as he put the umbrella up. “You are going home?”
“Yes,” she said, that tight, angry expression she reserved exclusively for him descending on her face. “Alone, thank you.”
He turned, nevertheless, and offered his arm and raised the umbrella over her head. “I could not allow it,” he said. “Take my arm and I shall escort you.”
But he knew that today was not the day to tell her the truth, after all. The truth must wait another two days.
Chapter 27
MARGED clamped her teeth together. It was almost impossible to get the man to take no for an answer. She always felt helpless before the power of his will—and she hated to feel helpless.
There was nothing formidable about a two-mile walk home even though most of the journey was uphill. And there was nothing so very uncomfortable about walking through rain. Rain was the norm in Wales. They had had an unusually dry spring so far. And it was not even a downpour, just a steady drizzle.
And yet here she was being escorted home beneath a large black umbrella. Her arm was linked through his and she was compelled to walk close to his side. The umbrella was almost like a tent, creating an illusion of intimacy. She could smell his cologne. As usual, she was very aware of him physically, and as usual she resented the fact.
This morning, before walking to the village, she had finally admitted to herself that there was a strong possibility she was pregnant. After five years of barrenness as Eurwyn’s wife it was hard to believe, but it must be so. And she had also made the decision that if nothing happened within one week from today, she was going to tell Rebecca. Not that she would try to force him to marry her—though her mind shied away in panic from the alternative. But he had a right to know, to plan their child’s future with her if he wished.
She had walked to the village on a very slim pretext and despite the fact that her mother-in-law had warned her of the impending rain. She had needed to be alone, to have time to adjust her mind to what seemed to be inevitable. She had not even called on her father, though she felt guilty about the omission.
And now this. She was going to have to walk all the way home at Geraint’s side—very much at his side—beneath his umbrella. And she was going to have to feel the pull of her unwilling attraction to him while in all probability she was with child by another man—the man she loved.
“There is no need to walk all the way home with me,” she said hopefully when they were at the end of the village street. “You will get wet.”
“Marged,” he said. “Soon you and I are going to have to have a serious talk.”
He was not going to let it drop, then, what she had told him the morning Ceris had been arrested. He was going to exact a price. “What about?” she asked him. “We have nothing to say to each other.”
“I believe we do,” he said. “We were fond of each other as children, Marged. More than fond. We fell in love when we were older. I believe it happened to both of us. Perhaps it would have deepened into something else if you had not been so very innocent and I had not been correspondingly gauche. And now? There is still something between us. I know I am not the only one to feel it. One can sense such things.”
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, wishing she could shut out this whole absurd, impossible situation. How dare he! But he is right, an unwelcome voice said inside her head. She wished that he was not approximately the same height and build as Rebecca. Perhaps that was what so confused her. With her eyes closed she might almost imagine . . .
She opened her eyes resolutely. They had reached the turnoff from the river path to the hill track.
“Listen carefully, my lord,” she said. “There is nothing between us. Perhaps you think you have some power over me because of what I told you at Tegfan a few mornings ago. But I will not allow you such power. If it is blackmail you think to attempt, then I shall go to Sir Hector Webb with my confession. And if you think I bluff, try me. I will not be your mistress. I believe