His frown became a scowl. “Who is the father, Jane?”
“I am not pregnant,” she told him. “It’s an impossibility—unless the child is yours.”
“You seem pregnant to me, and you wouldn’t have this morning sickness so quickly from my seed!”
“You ninny!” she cried. “I told you, it’s impossible that this is morning sickness. There has been no one but you, Nicholas. I have a flu, that’s all.”
His heart clenched. He gripped her shoulders. “What are you saying!”
She touched his face. “There’s been no one but you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never been with another man, Nicholas, ever.”
He stared, swallowing hard, stunned.
She smiled beautifully, touching his face again. “If I am pregnant, darling, it’s from the past few days or that time in the library. It’s that simple.”
“God.” Nick groaned. “Jane, this is the truth?” He was hoarse, barely able to function.
“Yes.”
She had never been with anyone but him. Never given herself to anyone but him. Had been loyal to him. He swept her into his arms and held her fiercely, rocking her, while hot tears stung his eyes. I love you, he thought. God, I love you!
But he could not say the words.
And then he wondered if she loved him. His heart beat painfully, exuberantly. She must! Why else would she have been faithful to him all these years? God, she must!
And suddenly he was no longer damned, but blessed.
Nick buried his face in Jane’s hair, clinging to her.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, her hands roving his back. “What is it?”
He couldn’t speak. So he just held her.
Two evenings later, the earl made his way backstage to his wife’s dressing room. Once again he had sat in the nearly empty theater through her entire performance, unable to take his eyes off her. She mesmerized him as she performed, and he knew he was sorely infatuated with her.
A dark man with spectacles was just leaving her room as Nick entered. He was the Criterion’s manager, and he nodded abruptly at him. Gordon was with Jane, looking somber, but the earl had eyes only for his wife. She sat on the sofa, pale and taut, surrounded by hundreds of white roses, which filled the dressing room. His white roses, and he smiled at the thought.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Gordon said. “Good night, Jane, Shelton.”
“Nicholas,” she cried intensely after he’d gone.
Instantly he came to her, took her hands, kissed them. “Darling, what is it?”
“You won’t have to send me any more flowers,” she said simply.
“You’re closing?”
She nodded, her eyes large and luminous.
He hugged her, and she rested in his embrace, eyes closed. “There’ll be other shows, Jane. And you were wonderful. I can personally vouch for that.”
She sighed. “I think you’re not exactly objective.” The brief smile faded. “It’s just so sad when the show closes. It’s almost as if someone has died.”
He stroked the hair at her temple. He had wanted nothing more than to take her and their children to Dragmore, but now he changed his mind. “We will stay in London,” he said. “We won’t go to Dragmore.”
