Patricia Rice (29 page)

“How long have you been ill in the mornings?” Wyatt asked.

With all the things to be said between them, this was the
least expected. Cassandra frowned and wrapped a curl from his chest around her
finger. “The carriage ride made me sick coming down here, that is all. I’ll be
fine when we’re home again.”

“Cassandra, we have not slept together this past week. Have
you been having your monthly courses?”

Shocked at the proper Merrick asking her such an improper
question, Cassandra frowned up at him. Crushing her embarrassment, she replied,
“No. Is that why you stayed away from me?”

Wyatt tipped her chin up. “Has your mother explained nothing
of what happens in a marriage bed?”

“Only that it is unpleasant. But I thought that what we
did...”

Her voice trailed off as a smile curved Wyatt’s lips. He
touched her cheek gently. “Yes, what we did is what happens between man and
wife. For some, it is unpleasant. I can vouch for that. We are among the lucky
ones. But did she not explain the results of our lovemaking? Come, Cass, you
are a country girl. Surely you know what comes of coupling?”

She stared at him in confusion. Wyatt sighed and pressed a
kiss upon her forehead. His palm sought her breast beneath the linen
nightshift.

“You have shared my bed for nigh on two months, my sweet.
Not once have you refused me because of your courses. Can you remember the last
time you suffered them?”

This was really too intimate a conversation. Cassandra
attempted to sit up and escape, but Wyatt bent to place a kiss upon her ear. At
the same time, his hand insinuated itself beneath her gown, and she groaned
with the pleasure they had not shared in a week. Desire flooded her, and she
arched welcomingly, turning to nibble at his throat.

“I’ll have your answer, Cass. It is important.”

“I don’t remember, Wyatt. Why is it important?” She suddenly
sat up when he withdrew his hand. “Am I ill? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Wyatt chuckled and continued unbuttoning the multitudinous
seed pearls of her gown. “Not ill, my love, just increasing, I suspect. I would
know better if you could bring yourself to remember some dates.”

Increasing? Cassandra searched his face for some sign of a
jest. “Increasing, like Christa? I don’t look like that. I’m not married. I can’t
be increasing. That means carrying a baby, doesn’t it? Only married ladies have
babies. So I can’t be increasing.”

She sounded so very logical that she almost convinced
herself. Wyatt continued smiling as he shook his head and began to push the
voluminous gown down over her shoulders. “Married ladies and ladies who
behave
as married ladies. What we do
here in bed is reserved for husbands and wives. That is why I have been trying
to persuade you to marry me. You are in all probability carrying my child,
Cass. You have no choice but to marry me now.”

Stunned, Cassandra scarcely noticed as the gown fell from
her shoulders. She didn’t look pregnant. He was making up that tale to persuade
her to his thinking. She couldn’t
think
when his kisses caressed her like that.

They had denied each other for too long, and the need was
stronger than thought. She gave herself up to his touch, reveled in the
pleasure of his flesh against hers. Only in the back of her mind did she understand:
he could be putting his child inside me.

The notion was compelling, more primeval than desire.
Cassandra rose up to meet his thrust with an eagerness and a fear unmatched in
their previous experience. Wyatt’s child. She could bear Wyatt’s child. The phrases
sang through her mind as her body convulsed with the frantic urgency of his
rhythm, and she opened wide to receive his seed.

She was pregnant. She understood it now. Somewhere deep
inside where they had joined, a baby had grown of their joyous coupling. She,
Cassandra Howard, carrying the Earl of Merrick’s child. The scandal would be
enormous. She didn’t care. Turning on her side to keep him inside her when he
rolled over afterward, she kissed his shoulder.

“When you first took me to see Thomas, that was the last
time,” she murmured sleepily.

Wyatt cuddled her closer, knowing what she meant. That was
well over two months ago. They hadn’t wasted any time. It had taken months to
get his wife pregnant. It had taken Cass a mere week or two. His joy bordered
on triumphant.

His arm tightened around her, and he prayed feverishly to a
God he had taken for granted too long. Blessings came in strange ways. He just
hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be worse than the plague of Job.

But as Cassandra lay warm in his arms, Wyatt imagined a
lifetime of nights like this, and he relaxed. It was worth every bit of trouble
she got him into.

When they finally set out for home, Merrick treated
Cassandra with such care that Lotta and Jacob immediately became suspicious.
Cassandra laughed and threatened to take his horse and leave him with the
cushioned carriage. Later, she was grateful for his concern when the corrugated
roads left her stomach in her throat, and he ordered an early rest.

They proceeded at a much slower pace than before, and
Cassandra felt stronger at the end of this journey than the other. When the
carriage drove past the drive to her house and continued on to Merrick’s home,
she leaned out the window in puzzlement, trying to find Wyatt for explanation.

It wasn’t long in coming. When the carriage rumbled to a
halt at the entrance stairs, Wyatt beat the footman to the door. Without a word
of warning, he slid his arms beneath her legs and shoulders and lifted her
clear of the carriage. Cassandra grabbed his neck for support, and then she was
resting comfortably against his chest while the Earl of Merrick carried her
across the threshold.

Thoroughly bemused, she heard him announce to the waiting
servants that his wife required tea and a hot bath. She still wasn’t certain
that this wasn’t some sort of practical joke when he carried her up the stairs
to the family rooms that she had never entered. But when she found herself in
his obviously masculine chambers and heard the dowager’s screams floating up
from below, Cassandra knew she had been well and fully trapped.

As Wyatt set her down upon the bed, Cassandra glared at him
accusingly. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You have never forgiven me
for locking you in my bedroom.”

Wyatt’s lips twitched as he met the gaze of his rumpled and
irritated lover. “I have never forgiven you for refusing my offer, puss. Now
you have no choice.” He caught her shoulders and gently pushed her back to the
bed. “It will be only a matter of weeks before it is official. Do not deny me
this time, Cass. There is the child to think of.”

The child. Well and truly trapped. She continued to glare as
the room filled with servants carrying buckets and tubs and tea. Lotta entered
with them, ordering the placement of the luggage, imperiously managing the
operation without lifting a hand to help. At the sound of the dowager outside
the door, Wyatt bowed regretfully and left her in Lotta’s care, closing the
door behind him.

She ought to call his bluff. She ought to tell all and
sundry that she was St. Wyatt’s mistress, and he had installed her in his home
under his mother’s nose. It would serve him right for his high-handed methods.
This was little better than abduction. He could never get away with this.

But Wyatt had a way of turning everything to his wishes.
Against Cassandra’s sound judgment he had taken her to his bed, given her a
home, obviously browbeaten Rupert into an annulment, and even got her with
child. She was beginning to believe there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do when
he put his mind to it.

There was only one flaw in this picture. She wasn’t a
Howard. The child she carried had Merrick’s noble blood and the ancestry of
some unnamed commoner who had got her mother with Cassandra and disappeared.

If she must choose between her mother’s shame and Merrick’s
future, she must choose Merrick. He had to be told. As the room cleared of
servants, Cassandra sent Lotta off to find the earl.

Had it not been for Duncan, she would never have thought
twice before telling Wyatt of her heritage. But she had to make him see that
this would never work, before Duncan blackmailed him into bankruptcy.

Waiting for the earl’s return, Cassandra lay in the tub that
must have served many noble Mannerings. She gazed longingly at the massive
draped bed on the dais between the two bowed windows. The window draperies were
pulled back only enough to allow in a sliver of sun and reveal the welcoming
window seats within. She could easily live out all her days here, sleeping on
those pillows, lifting her arms to Wyatt as he came to her during the night,
bearing his children on that bed. She would be secure here, and her child would
have a chance of happiness. Why couldn’t she be granted this peace?

The door slipped open and closed and Wyatt was standing
there, a ray of sun glinting off the rich chestnut highlights of his hair. He
looked immensely weary, but a smile curved his lips as he gazed upon her
lounging in the waters of his tub.

“Bubbles become you, my sweet. What is the urgent matter we
must discuss before you even have your tea?”

He handed her a towel as she rose from the tub, but he
refrained from doing more than discarding his soiled riding jacket and cravat.

Cassandra bit back a protest as she reached for her robe.
This was his bedroom and he was entitled to undress. She felt no shyness in
standing naked before him, but she wanted his attention on what she had to say,
not on what she wasn’t wearing. If he proceeded to undress, she would have
great difficulty in forming the words.

“Wyatt, I did not reject your original proposal without good
reason. I do wish you would believe me.”

Relieved of the nuisance of his coat, Wyatt undid the
fastenings of his cuff. He deliberately shed his waistcoat while speaking with
apparent disinterest. “Your marriage will shortly be ended, Cass. It was a
mockery of a marriage and well you know it. I can see no other reason why you
can’t be my wife.”

Cassandra held the robe tightly around her. Perhaps he was
older and wiser and better able to control the situations that sent her fleeing
into the night, but this time the situation was beyond his control.

“Wyatt, sit still and hear me out. I will say this only
once. I never thought to shame my mother by revealing her secrets, but I cannot
shame you by keeping them. Will you listen?”

Wyatt dropped his waistcoat to study her. “I am listening,
Cass, but I doubt that there is anything you can say to change my mind.”

Cassandra nodded and gathered her thoughts. She’d only ever
been sought after for one thing in her life—that she was the daughter of a marquess.
She could not face him as she named herself bastard.

“I am not the daughter of the Marquess of Eddings, Wyatt.
Look at me, then look at Duncan. He is the image of the late marquess. Have you
ever seen so dark a parent breed so fair a child?” She mouthed the words that
Duncan had once thrown at her. They had been meaningless then, but she
understood them now. Her mind wandered, wondering what the child inside her
would look like.

“Never have I seen so fair a child, nor woman.” Wyatt
circled Cassandra’s waist, sheltering her against his chest. “Actually, it is
quite a relief to believe you are not of Howard’s tainted blood. I feared
waking up one day to discover our child looked just like Duncan.”

Cassandra smothered a nervous laugh. “You have no fear of
that, perhaps, but what kind of person would have sired me and then left my
mother to suffer the result? All I know is that he is not of the nobility. He
could have been a footman for all I am aware.”

Wyatt swung her around, pulled her into his arms, and kissed
her thoroughly. While she was still breathless, he replied, “Then he was one
handsome, talented footman, and I welcome him to the family. You can make up
any tale you like, Cass. I still intend to marry you.”

He didn’t believe her. He wouldn’t believe her about Duncan
either. Her brother would make Wyatt’s life a misery until he had what he
wanted, and he never ran out of wants. She couldn’t do that to Wyatt. She
couldn’t.

But she couldn’t leave either. Giving herself up to Wyatt’s
impassioned kisses, she vowed to think about it later.

“I don’t believe a word of it. He could not possibly have
married you. It is not like Wyatt to behave so impulsively.”

Cassandra moved a rose into closer proximity with a lovely
branch of white flowers in the vase and wondered what the name of the plant might
be she had stolen it from. She would ask Lotta.

To the dowager’s spiteful remarks she replied, “Not at all
impulsive, Mother.” Cassandra grinned to herself at the dowager’s furious
intake of breath. “He has planned the annulment for months. Surely he told you.”

She really shouldn’t torment the woman like that, but the
countess had huffed and puffed and made Wyatt’s life a misery. It was time
someone took the wind out of her sails. The dowager countess, she amended to
herself. Wyatt would have all the world believe that Cassandra was the new
countess. The idea was patently ridiculous, of course, but the charade was
certainly amusing. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taught to live a life of
lies—as well as the life of nobility.

“It is not right. I don’t know what this world is coming to.
Young people didn’t used to be so ill-behaved. They respected their elders and
married where told. I cannot like this.”

The dowager sat on the sofa and fanned herself against the
heat of the afternoon sun pouring in the salon windows. Cassandra had already
won the battle of the draperies, pulling them open every time the dowager
ordered a footman to close them.

At the monotony of this complaint that had been heard once
an hour every day of the last week, Cassandra sighed and stepped back to admire
her arrangement. “Perhaps arranged marriages like that of my parents are the
reason we have decided to choose for ourselves. I can’t see that Wyatt was
particularly happy with the marriage you arranged for him.”