Lady Rosabella's Ruse - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,86
rose to a wail.
‘I think about his position every damned day,’ Garth said.
Rosa flinched at the venom in his voice. She wasn’t sure which of them was the worst. They seemed to take delight in flinging poisoned darts at each other. No. Garth was worse. He should be trying to reassure his mother, not tear her to shreds.
‘What would your father have said?’ Lady Stanford quavered.
Garth curled his lip. ‘We will never know, will we?’ He rose and held out his hand. ‘Come, let me escort you to your carriage.’ He took the half-full cup from her hand, set it down and bodily pulled her from the chair.
‘Garth!’ Rosa gasped as he physically pushed his mother from the room and towards the stairs.
Disbelieving, Rosa ran after them. ‘Garth, stop it.’
‘Stay out of this, Rosa,’ Garth flung over his shoulder.
‘Why are you being so rude?’ his mother asked as he hustled her down the stairs.
‘You know why.’
She stopped and turned around. ‘You know I only want what is best for you.’
He smiled grimly. ‘You only want what is best for you.’ He gestured for her to continue down the stairs. Rosa had the feeling if his mother didn’t go, he would pick her up and carry her out, he looked so angry.
‘Is she expecting a child?’ the widow said in a loud whisper while waiting for the front door to be opened.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, Garth. You said you wouldn’t have children. You told me after Christopher left—’
‘Enough!’ he roared, then lowered his voice. ‘I will deal with the problem of a child, if it arises. Now go.’
He hadn’t wanted children? A dart made of ice pierced Rosa’s heart. It seemed to stop beating. Her hands went to her stomach.
Rosa turned tail and ran up the stairs. She ran into the bedroom and closed the door, fumbling at the lock. No key. She darted into the dressing room. This door had a bolt. She drew it across and collapsed to her knees on the rug.
What did that mean, he’d deal with it? The way he’d dealt with his mother was positively cruel. Would he deal with a child the same way? How had she allowed herself to be so misled? His handsome face and charming ways hid a heart of stone.
How long would it be before he treated her equally coldly? And their child? And how would she bear it?
Tears ran down her face as she slowly opened the lid. She pulled out the flimsiest of costumes and held it to her face, inhaling the faint scent of jasmine her mother always wore.
‘What have I done?’
Chapter Fifteen
Damn her. Garth watched his mother’s carriage draw away. So sweet. So utterly false.
He swung around and went back into the house. Now he’d have to explain his bout of temper to Rosa.
Damnation. And damn whoever had run to his mother with the tale. Surely not Mark? But Penelope might. Women were so predictably malicious.
He took the stairs two at a time. The drawing room was empty. Sighing, he continued up the stairs to their chamber. He’d upset her, he’d seen that from the look on her face. He should have held his tongue between his teeth, but he’d grown so used to fencing verbally with his mother, he hadn’t even realised what he was doing until it was too late. Until he saw the shock on Rosabella’s face.
At that point he could have bitten out his tongue.
No sign of her in the bedroom. Then where…? Ah, the dressing-room door was closed.
On silent feet, he crossed the room, heard the sound of sobbing. Blast Mother to hell. He turned the knob. The door didn’t give.
‘Rosabella,’ he said softly. ‘Open the door.’
A sniff. ‘Go away.’
‘Open the door. We need to talk.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
A rustling sound had him frowning. Was she packing? ‘Open the door or I’ll break it down.’
More sniffles. Damn it to hell, he was never letting his mother across his threshold again. The bolt on the other side of the door slid back.
He opened the door. She was kneeling on the floor, facing him before the chest they’d found in Pelham’s house. He hunkered down in front of her.
She looked small and vulnerable crouched before a trunk full of old costumes. A strangely soft feeling invaded his chest. It had fierce edges. As if he could hold her tenderly in his arms, yet fight a dragon if need be.
The only other time he had felt anything like it was when Christopher