License to Kiss Page 3
“What then? Did you summon Lady Evelyn?”
“There was no time for that. I alerted the innkeeper, who summoned the local doctor. But there was nothing to be done. Your injury required the attention of a skilled surgeon and the nearest hospital was in Glasgow.”
“What occurred between you and me?” He could only hope it wasn’t as inexcusable as his fractured memory would lead him to believe. “Did we lay together in Scotland, Emily? That is what I must know.”
Glancing down at the carpet, she shifted on her feet.
“Emily, if I have done something to wrong you….”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, we were together. On one occasion. And that is precisely what I wish to speak to you about.”
Pushing out a breath, he leaned against the bedpost and regarded her skeptically. “What is it? A situation? A reward for saving my life?”
Emily opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Her face was flushed red and he felt a wave of sympathy for her. She was embarrassed and he could easily understand why.
“There is no sense in skirting around the material fact,” he continued. “You would like a bit of coin for your efforts and I agree that you are owed no less.”
If he thought she would be agreeable to a reward, he was very much mistaken. Her eyes went wide at his suggestion and her delicate hands balled into fists.
“You presume wrongly, my lord,” she said stiffly. “I would never ask for compensation for saving a man’s life. Indeed, I am here for another matter entirely.”
He stared down at her, bewildered. “And what reason is that?”
She closed her eyes and pulled in a breath, as though fortifying herself. For what? When she opened her eyes again, her gaze met his.
“I believe I am enceinte.”
Stephen stared at her for a full minute; certain he’d heard her wrong. “Apologies. Say again?”
“Enceinte,” she repeated. “In the family way. With child. Increasing, bree—”
He lifted his hand to stop her. “Yes, yes, that is quite satisfactory, thank you. I believe I understand.”
In the family way. Dear God. He glanced over her slight form with new eyes, searching for proof of her claim. But if there was any such evidence, it was hidden beneath that dull gray dress.
He titled his head to the side. “You could be lying to me.”
“I am telling you the truth.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Had I anywhere else to turn, I would not have troubled you.”
He searched her face for any sign of falsehood. She merely stared back at him, unflinching, her lips set in a hard line. If she was being deceitful, she was worthy of the stage. There was nothing but sincerity in her countenance.
He forced a breath out and shook his head. With child. With child. The words spun like a top inside his head. For the entirety of his twenty-seven years, he had taken a care to avoid fathering an illegitimate child. How could he have been so reckless? Even half out of his mind in pain and on laudanum, he should have restrained himself.
Pressing his palms to his eyes, he cursed under his breath. This was a farce, surely. God’s attempt at humor. She was coming to him now, just as he was about to offer for another woman’s hand? Her timing was tragically comical.
He dropped his hands to his sides. There was one last possibility open to him. “You said you believe you are with child. I assume this means you are not certain.”
She cleared her throat and glanced down at her bare feet. “A woman knows such things.”
He would not embarrass her by asking for the particulars. Indeed, he wasn’t entirely sure he would recognize the significance of such details even if she were to tell him. Like any decent gentleman he was utterly ignorant of female matters and he planned to keep it that way.
“Surely any number of men could have fathered your child. Why do you believe it is mine?”
Her head shot up so fast it made him flinch. He watched as her features transformed from confusion to disbelief, then to anger, all in the span of a second. Only then did he realize what he’s said. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Any number of men?” she repeated slowly, her voice dripping with anger. “What sort of woman do you believe me to be?”
“I only meant to ask if there could be—”
She advanced on him, her face drawn in fury, and did something he never expected. She punched him. Not a dainty, womanly punch, but a heavy, well-positioned strike that caught him square in the jaw.
His head jerked back as pain spread across the left side of his face. Sweet Jesus. Who was this woman? Meek one moment and a damned pugilist the next.
With his hand pressed to his throbbing jaw, he righted himself and glared at her. “What the hell was that for? It was a reasonable question.”
“Why must men be so boorish? It is possible for you to ask a question without implying I am a tart!” she screamed.
That implication had unleashed something inside her and he found himself longing for the quiet, polite woman he’d discovered in his bed not more than half an hour ago.
Though he had no experience with women who were breeding, his cousin had relayed every nuance of his wife’s ever shifting moods while she was expecting their first child—one minute weeping, the next cursing at him in foreign tongues. One evening, in particular, his cousin had sworn she’d placed a gypsy curse on his head.
Now it appeared Stephen had his own irrational female to contend with. Holding her gaze, he said calmly, “We will continue this conversation when you are prepared to be reasonable.”
He was never more thankful to be a blessed member of the male sex than he was at this moment. As such, he was the picture of rationality. He would control the direction of this conversation with the cool sense that had served him well all his life.
“Reasonable,” she repeated, though her tone held little of the calm he’d hoped to inspire in her. Indeed, she sounded a touch frantic. “Reasonable,” she repeated. Looking around wildly, she snatched a candlestick off the nightstand and drew her arm back.
“No, no, no.” He lunged forward and twisted her toward the wall in one fluid motion. Catching her wrists, he held it above her head. The candlestick fell to the carpet with a dull thud. “Christ, woman. Contain yourself.”
Too late, he realized he had her pinned against the wall with the length of his body firmly pressed to her much softer curves. His cock came to immediate attention and he found himself staring at her lips again.
There was something about this woman he couldn’t quite pin point. She was a maid, for God’s sake. She should be all but invisible to a man like him. But inexplicably she provoked his curiosity.
He was clearly off his onion.
Pushing away from her, he paced the length of the room, his heavy strides causing the floorboards to creak with every step. “What am I to do with you?”
A hotel was the most sensible remedy, but a maid installed in a hotel would invite curiosity. And curiosity invited gossip. Something he couldn’t afford to expose himself to. He’d worked too hard these last months to try and repair what remained of his family’s reputation. Reports of his relationship with this maid—whatever that relationship might be—could not reach Miss Westgate. Not until after the wedding, at the very least.
There was only one solution. The maid must remain at Durham House where he could keep her under careful observation—at least until a more permanent solution revealed itself.
“I will ask Mrs. Porter to have a room prepared for you. You will remain in this house until I have decided what must be done.”
Durham House was one of the largest in London and one could go days without encountering another soul if one wished. It was quite capable of concealing a maid who was with child—so long as she remained in her chamber.
Emily shook her head slowly. “I cannot remain here.”
“Of course you can and that’s precisely what you will do.”
“I only
came to ask for a loan,” she said, brushing at her skirts to avoid looking at him. “I would like to open my own seamstress shop, but I will need a bit of capital. I will, of course, repay you.”
He nodded. Yes, perhaps he owed her that much, considering. “Where in London do you plan to set up shop?” That would tell him how much capital she would require. Cheapside was not as expensive as Piccadilly and so forth.
“Not London,” she said quickly. “Somewhere else entirely.”
That gave him pause. “Where exactly, then?”
She shrugged. “Somewhere I can reinvent myself, start afresh. If I claim to be a widow, no one would have cause to question my having a child.”
That seemed sensible enough. “You may settle in Durham. No one will know you there. I shall make the arrangements.”
“I could not possibly settle in Durham, my lord.”
He lifted a questioning brow. “Durham is my family seat.”
“Which is precisely why I could not conceive of settling there. I mean to settle in a village where I am not known to anyone. That is the only way my child and I can ever truly be safe from suspicion.”
He shifted on his feet. “To be clear, you wish for me to give you money, so you may disappear without any word as to where?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
He hesitated. It sounded as though she had placed the perfect solution at his feet, wrapped up and finished with a pretty pink bow. With just a bit of coin, she and the child would be out of his life for good. Simple. Clean. Painless.
And yet…something inside him wanted to hold onto her with white knuckles. Since returning from Scotland, a lead weight had settled in the center of his chest. Some days the pressure was so great, it felt impossible to breathe, impossible to focus on even the simplest of tasks.
But when he saw Emily lying in his bed, her gentle features relaxed in sleep…something had lightened inside him—just a small shift, nearly undetectable. It was a lightness he hadn’t felt in months. Years, perhaps. If he allowed her to leave, he knew he would come to regret it.
Perhaps, in time, he could persuade her to settle somewhere close. If she were near Durham House , he could ensure her comfort as well as the child’s wellbeing. However, it appeared such an arrangement would take some convincing on his part. It was not a question of if he would help her, but how he could do so while keeping her and the child close.
“I will consider the loan,” he said. “But until then, you will remain here at Durham House .”
She pushed out a breath and shook her head. “And if I don’t wish to stay?”
“You will be well cared for, I assure you.”
There was a long stretch of silence as she no doubt considered her options. They couldn’t have been many or she wouldn’t have come.
“Very well.” Her voice held a note of defiance. “But if I wish to leave, then I shall.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her bravado. She couldn’t have known how wrong she was. She had been haunting his dreams for months and now that she stood before him, in the flesh, he would not let her go so easily.
Miss Daphne Westgate and her companion had arrived amid a flurry of trunks and spaniels. Five by Stephen’s count. They barked and pranced about freely, their tails wagging viciously as he walked through the foyer on his way to the parlor.
His mother sat across from Miss Westgate and her companion, who were seated on the settee. He took the opportunity to study the woman he intended to make his bride. She was pleasing in appearance, with tight brown curls, a wide smile and a willowy figure. Her manner was open and animated, but she lacked the delicate refinements of the upper classes. It didn’t signify. She would suffice.
His gaze drifted to his mother, who sat with her body inclined slightly forward, as though she wished to escape. Doubtless it pained her to step away from her patient, but propriety dictated she receive her guest. Her absence would be considered a slight—an offense their family could not afford to inflict. Far too much depended on Stephen wooing Miss Westgate, even if his mother didn’t know the true reason.
And he would make certain she never knew.
“It was so good of you both to brave the elements and join us here at Durham House .”
Miss Westgate smiled. “My dear Lady Durham, when I received your kind invitation, it became my fondest wish to join you directly.” She glanced around the room with her mouth agape. “I must say, your home is quite extraordinary. I have always wished to visit a house as fine as this.”
His mother smiled. “We are very glad to have you. I hope your journey was not too unpleasant.”
“Oh,” Miss Westgate exclaimed. “The weather was horrid. Many of the roads were nearly impassable. Thank heavens our driver persevered with very little injury to Miss Pearce and myself.”
Drawing in a breath of resignation, Stephen stepped into the room. Three dogs bounded in behind him, sniffing at his ankles, nearly causing him to stumble. “Miss Westgate, Miss Pearce.” He bowed stiffly and took the empty chair beside his mother.
Miss Westgate brightened and straightened her shoulders, which did little to improve her posture. “Lord Devon. It’s so good to see you again. It’s been far too long, has it not?”
“We last saw each other at the Tisdale ball in May, if memory serves,” he said.
“Indeed.” She smiled and touched her hair. “I believe you may be right. We danced twice that evening. Judge Addams was quite angry with me, though less so when he discovered you were my dance partner.”
Her guardian was precisely the reason Miss Westgate was sitting in Stephen’s parlor. Indeed, he was the only reason. Miss Westgate had no fortune, no breeding. Her father had been an attorney, if memory served. But when both her parents had died, she was left under the guardianship of Judge Addams, who was a close friend to the family. It was a valuable connection.
“Dare I hope Judge Addams approves of me?” Stephen asked.
“Indeed, my lord. He approves of you a great deal.”
“We were sorry he couldn’t join us this week,” his mother interrupted. “I hope he is well.”
“Yes, quite. Thank you. He doesn’t care to travel in the colder months. He much prefers to sit by the fire and complain about his aching joints,” she laughed.
“It was very kind of him to spare you,” his mother said.
“He is always kind,” Miss Westgate replied. “And he indulges me a great deal.”
A footman entered with a tea tray and set it on the table in front of them, bowed, then left. His mother poured, then handed each of them a cup.
“Oh, Miss Westgate cannot take cream,” Miss Pearce said. “It doesn’t agree with her.”
Miss Pearce straightened and pushed a pair of crooked spectacles up the bridge of her nose. She appeared wan, her skin a sickly grayish hue, her wiry brown hair tied up in some sort of braided knot. She must have been the same age as Miss Westgate, but she looked older somehow, which may have been due to her shapeless mud-brown dress.
Miss Westgate threw Miss Pearce a stern look as she took the cup and ventured a sip. “Don’t mind Miss Pearce. She is overly concerned.”
The conversation then turned to trivial matters. The weather. The state of the roads. Which shops Miss Westgate would like to visit during her stay.
“I have it on good authority that the Tisdales are in Town and that they are hosting a masquerade at week’s end.”
“Indeed,” his mother said. “Lady Tisdale called last week and I may have mentioned your coming visit. She has extended invitations to you and Miss Pearce, should you wish to attend.”
“Yes,” Miss Westgate squeaked. “We would be delighted to attend. I’ve never been to a masquerade.”
Masquerade. Dear God. His mother had kept that little gem from him. Doubtless she knew he would insist on sending their regrets. Balls were confining and tedious.
As the women droned on endlessly about silks and lace, Stephen’s thoughts traveled back to Emil
y…
He searched his mind for his first memory of her. She had been lady’s maid to Evelyn, but oddly, he remembered nothing of her then. As a maid, she would have been below his notice, just one of many servants floating in the background.
His first true glimpse of her was months later, in Gretna Green. It was a faint, distant memory, but the image was there, drifting across his mind’s eye like a fine mist. In Scotland, their entire party was at the inn. Everyone was three sheets to the wind and Stephen had gone outside to get some air.
That’s when he’d seen her.
She was standing there, head upturned, peering up at the dark, cloudless sky. The stars were a swirl of white and gold that night. And that’s where his memory extinguished. But he remembered watching her and feeling a twinge of…intrigue.
And now she was here, under this roof.
With child.
Getting his head around that fact was proving difficult.
“Would you mind terribly if Miss Pearce and I retire before dinner?” Miss Westgate asked. “I would like to freshen up and I fear Miss Pearce is feeling a bit under the weather.”
“Shall we send for Dr. Locke?” his mother asked.
“No, please do not trouble yourself,” Miss Pearce said. “I am frequently unwell during travel. The jostling of the carriage never fails to turn my stomach riotous. I shall be well with a bit of rest.”
“Yes, of course.” His mother stood and turned to the footman standing by the door. “Please ask Mr. Hawkins to see Miss Westgate and Miss Pearce to their rooms.”
As they stood and followed his mother out, Miss Westgate placed her hand on Stephen’s arm and leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiring whisper. “I very much look forward to renewing our acquaintance, my lord. It is my intention to become quite intimate with your family in future. Consider yourself duly warned.”
“I look forward to the prospect,” he answered.
Miss Westgate had just completed her second Season, but with no beauty and no fortune, she was no match for the more elegant and well-connected debutantes. And yet, against such odds, she had received an offer from the third son to a baron, not a fortnight past. According to Stephen’s source, she had given him no definite answer. It was then that he had persuaded his mother to extend invitation to Miss Westgate to visit.