“They’re not scars, not really, I don’t think.”
His brow furrowed, he traced some of the other marks. “How did you come to have them?”
“It’s not important.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and within the green depths he could see a fear, a shame. He should let it go, let her have her secrets, but the thought of someone hurting her had him wanting to commit murder. “Vivi, how did you come to have them?”
Tears welled in her eyes and he feared hearing the answer as much as he feared not knowing what it might be. He watched the delicate muscles of her throat work as she swallowed, the sudden trembling of the lips he’d devoured last night. His own trepidation increased as though he were suddenly facing a hundred men wielding knives, because suspicion of how they’d come to be was beginning to lurk. “Vivi, tell me.”
“They happened when my belly increased... to accommodate your child growing within me.”
Chapter 21
Tears stung her eyes and she struggled to hold them back, knowing if she gave in to them, they’d flow until they drowned her. She fought to shove him aside, to scramble out of the bed, but with one powerful arm, he snagged her about the waist, pulled her back down, and covered half her body with his.
“You had my child?”
The wonder in his voice was a punch to her chest that gave freedom to the tears, that prevented her from keeping them dammed. She was devoid of words, could merely nod.
With one hand, he gently cradled her jaw, stroked his thumb over her cheek, gathering the wetness that showed her to be weak. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know. They took it from me.” The tears gushed forth as the sobs burst free. “Oh, Finn. I never got to hold it. I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl.”
The years of wondering and worrying and grieving crashed in on her, caused her to want to curl into a ball, to hide away from him, to hide her shame. But he wasn’t having it. He combed his fingers through her hair, over and over, while she bawled, her tears raining down her cheeks and over his chest. Then he moved away from her, and she didn’t cry out in protest or call him back. She deserved his rebuff. She hadn’t fought hard enough for it, hadn’t protected it, hadn’t been able to stop them from taking it away.
She was vaguely aware of the sheet and blanket being wrapped around her, barely realizing she was being lifted, carried away, cradled within his arms, her cheek pressed to his bare chest as he lowered himself into a chair, until she found herself curled on his lap. He wore trousers now, and she realized he’d left her in order to partially clothe himself, wondered if without clothing he’d felt as vulnerable as she did.
“Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice raw and raspy as though he’d screamed as much as she had when the midwife had swathed the babe and handed it over to her mother.
“I wanted it. Even believing you’d abandoned me, I wanted it.” She pulled back until she could hold his wounded gaze. “You must believe that. I was happy when I realized I was with child. Frightened, yes. Terrified, certainly, but happy.”
He skimmed the back of his hand along her cheek. “What seventeen-year-old lass wouldn’t have been terrified at the prospect of facing so much alone? Ah, Vivi.” He closed his eyes. “What a scapegrace I was to never once consider I might have burdened you with a child. Never once in all the time we were apart did it occur to me that I might have given you a bastard. The irony is not lost on me. You would have been forced to give it away—”
“I was going to keep it. I didn’t see it as a burden.” She pressed her lips to his brow until she felt the fluttering of his lashes against her skin as he opened his eyes, and she could once again hold them, find strength in them. “My parents were furious, of course. Mother wanted to take me to Europe, so no one would notice me increasing, to have me deliver the child there. But I refused to go. It’s the one time I won out against them—and I was so smug in my victory. Yet I knew I couldn’t leave London. I held out hope, against all odds, that you’d return for me. I didn’t know you were in prison.” She combed his hair back from his brow. The dark golden locks were a mess from sleep, smashed on one side of his head, the strands sticking out at odd angles on the other, and yet his rumpled state was such a balm to her heart.
“I’d have broken down the iron door, smashed through the wall, had I known you were with child,” he said.
It was a nice fantasy, but she knew the truth of it. He’d have not been able to break free, but instead would have simply been tormented more by his incarceration. “I came to Whitechapel, tried to find you, to give you a good piece of my mind for leaving me. Only I didn’t know where to look for you. I went to your sister’s tavern, but I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. I feared her judgment or having her tell me that you’d run off with someone or your whereabouts were none of my business. So I came and I went and I decided I was on my own in this.”
“You wouldn’t have been alone, Vivi. My family would have stood by you.”
“I saw the way they looked at me, Finn, that night at the Mermaid. They didn’t like me or trust me. Knowing more about their pasts now, I don’t blame them. But I knew I couldn’t rely on them. As I began increasing, I stayed in residence.”
“What of Thornley? What was he doing during all this time?”
“The duke is much older than me, you see. He wasn’t yet ready for marriage, and he wasn’t truly courting me. Mother told him I’d returned to the country because I found the Season too overwhelming, wasn’t prepared for it. There isn’t a particular age when a girl must have her Season. It’s whenever her parents deem her ready, so she told him I wasn’t. Urged him to give me time. I’m rather certain he merely saw it as an understandable delay, and he was willing to grant me whatever time I required. He didn’t pursue me. Instead he engaged in the pursuits of all young men his age, sowing his wild oats—only he could do it guilt free, thinking I wasn’t yet ready to wear the mantle of duchess.”
She fought not to recall how lonely she’d been, with no friends about, not daring to call on anyone who might discern the truth of her condition. Her only company was Miriam, who tended her. She had the occasional visit from her mother, who simply glared at her and sighed her disappointment. Her days and evenings were spent singing lullabies to the child, reading to it, and taking joy from its movements within her.
“Winter came, and everyone retired to the country, except for Mother and I. Even Father went. He was so angry with me, couldn’t stand the sight of me, would always turn away if we crossed paths. I fought so hard not to let it hurt, not to let him know it pained me to be treated so unkindly.”
The blanket slipped down from her shoulder, and he lifted it back into place as though he needed any small action to demonstrate he would protect her.
“When did the baby come?” he asked.
“The first of spring. There was still a brisk chill in the air. It was raining, I remember. It was my birthday, although there was no celebration, of course. I’ve not celebrated it since actually. It was a day wrought with sadness.” The tears came again, burning her eyes. “Mother just took it. I tried to stop her, but I was too weak. Through you, I’d learned of the fate that awaits a child born of an unwed mother. I knew how she would rid our family of my shame.”
It was as though she’d taken her rapier to his heart.
