“It really does only take one time.”
He shook his head. “But the doctors said—”
“They said two things. I might not conceive. That if I did conceive, I might not be able to carry a child the needed length of time. They were apparently wrong on the first part, but we do not know about the second.” Tears overflowed onto her cheeks, and Rose swallowed a sob. “I could—we—wecould still lose—still lose—” She could not finish the sentence.
Suddenly Thomas’s arms were around her, pulling her into a hug that surrounded her with all his strength. Rose collapsed against him, clinging to him, her fingers clenching his coat as the sobs racked her. “I am so sorry!”
Thomas picked her up and sat in one of the wingbacks, gathering her into his lap, murmuring her name over and over as he stroked her hair. Finally, he whispered, “I’m a fool. And I am sorry, more than I can say.”
He held her, both of them falling silent until her sobs eased. She leaned into him, finding strength in his warmth, his presence, and Rose grew calmer, more at peace. This man... this man was hers.
And worth fighting for.
She looked up at him. “Do you still dream about her?”
A look of agony shot across his face. “Rose, please do not do—”
“Thomas, it’s important. Please. Do you?”
“Why are you—”
“Do you?”
He paused, his lips pressed together. “Occasionally.”
She nodded. “I think your father was right.”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
Rose stroked his chest, her fingers toying with his cravat, his lapels, not meeting his eyes. “Your mother told me. That night. Your father suggested you go see her. Put your own end to it.”
Thomas remained silent several moments, his hands seeking their own way to fidget, in her hair, along her neckline. “And you agree.”
“I think it’s worth trying.”
“Rose, I do not love her. I do not want her, no matter what I dream at night.”
“I know that. But this lingers between us. I think you need to see her.” She leaned into him again, closing her eyes, relishing this moment between them.
After several long moments, he said, “Have you seen a doctor?”
“Midwife.”
“What did she say?”
“What I already knew. And there’s no way to tell anything else for now. She does recommend taking to my bed later.”
“Which would be pure torture for you.”
She pushed up and peered at him. “Yes. But worth it?”
He tightened his arms around her. “Yes.”
Rose rested her head on his shoulder, clinging to this moment of calm in the midst of their storm.
*
Thomas stood onthe pavement across the street from Katherine Carterton’s town home, an elegant but modest residence in Bloomsbury. She and her husband had purchased it prior to his death, and she cherished the home as a respite from the precarious nature of her situation—a widow with an inheritance but no substantial income. No income, that is, except for what came to her via her lovers.
