The Ravencliff Bride (40 page)

“Ah!” said the doctor, “of course. There are several methods that you might employ, herbal salves for one. The right combination of herbs can be quite effective. And then there are devices that courtesans have used since time out of mind. A sponge affair, infused with the herbs of which I speak, has proven quite reliable for some time now. French courtesans have used it for ages. It’s only just gained popularity here over the last decade, but it is easily obtained, my lady.”

“How . . . unnatural,” Sara mused. She couldn’t imagine
how such a device should be used, and she wasn’t brave enough to inquire. “Is there nothing . . . else?”

“Do your courses come regularly, my lady?”

“Yes . . .”

“That being the case, halfway between would be a dangerous time, during which you could abstain, but the calculations would need to be precise, and there’s no way they can be. Each individual is different. There is no set pattern. Your physical makeup is peculiar to yourself, and what might be the case one month could be entirely different the next. Many outside influences affect the female cycle. That would without a doubt curtail the instances of safe cohabitation drastically, and you might well conceive once or twice before you’d gotten it right. It is the most natural method, but the least effective, and if you are thinking of suggesting such to his lordship . . .” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t. There’s just too much risk involved.”

This was not going well. Her embarrassment was profound, and had gained her nothing. Hot tears stung behind her eyes. She blinked them back. She would not outfit herself like a whore, and he was right, Nicholas would never agree to anything as risky as second-guessing nature. She would not trick him, either, but neither would she have his solution to the problem continue. It was her coil to unwind, but maybe . . . just maybe the good doctor might be able to point her in the right direction. It would mean being frank with the man, but she’d come this far. . . .

“Dr. Breeden, perhaps I should rephrase my original question,” she said. “Is it a certainty, in your opinion, that his lordship would pass on his condition to his offspring?”

“Of course not,” he responded. “Nothing is known for certain. That’s the insidious element in this.”

“That being the case, is there a direction you might suggest I take that might persuade his lordship to leave such matters to Divine Providence?”

The doctor smiled. “You do not need my suggestions for
that,” he said. “Women’s wiles have always had the ability to conquer we unsuspecting males. If such a thing can be done, you are the only one to do it—of that I’m as certain as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” said Sara.

“This is very important to you,” said the doctor, epiphany in his voice.

“It is vital, not only to me, but to him, and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Explain.”

How was she to tell him that she’d felt the pent-up power of emotion in him longing for release in her arms; felt his ache to embrace that release, and how he beat back the temptation to yield to the surrender that would make him whole?

“I am not just speaking of pleasuring a husband. There are many ways of doing that. What I want goes much deeper. It involves the spirit, and his God-given right to reproduce. He will never be whole no matter how we love, unless we love . . . completely.”

“And what of you, my lady,” said the doctor. “Are you not complete?”

“I am not the issue, Dr. Breeden,” she said. “It is not my fulfillment in question, it is his. I want to give him this. I simply do not know how, but I do know that I shan’t rest until I have accomplished it.”

“Accomplished what?” said a deep sensuous voice from the doorway that shot her through with heart-stopping waves of liquid fire. Nicholas strolled closer. His lopsided smile broke sunshine over her soul despite the dreary gray mist pressed up against the window, and the awkward conversation.

“Getting out of this bed,” she said, without missing a beat.

“Is that something in the offing?” Nicholas asked the doctor.

Breeden nodded. “If she behaves, I might allow several brief periods out of bed tomorrow,” he said.

“But that’s wonderful news!” Nicholas said, sinking down on the bed beside her.

“If I may trust you to see that she does behave, I shall go and consult Mrs. Bromley about the dosage.”

“Don’t worry, she’s in good hands,” said Nicholas.

“Hmmm,” the doctor growled. “I shall return directly.”

The minute he crossed the threshold, Nicholas took Sara in his arms. Burying his hand in her hair, he took her lips in a burning kiss that left her weak and trembling.

“Nicholas . . . I’ve been wanting to speak with you alone,” she said.

“Well, we’re quite alone now, my love,” he murmured while showering her face with soft kisses.

“Don’t,” she said, resisting. “I’m serious, Nicholas, we need to talk.”

Now was the perfect time to broach the subject of children. There wouldn’t be a better moment. He would never agree for himself. Would he agree for her? If it were true that he wouldn’t want to live without her, maybe . . . just maybe . . .

“I spoke with Dr, Breeden as you suggested,” she began, “and I’m afraid that I do not find his . . . unnatural alternative methods of preventing conception acceptable. May I speak my mind?”

His hands slipped away. “Of course,” he said his voice like fingernails drawn across slate. He was steeled against what she was about to say; that was evident. His posture clenched. The muscles in his jaw were pulsating in a stiff, steady rhythm. The sinews in his rock-hard biceps, stretched to their limit of strain, were visible bulging through his cotton shirt, but she had begun, and there was no turning back now.

“I love you, Nicholas,” she said, her voice quavering. “And I will never deny you pleasures of the flesh.
Ever
. But I want to give you children . . . or at least to try, and I do not believe you have the right to deny me this.”

“I have every right, Sara,” he responded, surging to his
feet. “We’ve been all ‘round this. I cannot conscience bringing another creature such as myself into this world. It wouldn’t be fair to it,
or
to you.”

“I have already seen the worst that it could be in that passageway below,” she countered. “Now, I will admit that it was somewhat of a shock that first time, but were it to occur before me here this minute, I wouldn’t even blink, because I love you—all of you—
both
of you. What makes you think that our offspring wouldn’t find such a mate as you have found in me? What makes you so certain that our child would even be afflicted, when Dr. Breeden is not certain himself? Do you presume to know more than he?”

“I cannot presume to take that chance,” said Nicholas. “If he is not sure our child would be affected, he is not sure it wouldn’t, either.”

“From what I understand, your condition is a lesser form of your father’s affliction. It would stand to reason that your child, if it were afflicted at all, would have a lesser strain than you. No matter what, it shan’t be the other way ‘round.”

“We do not know that.”

“We do not know
anything
,” she snapped. “That is my point. How can you deny me fulfillment on mere speculation? I call
that
not fair.” She hesitated. What she had in mind to say next could well drive a wedge between them that would separate them for life, or it could turn the tide. There was no way to be sure. He had moved away and begun to pace the carpet. “Don’t you want children, Nicholas? My children?” she murmured. He stopped dead and fixed her with his gaze. She couldn’t read the message in those eyes, or didn’t want to, though she met them bravely. If he were to say no and mean it, it was over. The issue would be put to rest with a word. But if he could not, there was hope, and she held her breath waiting—clinging to that hope—for what seemed an eternity.

“That isn’t fair,” he said around a tremor.

“How not?” she returned. “You haven’t been fair with me
from the beginning, and I love you in spite of it. You have lied to me—
blatant
lies, and lies of omission. You have put my life in jeopardy for the sake of pride, and your stubborn lack of trust. I want to know. I believe I have a right to know. I nearly
died
out on that strand, Nicholas. When one comes that close to one’s mortality, one sees all things from a new perspective. One cannot help but be honest with oneself in such a situation. I am asking that you be as honest with me, as I have been with myself. Can you—
honestly
now—stand there, before me and before God, and tell me that you do not want children . . . have no liking, or need, or patience or . . . whatever, for children—mine or anyone’s? That is all I’m asking. It is not a difficult question.”

He reached her in two strides, sat back down beside her, and took her in his arms. Tears gleamed in his eyes, glistening on his long, dark lashes, catching glints of reflected light from the dreary day showing at the window. Sara couldn’t meet those eyes. Though he blinked back the tears swimming there, they triggered her own.

“I cannot want children, Sara,” he murmured, his hot breath grazing her ear, setting it afire. “I cannot afford the luxury of wanting what I cannot have. That is why I closed the door on that prospect early on, and why it was never part of the arrangement.”

“There is no more ‘arrangement,’ ” Sara reminded him. “You put paid to that when you consummated our marriage. Everything is changed now, Nicholas. We are one. You are no longer responsible for yourself alone. You have me to consider. You needn’t answer now. I realize that you need time to think. What I’m asking is simply this . . . for the sake of my fulfillment as your wife, would you leave the consequences of our cohabitation in the hands of God, and love me as any woman has the right to expect to be loved by her husband?”

“Sara . . .”

“You are becoming more and more adept at controlling
your transformations with Dr. Breeden’s help,” she went on, laying her finger across his lips. “Is it that you fear to take the responsibility of teaching your son to overcome his affliction if needs must, just as you have done—because you
will
conquer this, you know. I feel it and I know it! Can you trust enough . . . are you
brave
enough to put our future in the hands of Divine Providence . . . not for yourself, but for
me?
That is what I need to know before we go forward. Search your heart, Nicholas . . . search it deeply, and well. When you can answer that question . . . come to me.”

Nicholas dragged himself up to the master suite to dress for dinner. Mrs. Bromley’s entrance at that critical moment with Sara’s dinner tray spared him answering her question, but nothing would spare him Mills’s inquiry. Was the man a clairvoyant? Nicholas was beginning to think so.

“Oh, my lord!” the valet breathed. “Has her ladyship taken a turn for the worst?”

“No, Mills,
I
have,” Nicholas snapped. “She wants me to leave this madness in the hands of Divine Providence, and chance having children.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“‘
Yes, my lord?
’ Is that all you can say, Mills?”

“Yes, my lord,” said the valet. “A wonder she hasn’t broached the subject with you sooner.”

Nicholas stared. “You agree?” he asked, slack-jawed.

“She does have a point, my lord,” said the valet, “and it is her prerogative to want children. She is a fine, healthy young woman, who, I strongly suspect, would make a fine mother—just as you would make a capital father, my lord, but for this ‘madness.’ Do you never long for such a life?”

“Of course I do, or I did . . . before I put it out of my mind. It isn’t possible, Mills. I couldn’t bear to pass this on to a child . . . to have it realize one day—just as I did on the brink of awakening to life and its pleasures—what I have done, and hate me for it—”

“The way you’ve always hated your father for what he’s done to you, my lord?” the valet interrupted. “Forgive me, but you have, with the help of Dr. Breeden, made phenomenal progress, and will I have no doubt one day be able to control the transformations completely. At least, that is the doctor’s prognosis. What you have done, so could your offspring do, my lord, and with less difficulty, since you have already set the example. And it may not even happen. There are no guarantees that your offspring would be as you are. To deny yourself on speculation”—he shook his head—”that is . . . unfair, to the both of you. You’ve managed well enough, when all is said and done, my lord. You’ve found your mate, without ever leaving this prison you’ve made for yourself. I would hate to see you lose her.”

“
Lose her?
I cannot lose her, Mills. How could I ever live without her now?”

“I think it’s time I tell you something that you ought to know, my lord,” said the valet. “It concerns the father you hate so for bringing you into this world. Your father, God rest him, never knew what was happening to him—not when you were conceived. Then, he thought only that he had a festering wound left behind by the wolf bite that would not heal. He wasn’t driven to get an heir despite his affliction, as you have always accused. He and your mother were very much in love. It surprised me, that, because so many of his peers indulged in social marriages for the purpose of breeding, and had mistresses for their pleasure. He never even knew what malady he had, let alone how it might affect you. If you must hate, hate the wolf that caused all this, not your father. He was its victim, just as you are.”

“But I
do
know, Mills,” Nicholas flashed, “and it’s within
my power to prevent more harm being done.”

“The question is, my lord, do you have the right to exercise that power? And if you do exercise it, how will that affect your relationship with my lady?”

How did this subject become open for debate? It had always been a closed issue—the one part of the arrangement that was nonnegotiable. Now it was staring him in the face, and those he loved were against him two to one.

“Things are different now, my lord,” Mills went on. “You do not just have yourself to consider any longer. Give your head a rest, and search your heart. Rational thought has thus far gained you naught in this that I can see, save error. If my lady has no qualms—”