Camille’s insides turned to lead. “You think I did this on purpose?”
He whirled on her. “What else do you expect me to think? You work in a pleasure house, for God’s sake! Did you not think to take anything after to prevent unwanted surprises?”
“Unwanted.”The word ricocheted inside her chest like a bullet, its lead ball ripping her apart. Her words, when they came, were from a year ago, when a different duke had used the same word to describe her. “I expected you to believe I would never reveal anything that would compromise you or your family. What would I possibly have to gain?”
“Who knows? Women are always scheming to keep a man entangled.”
“Entangled?” Camille saw the true panic on his face. He didn’t trust her. He thought she’d intentionally become pregnant to keep him close. The knowledge struck her deep.
She stood from the table and kept her voice low so as to not disturb Victoria next door with Mr. White. “I have never asked anything of you. Not once. I made no demands and held no expectations because I knew reality is not as kind as the fantasies of dreamers.” Her rage turned to frigid stone, as did her words. “But I suppose an assuming, arrogant dandy too self-important to take a shit without a valet’s admiration of his skill could never understand that a woman could simply care with no more incentive than the warmth in her heart.” She strode for the door, her final words following her even as the door clicked shut behind her. “Good day, Your Grace. I find I’m no longer interested in tarts—of any kind.”
*
Renard stared atthe closed door.
What the hell had happened? He’d been set to profess himself like a besotted fool. How had this ended in a row? A row that felt damning to more than his idiotic manners.
He was angry. How could she let him go on about tarts when she should have told him about the baby first thing? The smile when she’d put her hand on her stomach...
He couldn’t believe Camille would intentionally withhold something so important.
Truth was, he didn’t believe it. Despite his idiocy, he knew women didn’t know these things instantaneously. Hadn’t she said the physician told her this morning? She hadn’t withheld anything.
He cursed.
He’d accused her of attempting entanglement, buthehad pursued her. She’d been an innocent when he’d taken advantage. Despite working for a notorious pleasure house, she may not have known what medicines to take to keep her womb infertile. Who knew how much she interacted with the other girls?Hewas the one who’d camped out in the streets until she’d shown up, no doubt from a guilty conscience, to keep him from growing ill. And it was indeed he who’d bought the exorbitantly priced three-stone emerald necklace from the jeweler’s on Bond Street on his way here, thinking the green coloring would flatter her complexion as the perfect betrothal piece. He patted his coat pocket again to make sure it was still there.
With child.
If he were honest with himself, he was overjoyed. His shoulders hunched with some invisible weight hearing he was to be a father, but there was lightness too, far more radiating through his body than any sense of responsibility could drag him down.
And he’d been seconds from dropping to his knees and begging her to marry him.
The new Duchess of Lux, heirs, and a little laughter were a future he wanted. He’d never allowed himself to hope for any of it. Even if he could extract the foot from his mouth and convince Camille to marry him, Mrs. Norris and her son could make a case of illegitimacy and say his child wasn’t well-bred enough to inherit the title and estate.
“Simply care with nothing more than the warmth of her heart.”
Renard shot out the door after her, his temper redirecting its fiery scolding inwards.
Hang the title!
The woman he loved was pregnant with his child. More miraculous, she wanted him back. Instead of professing his affections, he’d driven her away. The timing was sooner than he’d expected, but surprise over her announcement was no reason to lose his head.
Not when all he’d wanted to do was to confess he’d gone and thoroughly lost his heart. She had a head start and a firm knowledge of the area, which left him at a clear disadvantage. His Milly could be anywhere by now.
God damn, he was a fool.
Chapter Seventeen
Camille was nowhereto be found. After scouring the club, before he was kindly reminded his access was a privilege and not a right by a large woman in a toga, he’d raced to Camille’s flat in St. Giles, only to be turned away by a balding man by the name of Mr. Rockford, who said Miss Forthright had yet to return home.
Less than a quarter hour later, Renard was back in the main office of the Prodding Pony, his mind and purpose clear after the vigor of his hunt.
“Whatever her debt, I’ll pay it,” Renard said.
Madam watched him from the other side of her desk, her gaze on a document written in a delicate hand. “There’s no debt.”
“What do you mean? You must have something over her for her to stay here.” He doubted Camille would take kindly to him interfering, but she need not know his involvement. If she were to choose him, he wanted it to be her own decision, without any financial need to force her hand.
