For a year, he had kept his distance to protect her from the enemies of his past, from danger, from himself. Now he was here again. Present. Exposed.
And they were both risking everything.
All for a child she was beginning, terrifyingly, to love.
Chapter Nine
That evening, the fragile peace Richard had tried to cultivate collapsed into something colder and more familiar.
The Duke of Hawksford dined alone.
He sat at the long table, the candles burning steadily, the courses arriving in proper order, untouched. He forced himself through several mouthfuls out of sheer habit, but the food tasted of nothing. His attention remained fixed not on the plate before him, but on the empty chair at the opposite end of the table.
Victoria’s place.
“Has Her Grace eaten?” he asked at last, setting his cutlery down with deliberate care.
Mrs. Davies hesitated, as if she had anticipated the question and dreaded answering it. “No, Your Grace. The Duchess has not yettaken supper. The child has been unsettled all day. Her Grace has been with her almost constantly.”
Something tight and unpleasant twisted in Richard’s chest.
He pushed his chair back abruptly. “That will be all.”
He did not wait for a reply. He rose and left the dining room at once, his appetite wholly extinguished, not by the lack of food, but by the knowledge that Victoria had gone without it. Again.
He found himself striding toward the nursery with longer steps than propriety required, irritation building with each one. He told himself it was concern for order, for health, for reason. That was easier than admitting the truth: the idea of her exhausting herself for a child that was not hers, and certainly not his, filled him with something dangerously close to fear.
The nursery door stood ajar.
He paused at the threshold.
Victoria sat in the lamplight, rocking Melody in her arms. The glow softened her features, gilded the loose fall of her hair, and traced shadows beneath her eyes that made her look achingly fragile. She had discarded her corset again, her gown falling naturally over her body, unguarded and intimate in a way she never allowed herself in company.
They looked … natural together.
The image struck him with startling force. A mother and a child, his mind supplied unbidden. And the thought that followed it was worse still:
Who was to say she was not meant to be this child’s mother?
He hardened his jaw.
He had not come here to indulge sentiment.
“Where is Mrs. Hughes?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended as he stepped into the room. “Why is she not with the child?”
Victoria glanced up, startled, instinctively tightening her hold on Melody. “I sent her to bed,” she replied. “She needed rest.”
“And you did not?” he asked.
She shifted uncomfortably. “I am perfectly well.”
“You have not eaten,” he said flatly.
“I will?—”
“When?” His temper flared before he could stop it. “Tomorrow? After you collapse? Do you imagine this—” He gestured sharply toward the infant. “—is accomplished by starving yourself?”
Her eyes flashed. “I am caring for a child. One that is not even mine, need I remind you.”
