Page 28 of A Marriage of Necessity

“My fault altogether,” he cut in.

She looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. His heart jumped.

“Thank you,” she said.

How different she was from Jacqueline. They seldom fought—well, they seldom fought when they were lovers. But on the rare occasion they did, she made him feel as if her acceptance of his apology was a boon from on high.

Kennedy gave Anne a sideways glance. “Are you against having a child immediately?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. I expected to have children once I married.” She looked up at him, a wry grin on her face. “I told him he could keep all his money. So, it seems I’ve talked myself out of the five thousand pounds he was going to give me once we have a son.”

He’d heard that. Had she known he’d been outside the room? Her responses to his father had been so different than Jacqueline’s. So…unaffected.

“Never mind,” he said. “What matters is in the contract. I will ensure that he pays you the money.”

She released a sigh. “The birth of our child is reduced to a business transaction. I am not certain I like that.”

“Isn’t that why you married me, for money?” His heart unexpectedly accelerated.

She slowed as they turned another corner and the music from the orchestra grew louder. “It’s a common enough reason to marry,” she said. “But I’m liking less and less the idea of taking money for bearing a child, whether it is a day from now, a year from now or five years from now.”

“If it is a day from now, I will consider that most miraculous,” he said with a grin.

She laughed, and he found he liked the sound. “I promise you, that will not happen,” she said. “Still, I think I will refuse the money.”

“You could always put it into a trust for our son.” Our son. His chest tightened at the vision of her cradling their son before the hearth in their private chambers.

“I will have to think of another way to pay for the upkeep at Dover Hall.” She looked up at him, again, with mischief in her eyes. “You may begin giving me expensive pieces of jewelry anytime you like.”

Again, he laughed so hard his eyes watered.

* * *

Halfway home, a large crack sounded outside the carriage. Kennedy yanked Anne to him as the coach listed hard to the right. He slammed into the carriage wall. The ladies screamed. Louisa crashed into him. He hugged both women close as the carriage came to a jolting halt. The interior lamp went out and they were plunged into darkness.

“Mamma,” Louisa cried, and clung to Kennedy.

“It’s all right, Louisa,” he murmured, then said, “Lady Kinsley, are you unharmed?”

“Aye. Louisa—” she began.

“I have her,” Kennedy said. “She is unharmed. Anne, as well.”

The carriage rocked, then the door to Kennedy’s right was wrenched open and moonlight illuminated the interior of the carriage.

The driver stuck his head inside the carriage. “Is anyone hurt?” he demanded.

Kenney spotted Anne’s mother, leaning against the carriage wall on the other side of the door. “The viscountess, James.”

The footman helped her from the coach. Kennedy handed out Louisa, then Anne, and leapt from the carriage onto the sidewalk of the quiet street.

The right rear wheel broke, my lord.”

“So I gathered,” Kennedy said. “My lady.” He took a step to the viscountess. The sleeve of her left shoulder was torn and a gash in her arm oozed blood. Kennedy gently turned her toward the streetlight and examined her. “You must have fallen against the lamp.”

She nodded. “It is nothing.”

“We will have a doctor attend to the wound once we reach home.”