Regency Rogues: Outrageous Scandal: In Bed with the Duke / A Mistress for Major Bartlett. ANNIE BURROWS
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father congratulated me for ensuring the succession so swiftly. It was about the only time he ever seemed pleased with me. But the irony was that it wasn’t mine. The baby she was carrying. It couldn’t possibly have been mine. And I was furious. All those months, while I’d been trying to be considerate, she’d been...’
‘Oh.’ It sounded such a feeble thing to say. But, really, what could she say to a confession like that?
‘When she died I struggled to feel anything apart from relief. You think that was wicked, don’t you? That I was relieved I wasn’t going to have to bring up some other man’s get as my own? Or to face mockery by admitting she’d cuckolded me within six months of marriage?’
‘She... Oh, no. The baby died as well?’
‘The pregnancy killed her. That’s what the doctor said. Something to do with her heart. I wasn’t exactly in a frame of mind to take it in. My father had not long since died as well, you see. I’d just...stepped into his shoes.’
She heard him swallow.
‘Later, I did feel sorry about the baby. And that was when the guilt started to creep in. I kept remembering standing by her graveside, feeling as though a huge burden had rolled off my shoulders. How all the problems I’d thought I had were being buried with her. How could I regard a child as a burden? As a problem? That wasn’t right. It wouldn’t have been the child’s fault. You, of all people, must know it isn’t right to inflict upon a child the feelings you have for its parents.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t. But you wouldn’t have done. I know you wouldn’t.’
‘You can’t possibly know that,’ he grated. ‘Hell, I certainly couldn’t.’
‘I do know,’ she said, raising his clenched fist to her mouth and kissing the grazed knuckles. ‘You might have struggled to be kind to the child, but you would have tried. Otherwise you wouldn’t have experienced any guilt over the way you felt when it died. You would have just shrugged your shoulders and walked away. You are a good man,’ she said. ‘And you deserved to have a wife who appreciated just how good and kind you are. A wife who would have at least tried to make you happy. A wife who wanted you to touch her. Give her children. None of what happened was your fault.’
He shifted in the hay beside her and gave a sort of disgruntled huff. Then he rolled onto his side, so that he was facing away from her. She might have thought he was putting an end to their conversation and establishing some distance between them if it hadn’t been for the fact that he kept tight hold of her hand, so that as he rolled the movement tugged her up against his back. Just as though he wanted to drape her over himself like a human blanket.
She snuggled closer. For he’d made it clear he hadn’t been rejecting her. It had been pride that had made him turn away, she was sure. Men didn’t like appearing weak, and he probably regretted spilling all those secrets he’d kept hidden for years. He’d made himself vulnerable to her. Because he trusted her. Or thought she’d understand what rejection of that sort felt like after the way her own aunt had betrayed her.
Yes, if any two people knew what betrayal felt like it was them.
She hugged his waist, wishing there was something she could do to ease his pain. To let him know that she didn’t think any less of him for struggling the way he had in the coldness of his arranged marriage, and with his feelings about the way it had ended.
And suddenly it occurred to her that there was one obvious way to do both.
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