the sugared biscuits Cook put out. She was more tired than usual, but she’d been joining Welles at Elysium several times a week in addition to organizing her charitable events. Margaret had just assumed the exhaustion was due to her busy life.
He’ll grow to resent me again.
Margaret slowly caressed her stomach, wondering at the life she was now certain grew within. Her husband would not be happy at the news he was to be a father.
Nothing ever works out as I plan.
Welles would be furious. He would blame her, unfairly, as he had before. She could only hope, given the state of their marriage, he would come to terms with the child. Margaret would even agree to withhold the news from Cherry Hill if that was what he wished.
“No. I can’t be,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.
“You can’t be what?” Welles appeared in the doorway, smiling and looking ridiculously splendid in his riding clothes. He’d been up early, racing around the park as he liked to do, unaware his wife had just betrayed him in the worst way possible.
Well it’s his bloody fault as well. She thought of the things he’d done to her last night.
“Your cheeks are pinking, Lady Welles.” He leaned down to kiss her. “What are you thinking of?”
That I’ll lose you.
Margaret forced a smile to her lips. “Mrs. Anderson is attempting to convince me to publish my sonata. I’m not sure she’ll succeed. I don’t feel it’s ready yet.”
Welles kissed her again. “You must, Maggie. It’s a beautiful piece. And you’ve worked so hard on it.”
It was a beautiful piece. She’d written it for Welles, after all, though she’d never told him. Would he send her away? Insist she get rid of the child before it could be born? She already knew he would go to great lengths to hurt the Duke of Averell.
Her fingers tightened over her stomach protectively.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” he strode through the connecting doors calling for his valet, “Maggie mine.”
Margaret watched as Welles walked back and forth, various items of clothing coming off to reveal his beautiful form until his valet shut the door.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought—telling Welles he would be a father.
No. It was far worse.
40
“I am with child.”
Tony’s head lifted from his desk to take in the tiny form of his wife, standing defiantly before him in the parlor which he’d been forced into using as his study. He’d only just returned from reviewing the Elysium account books with Leo and meeting with several wine merchants who were vying for a contract with the club. Winthrop had had the audacity to demand his membership be reinstated, which was highly amusing.
Tony had denied it.
“Excuse me?” At first, he thought he’d misheard her.
“I said, my lord,” her chin tilted mulishly, and her eyes flashed dark fire at him, “I am with child.”
The floor fell away beneath his feet while his vision narrowed on Maggie, the words ringing in his ears. A brief, tiny burst of joy tried to make its way out of the darkness rapidly enveloping him, but Tony viciously stomped the light out.
His eyes ran over every inch of her, searching for the truth in her words. Tony was intimately acquainted with every inch of his wife’s body, and—his gaze dropped to the abundant spill of her breasts over the neckline of her gown.
Bloody hell.
The news shouldn’t be unexpected, given his inability to keep his cock in his pants when his wife was in close proximity. But Tony had ensured they took precautions, as he had for years, determined not to have a child before his prick of a father was in the ground and couldn’t possibly delight in the knowledge he would have an heir.
He stood and went to the sideboard, not even bothering with a glass as he took a deep draught of the bottle of brandy he kept there. Pausing to wipe his mouth he uttered, “Well, that’s bloody inconvenient.” All the feelings about his marriage, his father, his mother’s death, erupted once again after having been contained for so many weeks. At the moment, he detested his weakness for the woman standing before him. Resenting her and the child she carried.
“I know this isn’t what you planned. But it isn’t unexpected—”
“Because I fuck you so much?” He swallowed more brandy, feeling the burn go down his throat and into his belly. The bitterness, dark and ugly, gnawed at him. The promise he’d made to his mother