Page 93 of Maid for the Marquess

He was right. My pride wasn’t worth such a risk.

Reluctantly, I obeyed his request, settling back into the chair I had so recently vacated.

“Now, then. Tell me, if you please.”

Alexander surprised me by sinking to his knees on the Axminster before me, his dark eyes searching mine. “Edward brings news of two fathers. The one you believed was your father up until so recently, and the man who was truly your sire.”

My breath caught, my heart pounding faster. “Barnett hasn’t returned to Wheaton, has he? You said he wouldn’t dare. Has he threatened you again?”

“He has done none of those things,” Alexander told me softly. “Because he is incapable of doing anything. Lord Barnett met an untimely end in London two days ago. Or, given his vile deeds, some might say timely indeed.”

Shock coursed through me, followed swiftly by relief. “He is dead?”

Alexander nodded. “Yes. Barnett is dead. He can no longer harm you ever again.”

I exhaled slowly, the tension seeping from me. “I do not wish death upon anyone⁠—”

“Then you are a saint, Maddie mine, and a far better person than I shall ever be,” Alexander interrupted grimly. “But of course, I already knew both of those things.”

“But I am glad he is gone,” I finished. “I am glad that he can no longer hurt you, me, or our child. It is a blessing that we do not have that worry hanging over us like a storm cloud. How did he die?”

“There are whispers that he was murdered by an unscrupulous creditor. Perhaps it was a footpad. I reckon we will never know for certain.”

I nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” The other half of what he had said occurred to me suddenly. I had been numbed by the news of Barnett’s death. But now, I recalled that Alexander had spoken of two fathers. “Mr. Warwick brought news of my true father, you said. What is it?”

“A miniature likeness of him,” Alexander said, turning the object in his hand to face me.

I gasped, a face so like mine staring back at me. A serious, handsome young gentleman. One who had loved my mother deeply. One I wished I had been fortunate enough to know and meet.

“May I?” I asked, reaching for it.

“Of course, my sweet. It is yours.” He gave me the miniature and then offered me the packet of what appeared to be letters as well. “Along with these. Stories of your father, that you may better know the man he was.”

Emotion rushed through me, bittersweet. “Thank you, my love.”

“Thank Edward. I didn’t venture to London and return with spoils,” he said tenderly.

“You asked him to go for me. You wanted to find the pieces of my past.”

He cupped my cheek with one hand, the other going to my stomach, cradling the ever-growing swell that housed our babe. “So that you can look to the future awaiting us.”

I glanced again at the miniature before reverently setting it on the table alongside the abandoned poetry book, then placed the letters there for safekeeping as well. I would read the stories of my father in good time.

Alexander frowned at me. “Do you not wish to read about him now?”

I smiled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from me. And it had. My life was complete. I was safe. I was loved. I was married to the finest man I had ever known.

“I wish to savor them,” I told him softly, love for him beating swiftly, furiously, jubilantly within my heart. “But for now, I want to savor my husband.”

His expression shifted, his lips turning up at the corners. “Is that so, Lady Wheaton?”

“Yes, that is so, my lord marquess.” I took his face in my hands and drew his lips to mine for a kiss.

How I loved this man.

I had been made for him, and he for me.

Of that fact, I was certain.