And then he frowned and reached out once more—tentatively this time, and feathered his hand across her stomach. One couldn’t see it, not with corsets and petticoats being what they were. But a man who was pressed up against a woman, his hand caressing her, might feel it.
“Miss Barton,” he said slowly. “You have neglected to tell me something. Two somethings.”
“No.” She was unable to meet his eyes.
“That was your first kiss, was it not?”
She couldn’t bring herself to nod. Instead, she looked away.
“You said he didn’t force you.”
Her mouth went dry.
He shook his head. “Setting that aside—and how I can set that aside, I do not know… In all our discussions, in all the barbs we traded, was it not once relevant for you to mention that you were pregnant?”
Chapter Six
HUGO WAITED FOR HER to deny the accusation.
She didn’t. Instead, she leaned over and picked up his walking stick. He wasn’t sure if she was simply holding it between them to signal that their truce was over, or if she intended to hit him with it and walk away.
She let out a long breath. “And here I thought you knew.”
“How would I know? Magic?”
“I told Clermont,” she tossed back. “I assumed that what he knew, you—”
“Whatever made you imagine that he would be forthright with me? He told me this was an employment dispute. He told me that he’d hired you to take care of his unborn child.”
She raised her chin. “Well,” she bit off. “The position is unpaid, and he wasn’t referring to his heir. But that much was true.” Her hand had crept back to cover her belly. “Why do you think I’m here now? Why do you think I’ve spent days standing in the park? It certainly wasn’t for my own benefit. I am not going to fail my child.”
“Yes, and that’s the other thing. What sort of promises did the duke make to get you in bed?”
She was looking off into the distance. Her nostrils flared, and then she turned to him. “He promised not to wake the household.” There was a hint of a catch in her voice.
“No.”
She’d given voice to his blackest suspicions and painted them blacker still. Yet she stood out against that darkness like a blinding beacon. He already flinched from the thought of hurting a woman. But everything in him rebelled at the thought of causing harm to a mother. And by the ferocity of her words—the tell-tale touch of her fingers to her abdomen—she was that.
“He had made a few comments during the day,” she continued starkly. “I tried to ignore him, although it’s hard to ignore a duke who is a guest of the household. He made me uneasy, though. And then he came to my room at night.” The bareness of her recital was almost worse than the words she was saying. “I told him no; he insisted. I threatened to scream, and he said that if I did, the whole household would wake and they would blame me anyway. I had just started the position. If I lost it under such circumstances, I might not have found another.”
He swallowed back anger. “Why did you tell me you weren’t forced?”
She shook her head in confusion. “I wasn’t forced. I didn’t fight him.”
Hugh looked over at her. She seemed to be in earnest about the last. He wasn’t so certain. What the duke had done was not punishable by law, even if she had dared to bring felony charges to the House of Lords. If she couldn’t prove that she’d fought back, they would never convict him.
It didn’t mean she wasn’t forced. Somehow, what had happened seemed even worse than physical violence—as if Clermont had taken not only his pleasure and her future, but had robbed her of the right to believe herself blameless.
“I didn’t scream,” she repeated. “You tell me that you admire me as a worthy opponent. But you don’t understand. The only reason I refuse to back down now is because I refuse to let my child drown in silence.”
“You should have told me.”
“What would it have changed?”
Everything. There was a counterpoint to his father’s vicious words. It was neither loud nor insistent, but sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could remember his mother singing.
“At least I wouldn’t have made you stand all day, four days running,” he shot back. “I’d have understood that when you asked for recognition, you were not speaking solely about revenge. Tell me, Miss Barton, and tell me plainly. What is it you want?”
“I want funds enough for the future.”
“You’re looking for perpetual support?”
“No. That farm I told you about—I want to grow lavender, make soaps, and take them to market.”
He inclined his head.
“I want my child to be able to overcome the circumstances of his birth. If he is to be a duke’s son, he should have some advantages. I want him to go to Eton. Or, if she’s a girl, to have a Season. Clermont is the father. He owes his child some sort of future, and I will not go away until it’s secured.”
Hugo exhaled and tried to imagine the duke taking responsibility. He tried to imagine the duchess understanding. No use; it would never happen.
He tried to imagine himself driving Serena away—but that was an even more futile prospect. He was trapped between an improbability and an unlikelihood.
He frowned. “I’ll need to look into a few things,” he said. “But we’ll talk tomorrow—let us say at eleven in the morning. And this time I mean it. No threats—not from either of us. This is a problem.”
He reached out and set his hand over hers on the walking stick. She raised her eyes to his, wide and luminous.
“I solve problems,” he said.
FREDDY HAD BEEN IN BED when Serena arrived last evening; she was still sleeping when Serena awoke, early in the morning.
Serena was just slipping into her shoes in the entry when a querulous note sounded behind her.
“Serena? Are you sneaking out already? Where were you so late last night?”
Serena’s heart skipped a beat. “Out,” she said.
“Out doing what?”
“Out being…out.”
There sounded the thump of feet hitting the floor, and then Freddy turned the corner. Her countenance was screwed into worried little lines.
“You arrived in someone’s company,” she said. “I watched you.”
And she’d thought Freddy asleep. Her sister had likely been too upset to speak. There was no use denying the accusation, though, so Serena simply picked up her cloak.