon.

Said dowager was the reason she had cornered Derek and now had, for all intents and purposes, pushed him into the man-made pond.

The dowager had made it clear it would be the act of a coward not to tell Derek the truth.

She might be many things but coward? That she was not.

And so, as she attempted to tell him the truth, she’d studied him for a hunted look. A look of horror.

That look had never arrived.

Instead, a look of delight and, dare she say, relief had transformed his handsome face into that of boyish happiness.

And then? Then he’d rabbited on about their marriage, the unimportance of knowing each other’s secrets, and the veritable horde of children they were to have.

As if there were no obstacles to their marriage at all.

Well, she supposed there weren’t any actual obstacles. Not physical ones. But there was one very important obstacle. Neither of them had wished to marry. And now they were faced with it.

She glowered down at him as he sputtered and yanked a lily pad from the top of his wilting hat.

“I’m beginning to think Italy a very good idea,” she said.

“Never,” he riposted. “Too many Italians.”

She threw up her hands. “Derek, you need to be serious.”

“I’m sitting in a pond. What in God’s name is there to be serious about?”

“Our lives,” she countered.

“Too much seriousness is the death of happiness, in my experience.”

“And you’ve experience with happiness then?”

“Not much,” he confessed.

She snorted.

“You make me happy,” he said softly.

That was a surprise and it sent her off balance. “I do?”

He nodded, water dripping from his nose.

“Och, you great fool.” She rolled her eyes, unwilling to soften so easily. “Let me help you out.”

He eyed her askance. “I’m not entirely sure I should trust your assistance.”

She gazed heavenward, “Dear God, give me patience with this mon.”

All the same, he extended his hand and allowed her to help him stand.

Water poured from his clothes and he sighed as he plucked his hat from his head. “Ruined. It was my favorite, you know.”

“Derek,” she warned.

“Yes, dear girl?”

She licked her lips feeling that recent anxiety that had been all too common as of late taking root again. “We don’t
have
to marry. I
could
go to Italy.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “That is unnecessary.”

“It is if we can’t be honest with each other. I’ve no secrets from you.”

“And you wish to be my father confessor? Absolve me from all my sins, is that it?”

There was a darkness to his mockery she’d never heard before. A cruel edge that surprised her.

“I—“

“Come then?” he gave a twirl of his wrist, droplets of water flying about. “Shall I tell you all? And you’ll forgive me every transgression? And once I’ve been washed clean, you’ll find me worthy enough. . .”

He stopped suddenly and swallowed.

The duke looked away and when he slowly returned his gaze to hers, his usual affability was gone. “Ros, you’re going to marry me. No child of mine, that I can help, shall be born a bastard.”

“It doesn’t matter what’s between us?” she asked, pain lancing through to her heart.

He shook his head. “If you were so concerned about my secrets, you never should have risked this.”

“I never should have told you about the babe,” she whispered.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have. . . From your point of view. But you’ve done so. No turning back now.”

“You can’t make me marry you.”

“You sound like a three year old.”

She drew in a shuddering breath. “Yes. I do. But I’m frightened. I’m frightened of a life of misery.”

That darkness that had been in his voice traveled to his eyes. “If marriage to me makes you miserable, I’m sorry for it.”

“That’s not—“

“I’ll give you a very short time to get used to the idea and tell your brother that we are to wed. . . If you don’t, I’ll tell him myself.”

“You’ll do naught of the sort, you bastard.”

The man who had made her laugh and smile seemed to be gone. That hardness that she’d always known was there, coming to the surface and it burned her straight to the core.

“I am a bastard, my dear, and you’re stuck with me now. We’ll both learn to accept that.” 

“And if we don’t?” Dear God, she hated the pleading note in her voice. The note which pleaded for him to say that all would, indeed, be well.