Pleasurably Undone! (20 page)

T
he dream lasted into the morning and through the next days and weeks. Margaret tried not to think that it would come to an end when the two months were done.

Their nights were filled with loving. Margaret had not believed anything could bring more pleasure and happiness than that first coupling, but each night Graham proved her wrong. He was a generous lover, this hero of her childhood, this man she adored.

Their daylight hours were an idyll of another sort, consisting of long conversation, of reading to each other, playing savage games of piquet, or singing the silliest songs they could think of, while she played the pianoforte.

They took long walks. She’d even coaxed him out into the sunshine and fresh air. They walked through the garden and the wooded area nearby. The rare person they encountered took Graham’s appearance in their stride, probably hearing of his injuries and mask and not being surprised by them. He was not as fearsome as he thought; Margaret was pleased she’d been right about that.

A crack in the fragile shell of their dream-like existence
occurred when Graham’s man of business called with the papers that set up a trust to pay her brother’s expenses to Cambridge and her annuity. She’d gasped at the amount Graham had given her. She would be able to live in comfort wherever she wished. Neither the trust nor the annuity could be rescinded, even if Graham changed his mind. Andrew’s education and her future were secure.

Seeing the papers, however, reminded Margaret that the bargain she’d made with Graham was for a period of two months. And the end was rapidly approaching. The thought cast her in the dismals the whole day, and she could not explain her mood to Graham.

On the morning after the man of business had called, Margaret woke at dawn with a very unsettled stomach. Not wanting to rouse Graham, she slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and made her way down to the kitchen where the indefatigable Mrs. Coombs was already busy preparing breakfast. The smells, usually intoxicating, made her retch.

“You are up early, miss,” Mrs. Coombs said cheerily.

“Will you check if I am feverish?” Margaret asked. “I feel unwell.”

Mrs. Coombs placed her palm against Margaret’s forehead and then against her neck. “No fever. What is troubling you?”

“I feel nauseous.”

Mrs. Coombs’s brows rose. “Indeed?” She lowered them again to peer at Margaret. “Tell me, miss. When did you last have your courses?”

Margaret’s mouth dropped open in sudden understanding. “Before I came here.”

“I suspected as much.” The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d say you are not ill.”

She blinked. “I am not ill.” Warmth spread throughout her and she pressed her hand to her belly. “I am with child.”

“My guess,” said Mrs. Coombs.

Margaret hugged the idea around herself. “A child,” she whispered. She shook her head. “No, it is impossible. I was taught how to prevent it.”

Mrs. Coombs leveled a look at her. “There’s no preventing a baby that wants to be born.”

“A child,” she whispered again.
Graham’s child.
What could be more wonderful? A child to watch grow. A child to love, to help against the desolate loneliness of losing Graham.

Mrs. Coombs cut her a slice of bread. “Here. Eat this. It helps to have something in your stomach. Chew it slowly.”

Margaret chewed very slowly. “I feel better,” she said as she finished the bread. Indeed, she felt joyous. “Thank you so much.”

Mrs. Coombs nodded in satisfaction and turned back to her work.

Margaret paused before walking out the door. “Mrs. Coombs, do not tell Graham of this.”

The older woman looked up. “I do not keep secrets from him.”

Margaret walked over to her. “Please, I beg you. Do not say a word to him of this. It—it is my news to tell.”
Or not tell.

Mrs. Coombs put her hands on her hips. “Very well. I’ll not volunteer a word.” She shook a finger at Margaret. “But if he asks me, I’ll not lie to him.”

“That is enough.” Margaret gave the woman a hug. “Thank you.” She again started for the door.

Mrs. Coombs called after her. “I’ll leave a tin of biscuits in your bedchamber. Let me know if that does not do the trick.”

Margaret smiled. “You are an angel.”

Keeping the secret was not as easy for Margaret as she supposed it would be. She tried to hide her queasiness and her
sheer preoccupation with the fact that Graham’s child was growing inside her. She was quieter, and the change in her took away some of the ease between her and Graham.

This morning, Margaret had been fighting nausea when Graham reached for her to make love with her as he had so many mornings before.

He broke off abruptly. “What is this, Margaret?”

She sat up. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Do not play the innocent with me.” He pulled on his shirt. “Something has changed.”

She seized his hand and held it against her cheek. “Nothing has changed, Graham. I—I merely feel a little unwell this morning and I did not wish to trouble you.”

“Unwell?” He felt her forehead.

“Not feverish,” she said. “Unwell.”

He gave her an intent gaze. “Have you felt unwell the last few days?”

She could not meet his eye. “A little.”

“Then why not tell me before?”

“I did not wish to ruin things.”

He took his hand away. “Hiding it was meant to improve matters?”

A child had not been part of the bargain he’d made with her. She was afraid to tell him of it.

“Graham, I have felt a bit queasy in the stomach. I presume it came from something I ate.”

He peered at her. “Queasy in the stomach.”

She made herself return his gaze. “It is nothing.”

He gave her a skeptical look and turned away to dress. She watched him remove his mask, his back carefully to her and the mirror angled so his reflection did not show. After washing and shaving, the mask went back in place and he put
on his clothes, all the while avoiding looking at her or speaking to her.

Margaret held her breath as a wave of nausea hit her. At the moment, all she could think of was her tin of biscuits. She found her nightdress and crossed the room to her bedchamber and the bed she never used.

And her tin of biscuits.

He appeared in her doorway. “I’ll be down in the dining room.”

She quickly hid the tin. “Will you tie my stays first?” It was the one part of dressing she was unable to do on her own and it had been part of their morning ritual for him to help her.

Unlike other days, he did not enter her room. Instead he remained in the doorway as she hurriedly put on a clean shift. She stepped into her stays and positioned the garment, then she walked over and presented her back to him.

When he’d performed this little task for her before, it had been a lovely, intimate moment between them. Not this day. His hands were efficient at tightening the laces, but there were no lingering caresses, no murmured words in her ear. She felt his fingers tying the laces in a bow, but instead of a fond sweep of her shoulders, he merely stepped away and was gone.

She leaned on the doorjamb as another wave of nausea washed over her—and an encroaching fear that the idyll’s end had already arrived.

Graham sat across the table from her, watching her nibble on a piece of toast. His appetite was no better than hers, but that only convinced him that matters had indeed changed between them.

Only two weeks were left of the two months they had agreed upon. He had hoped to ask her to stay longer, but now
he wondered if he’d been blind to how things stood between them. Now he felt she might at any moment ask if she could leave early.

He could stand the silence between them no longer. “I have matters to attend to in the library.”

He did not wait for her response, but strode out of the dining room to the library, where he drew the curtains to block out the light. He found a bottle of brandy and a glass and sat behind the desk in the dark. He had finished half the bottle before the door opened.

She was silhouetted in the doorway. “What is this, Graham? You are sitting in the dark?” She marched over to the windows and opened the curtains. The sunlight he’d blocked out came flooding back like a triumphant army.

She turned to him and saw the bottle. “You are drinking? It is only nine-thirty in the morning.”

He lifted his glass. “In the dark, it might be any hour.”

She walked up to the desk and picked up the bottle, measuring how little remained. “This is nonsensical. You are succumbing to a fit of depression merely because I felt a little unwell this morning.”

He defiantly drained the contents of his glass. “Do not turn tables on me. You are the changed one, Margaret. You have been different ever since the money I promised you came into your control.”

Her chin shot up. “The money? You think I changed because of the money?”

He let his eyes bore into her. “Possibly. I cannot undo it now. The money is yours.”

She returned his gaze with a wounded expression that was quite effective. He almost believed in it.

“Oh, Graham.” She twisted away from him, walked back
to the window and gazed out on the garden where she had taught him he need not hide in darkness. She turned back to him. “I admit reading the papers and recalling that I would receive money for—for our time together did sober me.” Her arm swept the expanse of the nearly floor-to-ceiling window. “It was a bit like opening the curtains. It let the outside world back in, the reality. I did not much like being reminded of it. The money itself was not the cause.”

He poured more brandy, not because he wanted it, but because he needed to be numbed. “If not the money, then what has changed you?”

She turned away again.

“You are hiding something from me, Margaret. I am convinced of it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you the only one who is allowed to hide, Graham?”

He gave a dry laugh. “Me? I have been honest with you from the beginning. Have you been honest with me?”

She swung around to him. “Honest? Perhaps. But you have hidden yourself from me just the same. I am not to know who you are. I am not allowed to see what you look like.”

He stood. “Back to my face again, are we? I ought to have known. You will not be satisfied until you unmask me.”

She took a deep breath, as if attempting to muster courage. “I will make another bargain with you. Reveal yourself to me, and I will tell you what I have kept hidden.”

He met her gaze and held it, like one cat staring down another before lashing out with its claws.

It would serve her right to see him as he really was. She would finally understand the choices he made. There would be no chance she would stay, but he’d always known that.

Without any warning, he pulled off the mask.

He heard her swift intake of breath. Saw her eyes widen. But she did not flinch. She did not turn away. Instead she walked closer to him, so close they were inches apart. She raised her hand and touched the jagged scars that crisscrossed his cheek. With her finger, she traced the scar that caused the drooping of his eye and the one that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He forced himself to endure her touch. The sunlight was bright enough to illuminate every detail. None of it was hidden from her now.

He braced himself for platitudes.
It is not so bad, Graham. Perhaps the scars will shrink, Graham.

She was silent.

Finally she stepped back. He realized he was still gripping his mask in his fist. He lifted it to put it back in place.

She seized his hand. “Leave it off, Graham. Sit with me.” She led him over to the sofa, also bathed in sunlight.

He did not mind that the light made her skin glow and her hair, worn tied back in a ribbon, shine with gold, but that same light revealed the monster he had become.

She still did not look away from him when she sat with him. She continued to grasp his hand.

“Now my secrets,” she whispered.

She told a story of her childhood, of being chased through the woods by two boys, of falling and being pummeled with sticks and stones until another boy came to her rescue.

“By God,” he said. “I remember it. It was me. I had my father see that the boys were given a severe dressing down.” He gazed at her. “You were that little girl.”

She nodded. “I needed you that day and you needed me when we met at Vauxhall. That is why I agreed to your proposition.”

“You knew who I was all along? Did someone put you up
to this? The duke?” That he could not tolerate. It bore too close a resemblance to pity.

She squeezed his hand. “Not at all. I discovered by accident that Captain Veall would also be a guest at the party. When you gave me your first name, I knew you were Graham Veall.”

He frowned and averted his gaze.

“Do not worry,” she said. “I will keep our association as secret as if I never knew you. I give you my word.”

He sat back and rubbed his forehead. She had known all along who he was.

His eyes shot open and he leaned towards her. “This is not the cause of your withdrawal from me. You have known this from the beginning.”

She glanced away.

He took her chin in his hand and made her face him. “You are hiding something else.”

Tears glistened in her brown eyes, making them appear even more luminous. “Oh, Graham,” she gasped. “I think I might be carrying a child.”

He gaped at her, speech failing him. This he did not expect. A child.
His
child, growing inside her.

“I—I do not know for certain, so I did not want to tell you. You must not be concerned, though, because you have given me more than enough to support a child. And I am happy about it.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Very happy.”

She was carrying his child inside her.

She took a shuddering breath. “I did what I was taught to prevent it, but it didn’t work. But I am content. This will most probably be my only chance to have a baby, but I need not burden you with any of it.”

“Burden me?” he managed to utter. “I am not that sort of monster, Margaret.”