Stunned, Aubrey looked back at Rhiannon, whose sky-blue eyes met his. She was carrying his child? He had been so careful…
Not the first time, his conscience reminded him.
He had been so carried away that he hadn’t completely withdrawn from her with enough haste.
“Rhiannon?” Whit demanded, his voice sharp. “Is this true?”
Still staring at Aubrey, she nodded. “Yes.”
A grin of sheer elation broke over Aubrey’s face, and he didn’t give a damn that it felt as if someone were planting him a facer all over again. Rhiannon was with child. His child. Their child. Perhaps a girl with flaxen hair who ran wild or a boy with dancing blue eyes and a penchant for mischief.
“By God,” Whit grumbled. “If the two of you don’t set a date for the wedding at once, I’ll have no choice but to thrash Richford a second time.”
“As soon as possible,” Aubrey blurted. “I hope.”
“Come, Whitby,” the dowager interrupted, rising from her seat and sliding a basket of embroidery onto her arm. “I’ve been meaning to show you my fern collection.”
“Christ,” Whit muttered beneath his breath. “Not the bloody ferns.”
But he obligingly offered the dowager his arm just the same. She accepted it, and the two began leaving the drawing room.
“I’ve just acquired the most delightful fern that’s native to the Mediterranean, theasplenium billotii…”
Whit turned back. “You have one quarter hour.”
Aubrey wanted to argue that it wasn’t enough, but his friend’s warning glare kept him silent as he watched Whit escort the dowager from the drawing room. When they were gone and the door discreetly closed, he turned to Rhiannon at last, opening his arms to her.
She flew into them, and no embrace had ever felt more right.
“You’re going to have a babe?” he asked, holding her close, his hands on the small of her back.
“Yes. I think so. I’ve missed my courses.” She paused, biting her lip. “I know it is unexpected. I didn’t know what to do.”
Realization hit him.
“My God, Rhiannon. You were going to marry Carnis while you carried my child?”
Her brows furrowed. “Everything was happening so quickly. I didn’t know what to do, and I had the babe to consider. I didn’t want our child to be born in shame, without a name. Can you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, my love.” He shook his head, furious with himself. “It’s my fault, everything that happened. I should have asked you to marry me the minute I recognized you at Wingfield Hall. If I had, you never would have found yourself in such desperate circumstances, at the mercy of a vile gossip like Lady Heathcote and being blackmailed into a marriage you didn’t want.”
At his mentioning of the viscountess, Rhiannon stiffened. He knew why.
“There’s something I must tell you,” he began, his voice hoarse with emotion. “A few things, actually. Perhaps we should sit. Are you still feeling ill? Did your mother send for the physician?” Belated panic swept over him. “What about the babe?”
This was all new, and it was bloody terrifying.
Rhiannon laid a gentle finger over his lips. “Hush. I’m perfectly healthy, so you can stop worrying. Dizziness and an uneasy stomach are to be expected, according to Mater. She suffered the same when she had Rhys and me.”
Relief swept over him, and he kissed her finger. “Good. Excellent. Not that you’re feeling ill, and not that you told your mother that you’re with child out of wedlock… Christ, little wonder she was glaring at me… But the rest, that it’s an ordinary occurrence and no cause for concern…”
He was babbling and he knew it. Rhiannon gazed up at him with sympathy.
“This is all new for me as well,” she said.
Bloody hell, this woman. She was stronger than he was. So much braver. She had given herself to him, had loved him,and had expected nothing in return. And all he had given her was heartache and fears over how she would provide for their unborn babe.
“You are far too generous where I’m concerned,” he said, taking a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you may change your opinion of me. If it does, I won’t blame you. But I must tell you, just the same.”
