“That’s the quickening,” Cook said. When Samantha only stared at her, she explained, “The babe has started moving. That’s the uncomfortable poking and prodding you’re feeling. It’ll only get more pronounced as he or she grows.”
Samantha looked at the four women huddled around her. “So I needn’t worry?”
“Heaven’s no,” Cook said with a light chuckle. “Now then, how about I fix you a cup of hot tea and a buttered slice of fresh bread to go with it?”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” Samantha leaned back in the chair and placed her hand over her belly. When she felt no additional movement, she decided her child must have found a comfortable position in which to rest.
Her heartbeats eased into a steady rhythm, allowing her to relax as well.
Until she read the paper the following morning and learned that the peace in London was over. There had been a new murder.
She made note of the pertinent details then blinked. Two weeks had already come and gone since this brutal crime had happened. The victim — a man named Stewart Warren – would be long buried by now. According to this, the perpetrator had yet to be found. No arrest had been made though Bow Street promised results.
She frowned at the words. Why hadn’t Adrian mentioned this when he’d last written? The most recent letter he’d sent had been postmarked five days ago. Nearly a week and a half after the murder occurred.
Annoyed, she tossed the paper aside and reached for more toast. This effort of his to shield and protect her from the world that existed beyond Deerhaven’s gates only made her worry. For him. Because she knew he wouldn’t be able to let this go — to not get involved in solving the crime. And with Finn O’Leary posing a far more personal threat, Adrian risked losing focus. A distraction that could interfere with his attempts at thwarting the bastard.
Unless, of course, he didn’t know about the murder.
She stilled, the butter coating the knife a hair’s width from her toast. That would certainly explain why he hadn’t mentioned it to her. It would also mean that Kendrick had not said a word to him either.
Or…
Maybe Adrian had chosen to keep the murder investigation a secret so she wouldn’t worry about him hunting another madman. Of putting himself in additional danger. Of possibly getting hurt, or worse.
She took a sharp breath and shoved her plate aside, nearly overturning her tea in the process. This situation was untenable. She couldn’t stand it one second longer. Being apart from her husband felt unnatural. Especially under these circumstances where she could do nothing to help him.
All because he wanted to keep her safe.
But what about him?
A sudden movement within made her realize her baby was once again restless. Almost as if he or she were trying to comment on what she was thinking. She considered this — the discomfort and the concern she’d experienced yesterday — then directed her gaze toward the attending footman who stood by the door.
“Please send for Emma.”
He rang the bell pull, ensuring Samantha would not be left alone for even a second. A frustration that steeled her resolve.
As soon as Emma arrived, Samantha told her, “I’d like you to set aside whatever tasks you have planned for today and help me pack.”
Sebastian Cooper, Duke of Wrengate, woke, his sleep disturbed by a soft squeak. His eyes cracked open, his gaze searching the dimly lit bedchamber for the source of the sound. Still fully clothed and slightly sprawled in the chair that stood in one corner, he winced in response to the twinge in his neck. He’d not slept well, or enough, but the rustling of fabric turned his attention toward the bed.
He straightened, ignoring the way the ache in his neck deepened in response to the movement. “What do you need?”
His youngest sister, Claire, stiffened, and met his gaze directly. The grim look in her eyes plunged a spear through his hardened heart. “What most people require when they wake in the morning.”
He started to rise. “I can help.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice was tight, filled with a quiet kind of fury that was born from being dealt an unfair hand. “I’ve already rung for my maid.”
“Is there anything I can do until she arrives?”
“No.” She averted her gaze, dismissing him as she reached for the cane propped next to her headboard. She had several, but this was her favorite. It was carved from rich mahogany and fitted with a brass handle, adorned by a relief of flowers and vines. She gripped it firmly in one hand for balance and used the other to help move her legs, until she sat on the edge of the mattress. A hoarse breath filled the air and she met his gaze once again, this time in a glare. “Get out. Go.”
“Claire…”
“I said I don’t need you.” As if realizing how brutal that sounded, she added a whispered, “I’ll see you downstairs when I’m ready.”
With a nod he got himself upright, then turned for the door which had just been pushed open by the maid Claire had summoned. A sturdy and capable woman, she wished Sebastian a hasty, “Good morning,” then went to help her mistress.
