Bound By One Scandalous Night. Diane GastonЧитать онлайн книгу.
have him find out later, perhaps in a letter from Tess.
It had bothered her greatly that he would find out after the fact and not hear it from her own lips.
He was here now, though. This might be her only chance.
But how to speak to him alone?
She could not think of any excuse to do so. He seemed not to pay her much mind, so would likely miss any hint she could try to send him to let him know she wanted to see him alone, with no one around. Just her and Edmund.
Eventually she excused herself, saying she was going to bed. Instead she put on her cloak and sneaked outside. She’d stand in the chilly September air until he walked out the door.
She waited in the stairs that led from the street to the servants’ entrance, hoping none of them opened the door and caught her there. The wind and damp seemed to find their way to her hiding place, making the minutes ticking by move even more slowly. How easy it would be to simply turn around and re-enter the house and tell herself she’d tried. He might stay for hours, might he not? Could she wait so long? Her feet, still in her dinner slippers, felt like ice, and her ungloved fingers trembled as they sought warmth in the recesses of her cloak. How long had it been? She tried to listen for the chiming of clocks, but all she could hear was the wind, an occasional carriage rumbling by or the chattering of her teeth.
Finally she heard the front door open, and she emerged from her hiding place, stepping into the light cast by the rush lamps.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps. ‘Amelie! What are you doing out here?’
‘I—I wanted to see you alone,’ she managed.
He took hold of her arm and walked her back into the darkness. ‘Tell me truthfully, Amelie. How do you fare? Your brother said you were not doing well. Are you ill?’
‘I’m not ill,’ she said.
‘Do not tell me you are still affected by Fowler.’
She almost laughed. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Then is it what transpired between us?’ He sounded distressed. ‘If so, I am so sincerely sorry—’
‘It is not that,’ she broke in. ‘At least not precisely.’
‘You must not allow that night to change you. You are still beautiful. More beautiful, in fact. There is no reason you cannot marry—’
She cut him off again. ‘There is a reason, Edmund! A very important reason. That is why I contrived to see you alone. There is something I must tell you.’
‘What is it?’ His voice was tense. She could not clearly see his face.
Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She took a deep breath and said words she’d never until this moment spoken aloud.
‘I am going to have a baby.’
The air was knocked out of Edmund’s chest.
A baby.
He knew efforts to prevent a baby were anything but reliable, but he’d ignored that. He’d allowed his passion to overtake him.
‘You might wish to ask if the child is yours,’ she said stiffly. ‘I assure you it is. And I am certain I am carrying a child. I have not had my courses since—since that night. I am sick every morning, fatigued all day, and I feel...altered. No one knows. Of course, they will discover it soon enough.’
‘A baby,’ he whispered.
She lifted her chin. ‘Do not fear. No one knows of our meeting that night, and I will say nothing. You will be safe from blame. I am perfectly aware I was the cause of this.’
‘No.’ He knew who was to blame.
She took a breath. ‘Well. There it is. That is why I wanted to see you alone.’
She turned to leave, but he seized her arm. ‘Do not tell me such a thing and then leave.’
‘There is no more to say,’ she told him. ‘I ask nothing of you.’
‘Nothing of me?’ he repeated. She wanted him to have no part of it?
Her eyes flashed. ‘I’ll not get rid of it, if that is what you are about to say.’
He still gripped her arm. ‘I was not about to say that.’ He was about to ask her why she wanted him to have no part in a child they created together, why she did not see what they must do, even if she disliked it.
‘I do not yet know what I will do,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps my parents will send me to France. I have relatives there. I’ve never met them, but perhaps they will be accommodating.’
He released her and paced in front of her, talking more to himself than to her. ‘You would give the baby away? Or pay someone to care for it?’ She preferred that?
She shrugged. ‘I do not want to do either of those things, but I cannot imagine my parents allowing me to keep the child. Think of the scandal I would bring on them.’
He came closer. ‘There will be scandal, no matter what.’ But he knew the right thing to do.
‘You need not worry about that,’ she said.
He need not worry? He’d been born to scandal. He never worried about what people thought of him.
Except for one person. He cared what Amelie thought of him, and it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him.
He was so close to her now his body flared in response to her, betraying him as it had that night in Brussels. He again remembered how it felt to lie next to her, how it felt to be inside her.
It wounded him that she did not want him to take responsibility for the child, but what did that matter? She must see there could be no other way.
He began pacing again. ‘I can provide for the child.’
‘Money is no issue,’ she said. ‘I have an inheritance, and my father can easily pay.’
‘I am not speaking of money.’ He was speaking of what must be done.
She cleared her throat. ‘I have no more to say. I—I thought it my duty to tell you. I truly ask nothing of you—’
Before he could protest, before he could tell her what he thought they must do, no matter how distasteful to her, she turned and rushed down the servants’ stairs and into the house.
She left him standing on the pavement. Alone.
* * *
Amelie closed the door and ran up the servant’s staircase to her bedchamber, fighting tears.
There. She told him. She’d done her duty to him and assured him she would not use the child against him. No one would ever know it was Edmund’s child; no one but her. At least she could console herself that he would be free to live his life, to build his fortune, to have his adventure, like he’d spoken of at dinner with so much energy and passion. She would do nothing to stop him, nothing to spoil his happiness.
She tore off her cloak and flung herself on her bed.
If only he had not looked so handsome. If only he had yelled at her for being so foolish as to allow a baby to be conceived. If only he had not roused in her those wanton feelings. Goodness! Merely having his hands gripping her arms made her recall how those hands felt against her naked flesh. Even in her predicament, she’d yearned to couple with him again, to feel that intense ecstasy that he created in her.
Well-bred young ladies did not feel such things. Well-bred ladies did not get themselves with child. They married for social advantage for their families and procreated to beget heirs, not because they craved a man’s touch and the thrill he could