To Catch a Countess Page 27
“Then I will do it,” she said, “but I won’t like it.
“Rudolf and Samantha will accompany us,” Alexander said, “and I will protect you.”
“You did not protect me before,” Victoria reminded him. “Why should I believe you will protect me now?”
“You’ll never know how much I regret hurting you,” Alexander said, “and I’m ready to prove myself to earn your trust again.” He lifted her hand to his lips and then rose from the settee. “Even if you do forgive me, I will never forgive myself.” At that, he quit the chamber.
Alexander dined alone in his office where he worked on ledgers, but his thoughts traveled up the stairs. His wife had not forgiven him, but her presence in their home comforted him.
He’d been so quick to judge her guilty and had failed to give her the courtesy of an explanation. The judge had been correct. He needed to open doors that he’d slammed shut and locked.
Simple words would not suffice. His wife had no reason to trust words that had already proven empty. Only actions would convince her that his promises were real. That would take time.
Closing his ledgers, Alexander left his office and walked upstairs. The house was silent, his wife and his daughters slept. In the kitchen, Tinker and the others would be sharing a cup of tea before finding their own beds.
Alexander walked into his chamber, undressed, and slipped into his bed robe. Deciding to check on Victoria, he walked into her chamber without knocking. The bed was empty.
“I’m sitting on the settee,” Victoria said. “You may join me if you want.”
Alexander crossed the chamber and sat beside her. “Are you ill?”
“The babe makes me uncomfortable,” she said. “He keeps me awake when I want to sleep.”
When Alexander put his arm around her shoulders, Victoria reached for his free hand and placed it on her distended belly. An expression of rapt amazement appeared on his face. He could feel his baby kicking and moving about.
“He is active. Thank you, Tory.”
Victoria leaned her head against his shoulder and eventually dozed off. After a while, Alexander carried her to bed and pulled the coverlet up. He stood in indecision for a moment, wanting to stay but wondering if he should go. Finally, he climbed into the bed beside her and pulled her into the circle of his arms. And then he fell into a deep sleep, too.
The next five days flew faster than the previous five months. Victoria passed the time with her stepdaughters who begged the fairies and pixies for a brother every day. With Bundles’s help, Victoria prepared a nursery but did not sleep in her husband’s bed. She knew he hoped for forgiveness, which she had not given him yet.
Victoria chose the loosest gown she owned to wear at the opera. The blue silk gown sported long sleeves and modest neckline and matching cloak. She’d pulled her copper hair back and knotted at the nape of her neck.
Standing in front of the cheval mirror, Victoria focused on her evening instead of her appearance. She did not want to attend the opera. Some in society would always believe her an adulteress. Everyone knew she could not read, incapable of even learning.
“Are you ready?” Alexander asked, walking into the chamber. “Rudolf and Samantha are waiting.”
Victoria turned away from the cheval mirror. “Do I look fat?”
Alexander dropped his gaze to her swollen body. “You look beautiful.”
“Do I look fat?”
“No, absolutely not.”
A smile touched her lips. “Thank you for lying.”
The ride to the opera was short and silent. Rudolf and Alexander climbed down first.
“All will be well,” Samantha said, and then climbed out with her husband’s assistance.
Aplomb. Victoria recalled her aunt’s advice. She took a deep breath and stepped down from the coach.
Holding her husband’s hand, Victoria stared straight ahead. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked through the lobby with her head held high. Several gentlemen greeted her husband and brother-in-law. Their ladies acknowledged her presence with a slight smile and nod.
Without pausing for conversation, Alexander led her toward the base of the stairs leading to the opera boxes. And then someone called to her husband. Standing beside them were Rupert and Miriam Wilmington.
“Good evening, Princess Samantha,” Miriam greeted her sister. Then she turned to Victoria. “How are you feeling, dear?”
Victoria placed the palm of her hand on her swollen middle and smiled at the older woman. “If you ever slander our child again,” she said, her voice soft, “I will cut your tongue out of your brainless head.”
“And I will hold you down while she does it,” her sister added.
Victoria turned her back on the Wilmingtons and started up the stairs. She glanced at her husband, walking beside her, and noted his smile.
Entering her husband’s opera box, Victoria sat between her husband and her sister. She refused to acknowledge the heads turning in her direction and lorgnettes being raised.
Thankfully, the opera began. Victoria could still feel the stares of many opera-goers. Her thoughts drifted to Miriam Wilmington. She could scarcely believe the woman’s audacity in greeting her.
Act One ended, signaling intermission. Society socialized during this time. Most opera-goers attended the opera to see and be seen, but her husband was an exception. He actually enjoyed the performance.
Prince Rudolf and Alexander stood to stretch their legs. Her husband leaned close, asking, “Do you—?”
“I don’t want anything,” Victoria interrupted him. “I dislike the posturing in the lobby.”
Samantha touched her hand. “I dislike it, too.”
“Tory, your warning to Miriam Wilmington was worth the price of admission,” Prince Rudolf said. “I am proud to call you my sister-in-law.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you for the praise.”
Victoria sensed a presence behind her and looked over her shoulder. Lord Russell began talking business with Rudolf and Alexander. With him was her next target, Lydia Stanley.
“Good evening, Princess Samantha,” Lydia greeted her sister. “How fares your family?”
“Very well, thank you.” Her sister’s reply was short and cooly polite.
“How are you feeling, Lady Victoria?”
Victoria stared at the woman as if she were a bug. Without saying a word, she turned her back and wished she had eyes in the back of her head. She would have loved to see the witch’s expression.
There were more than a few gasps from nearby boxes. One voice said, “Bravo.” Another voice said, “Touché.” That elicited a few masculine chuckles, and women used their fans to cover their smiles.
Alexander sat down and raised her hand to his lips. “She’s gone now.”
Samantha touched her hand. “Good job, sister.”
“Aunt Roxie would be so proud,” Rudolf drawled.
Her husband leaned close to whisper in her ear. “And I thought I would need to protect you.”
* * *
Three weeks later, Alexander sat with Duke Magnus, Robert, and Rudolf in the drawing room at Grosvenor Square. Upstairs, Victoria labored in childbirth, attended by her aunt, her sisters, and the physician.
“Why is it taking so long?” Alexander asked, his brow creased with worry as he paced back and forth in front of the hearth. “Is this normal?”
“First babies can be slow,” Duke Magnus said.
“Take a shot of vodka for your nerves,” Prince Rudolf suggested.
“Lord Emerson?”
Alexander saw Dr. Smythe walking toward him. The physician did not look happy.
“My lord, I’m sorry,” Dr. Smythe said. “I am losing mother and child.”
Alexander stared in disbelief at the physician. “I don’t under—”
“Your wife is fighting the birth,” Dr. Smythe told him. “She’s struggling to keep the baby from being born, and both are tiring. The child will come, bu
t I fear too late.”
“Why would Victoria fight it?” Alexander asked, panicking at the thought of losing her. “She’s been anticipating the baby’s arrival. Good God, she knitted twenty-three blankets.”
“I think she fears losing the baby,” Dr. Smythe said. “Your wife keeps mumbling about your taking the baby from her.”
“That is ridiculous,” Alexander said. “Why would she think that?”
“You did intend to divorce her,” Duke Magnus said.
“Do you love Victoria?” Robert asked.
“Well, of course, I love her,” Alexander said, flushing. “She’s my wife.”
“Have you ever told her?” Prince Rudolf asked.
“A thousand times in a thousand different ways,” Alexander answered.
“Unless one of those thousand was saying the words I love you, then you haven’t told her,” the prince said.
“Lord Emerson, you must convince your wife that you do not intend to take the baby from her,” Dr. Smythe said. “If you can’t do that, she and the baby may die.”
Alexander bolted out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. He burst into the bedchamber, startling her aunt and her sisters, and approached the bed where his wife lay writhing in the midst of a contraction.
Leaning close to her, Alexander took her hand in his and brushed sweat-soaked wisps of fire off her forehead. She had the desperate look of a fatally injured animal.
“Tory, listen to me,” Alexander said, his voice calm and gentle though his nerves were rioting.
Victoria turned pain-glazed eyes on him.
“Tell her to push when the pain comes,” the duchess said. “Then pant when it stops.”
“Tory, please don’t die and leave me alone,” Alexander pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears. “I love you, Tory, and I don’t want to live without you.”
“You love me?” Victoria echoed, her grasp on his hand tightening.
Alexander nodded. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming down his face.
“Why are you weeping?” she whispered.
“I’m afraid I’m going to lose you. Please, love, push when the contraction comes. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”
“I hurt, Alex.”
“I know you do,” he said, “but if you push when you feel the contraction, the pain will soon be over. If you love me, Tory, you’ll push with the contraction.”
“I hurt,” she said, her voice mirroring her panic. Her hand tightened on his painfully.
“Tell her to push,” Dr. Smythe said.
“Push, Tory,” Alexander whispered against her ear. “Push, now.”
Victoria cried out as she bore down. Alexander could see her whole body trembling with the strain.
“Tell her to stop.”
“Pant, Tory,” Alexander said. “Catch your breath.”
“Again,” the physician told him.
“Push, Tory,” Alexander ordered. “Help our baby be born.”
Victoria pushed, and the baby slipped from her body. Hearing the wail of a baby, she lay her head back against the pillow, and the physician set the squalling infant on her belly.
“We have a son,” Alexander said to her. “A big strong boy. We did it.”
“I did it,” Victoria said, her fatigue evident in her voice.
“Yes, you did.” Alexander dropped a kiss on her brow. “I love you, Tory.”
Victoria crooked her finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Does he look smart?”
“Victor Douglas Emerson looks like a genius.”
“You want to name him after me?”
Alexander touched her cheek and smiled. “I want to name him in honor of the woman I love . . .”
* * *
The next afternoon, Victoria sat in bed and leaned against the headboard. She held her sleeping son in her arms.
The door swung open, admitting her husband. Behind him walked Darcy, Fiona, and Aidan who stood beside the bed to catch their first glimpse of the baby.
“Do you like your brother?” Victoria asked.
“Those fairies and pixies know what they’re doing,” Darcy said.
“Why is Victor so small?” Fiona asked.
“And wrinkled,” Aidan whispered.
“Victor will grow and his wrinkles will smooth,” Victoria told them.
“All babies look like this,” Alexander added, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I never looked like that,” Darcy said.
“Neither did I,” Fiona said.
“Not me, either,” Aidan agreed.
“Well, Mama Tory, how does the baby get out of the mother’s belly?” Darcy asked.
Victoria looked from Darcy to Fiona and then Aidan. All wore expectant expressions. “I’m sorry, daughters,” Victoria said, “but the stork made me promise to keep the secret.”
Their expressions drooped.
“Stork gave me a message for you,” Victoria told them. “Stork said you will learn the secret in the not-too-distant future.”
“Mama Tory and Victor need to rest,” Alexander told his daughters. “Your nannies are waiting to take you downstairs for cider.”
After they’d gone, Alexander leaned against the headboard. “Have I said the words today?”
Victoria shook her head.
“I love you, Victoria Emerson.”
“And I love you, Alexander Emerson.”
“I love you more,” he said, lowering his head to claim her lips in a lingering kiss.
It melted into another. And then another. Until, Victor Douglas Emerson screeched for his mother.
Victoria bared her breasts and touched her nipple to her son’s mouth. The infant quieted instantly.
“Victor is a lucky man,” Alexander said. “And so am I, my love.”
About the Author
Patricia Grasso sold her first novel after five years of writing for nothing but love. Since that time, she has sold eighteen novels and won several awards including the National Readers’ Choice Award, the New England Readers’ Choice Award, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice and KISS Awards, and the B. Dalton and Bookrak Awards for best-selling author. Her novels have been translated into fifteen languages and sold in twenty countries.
Table of Contents
Title page
Dedication
Reviews
Also available
Coming soon
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author