Untamable Rogue (Formerly: A Christmas Baby) (29 page)

“Dearest Lark, you must be four months gone, at least. I would wager your babe is due sometime in January or February.”

“Do you think so? You think I am truly with child?”

“I think you should see a doctor.”

“Perhaps I will, but I’d as soon not tell Ash until I am certain. Would you mind not telling Hawksworth yet, so Ash can be the first to know?”

“Certainly not. I adore secrets.”

“Besides,” Lark said, “I do not want Ashford to stop coming to my bed any sooner than he must.”

“He does not need to keep from you when you are with child, did you not know?”

“I know no more of babes than begetting them, but in this case, keeping Ash from my bed when I got with child was a stipulation of my own, given at the point of our original bargain.” She sighed. “I now wish I had not made it, but what can I do, but stick to my own rules, if I ever expect my husband to honor my wishes in future?”

“You have got yourself into the soup with this one, my girl. Methinks that only a good seduction will get you out of it. If you need help, Sabrina has taught me some delightful tricks, which I will be pleased to pass to you. I had already planned to send you home with a jar of Sabrina’s special “oil of seduction.” It will be of use in the event you put that plan into effect. Remind me to give it to you before you leave. Sabrina has it especially made by an apothecary in London.”

Lark heard a commotion outside the room.

“Oh, listen. Do you hear it? There is a babe, not my own, crying. Must be young Master Judson Chesterfield himself. Do you mind if we save our Christmas planning for our next visit? Claudia wants to meet you.”

Not at all, Lark said, delighted at the prospect of another visit and of meeting Hawksworth’s niece.

“I must caution you,” Alex said, “before the hoards descend, that to survive a Christmas House Party big enough to accommodate the rogues’ families, you will need truckle beds in the nursery, triples if you are smart. We have a tenant who makes them. Remind me to give you his direction before you take your leave.”

A beautiful dark-haired woman swept into the drawing room then, with a babe thrice Brandon’s size in her arms and a young woman in tow.

Alex introduced them as her niece Claudia, wife to the Viscount Chesterfield, and mama to little Judson, and Beatrix, Claudia’s younger sister.

Lark stood to curtsey, though it was difficult to stand with Brandon in her arms, and she gasped and held him tighter when Alex introduced her as the Countess of Blackburne.

“Countess!” Lark said with a laugh.

“And so you are,” Alex said. “Did you not realize it?”

“Oh but I cannot be,” Lark wailed. “I am not half good enough.”

Alex and Claudia disabused Lark of that dotty notion that very day.

The following day, after Ash left for London, Lark took the opportunity to visit the Blackburne Chase tenants, starting at the dower house. Olive and Stan begged her to leave Briana and Micah with them while she continued her visits. Children loved spending time with Stan and Olive, and hers were no exception. Though the older couple had none of their own, they loved children and gave them every attention.

Between cottage visits, Lark took the time to stop and visit old Doctor Buckston. The man’s short white hair stuck up in sparse tufts about his head, while his long beard hung full and waving. His constantly-furrowed brows, both thicker and whiter than the hair on his head, gave him the look of a large gnome bearing the disposition of the curmudgeon Ash named him. His growled greeting did nothing to alleviate Lark’s impression; neither did his ire at being disturbed.

He closed the door on what he called his laboratory before she could discern the nature of the haphazard projects scattered about, though at a glance the debris reminded her a great deal of Stan’s woodworking shop at the back of the dower house.

“So,” said he. “Are you itching for a second chance at shooting me in the ballocks?”

Lark blushed. “I apologize for the nature of our first meeting. I … I was afraid, you see.”

“Needed no medical book to diagnose that,” he said. “Frightened virgins’ always look so, though not another in my long life has shot her Lord and Master in the arse on their wedding night.” Buckston slapped his knee with glee.

Awed by his merriment, Lark wondered suddenly why people thought him cross.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked. “Out with it. I ain’t got all day.”

Ah, she thought. That was why. “I think I may be with child.”

“Guess Himself got his arse out of that sling you put him in, eh?” The medical man chuckled again. “Does this mean you’re not afraid of him anymore?”

Lark had discovered his secret. The old charlatan was all bluster. “How do I know if I am with child? Can you tell me for certain?”

“Don’t know why you’d want a brat. They’re all too noisy. Best lock ‘em in a room ‘til they can talk sense.” He winked, and asked all the same questions Alexandra did, and all but confirmed her diagnosis, based on the same evidence, enlarged and tender breasts, small hard mound of a stomach, missing monthlies.

Everything seemed quite straightforward and easy, until he asked her to lie on his table and lift her skirts.

When Lark yelped in outrage, Buckston whisked a bedpan before his ballocks.

Lark softened at his look. “Take heart,” she said. “My husband has confiscated my pistol.

“Smart man. Speaking of hearts,” he said. “You made mine near burst from my chest just now. I thought me worldly goods were done for.” The doctor wiped his brow with a sleeve, thanked a deity Lark did not recognize, and proceeded to explain his examination.

“When did you have your last flux?” he asked again.

“In late spring,” she said. “Near as I can remember.”

Buckston nodded.

Lark confirmed that he was a gentle man, kind and mannerly, who simply wore the guise of a curmudgeon.

“Well your husband’s pistol didn’t get confiscated, now, did it?” he said toward the end of his examination. “Because one of his bullets hit home. You’ve got one on the way for sure, Mistress.”  

Lark walked on air as she left his office that day. She was carrying a child. Ash’s child. A child conceived in tenderness, possibly even in love, on her part. She could not wait to tell Ash—

Oh no, if she told him, he would stop coming to her bed. She loved having him make love to her, even if that’s not what they were really doing. She loved sleeping in his arms, waking there too. His hands soothed her to her marrow; his kiss lulled her and brought her joy. She liked warming her cold feet against his warm man-parts, another pleasure she would miss without him in her bed.

Why had she made that terrible stipulation, and how could she change her mind now that the time had come?

‘Twas something she must ponder. She would wait to tell Ash of their expected child until she knew how to rescind her rule without making herself, or any future requests, seem trivial or foolish.

Once she told him, she would take Alexandra’s advice and make it seem as if she were holding to her stipulation, while seducing Ash back into her bed, in such a way as to make him think his powers of seduction had won.

When the time came, she would take out that milky-green jar and ask him to apply the oil of seduction Alex gave her, and perhaps even attempt the ploy of interrupting him in his bath.

Come to think of it, perhaps
that
might be a good time to tell him that she had cheated him into marrying her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lark hated that Ash was forced to remain in London for nearly two weeks in an effort to complete his inquiries into Briana’s paternity. By the end of the second, Lark had paced herself sick, imagining the worst possible results of his findings.

Sometime after midnight, while she lay wakeful and worried, she heard a coach stop beneath the portico. She shot from her bed, never so glad of anything than to arrive at the top of the main stairs in time to see her husband—handsome in his cape and curly beaver—step into the foyer and hand Grimsley his cane.

She ran down in her bare feet, wearing one of the new night-rails and dressing gowns he’d had fashioned for her.

Ash gave Grim his things and shook his head when he saw her coming. “I wonder you did not take the stair rail for better speed.” He chuckled, caught her in his arms, and kissed her with speaking passion. Twas everything she wanted in a homecoming kiss, except for the worry he attempted to hide but she sensed nonetheless.

“Bad news,” she said, stepping back. “I know you have bad news. We cannot keep her, can we?”

Because Grimsley stood nearby, holding his cape, top hat and cane, Ash did not immediately answer Lark. “The nights get colder as August comes to a close,” he said. “Grim, tea in the drawing room?”

Ash bid his wife precede him toward the room he found most soothing with its blue damask furnishings and silk striped walls. He sat beside her on the settee, where he took her into his arms and kissed her again, because he’d missed her so much, and then he kept her beside him so he could hold her as they talked.

“Pull your feet up and tuck them under your dressing gown,” he ordered. “We cannot have you becoming ill.”

“Can we not? Why?”

“Because you have children to raise.”

“More than Micah?” she asked turning him toward the subject troubling her.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Oh Ash, tell me.”

“Nora and her friend, Jane, lost touch after Nora married Ames and went to live in France. So Jane knows nothing but gossip about Nora’s last years and it is not pretty. Word is that Ames’ temper got the better of him, more often than not, and that he was responsible for Nora’s illness. When her lover called Ames out, Ames was killed in the ensuing duel.”

“Her husband’s rising temper could be the reason Nora sent Briana to you, then, could it not, rather than your paternity?”

“I thought the same, but Jane says Briana
is
my natural daughter. Nora confided as much when she was frantic to find her unborn child a father.”

Ash sighed and chafed his wife’s cold hands. “I am sorry, Lark. I know you wanted to bear my first child. I could see it in your face. But you love the one I already have, despite your disappointment, do you not?”

“Yes, Ash, I do. Yes,” she repeated, initiating another kiss, one filled with a meaning Ash could not discern. “Tell me, then,” she said when he would have continued. “What is the problem with our keeping Briana, if she is yours?”

“There is a man claiming to be Ames’ uncle searching for Briana. He claims also to have a letter from Ames naming him the girl’s guardian. He has made inquiries as to her whereabouts of Carstairs, our family solicitor.”

“Oh no,” Lark said. “Is he not the man who sent Briana to us in the first place?”

“Yes. Arranging an appointment with him is what kept me in London. I felt the need to meet with Carstairs myself, though I never used Briana’s real name, not even with our own solicitor. Good news, though. Carstairs has not as yet told this “uncle” where to find Briana and he has promised to look deeply into the matter and put the man off for as long as may be within the law. Meanwhile I have applied to Hunter to have the man’s activities investigated.”

“Does Hunter do such work?”

“Yes, he does, has done since the war, though the fact is not widely known and should be kept between us.”