If I don’t have you, you don’t get me.
“What if I push him away and he doesn’t come back?” she replied.
“Well, then he is a bigger fool than any of us. Trust yourself on this, Bridget. If there is any man in this room in greater need of a loving family than Stephen Moore, I haven’t seen him.” Monsale bowed. “Just remember my words. Please excuse me, Lady Moore, I must go and have a quick word with Lady Naomi before I leave. She will take grave offense if I don’t.”
Bridget stood alone for a moment taking in the room—the small gathering of guests, the odd uncomfortable glance in her direction.
Her hand settled over her belly.
Forgive me if I fail. I won’t condemn you to a life of forever hoping your father might come to care for you, to show you his love. He will be your Papa in every way, or he will be a stranger.
It was a gamble. The biggest of her life. Bridget could only hope that it paid off.
With her back straight and her mind made up, she headed toward Stephen and Gus. Her new husband would be spending his wedding night on the road,and she would be at home praying for a miracle.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Bloody stubborn woman and her ridiculous demands.”
Fancy expecting him to live under the same roof as her and raise a family. Hadn’t he made his position on the subject clear enough? The marriage settlements were in black and white. Even the details of where Toby would live had been covered by the lawyers.
Nothing, however, had prepared him for this sudden change of plans. Bridget had pulled the veritable rug out from under him.
She sent me away. I didn’t even get a wedding night.
Stephen lifted the bottle of whisky to his lips and took a long drink. He was alone up on the weather deck of theNight Wind, watching as the English shore disappeared into the darkness. He had barely been a husband for a full day, and his marriage was already effectively in name only.
His arm dropped, and the bottle fell onto the deck with a large thud. He didn’t bother attempting to pick it up, rather he sat and stared as the whisky flowed out and over the side of the yacht.
“I should have stayed and demanded my conjugal rights,” he muttered.
He was angry and frustrated. And to make matters worse, even in his half-drunken state, there was only one person whom he could blame. Himself.
Bridget wanted a real marriage—to have their baby born into a functioning family. And she was set on demanding that he played his part.
What even is that?
His only experience of family was that of a twisted caricature, something that if you stared long and hard enough at it, you could just discern the outline of a blood connection. Nothing more.
“I thought I might find you up here, drowning your sorrows.”
Stephen lifted his gaze in the direction of the voice. Gus stood, hands on hips, staring at him. A look of great disappointment sat on his face.
“If you have come to judge me, you can sod off. I wasn’t the one who forced me to sail with you. You should take that up with my wife,” replied Stephen.
Gus dropped beside him and picked up the empty bottle. He shook his head.
“I thought you gave things enough of a nudge last night in the coach on the road to Moore Manor. Let that be your last drink until after we have got the shipment of brandy and are headed home from France.” There was an edge to Gus’s words, one which Stephen didn’t like. He sensed something was wrong.
Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Are you expecting trouble?”
The rogues of the road didn’t lie to one another when it came to matters of life and death. It was a firm policy to which they all stuck.
“Possibly. There is a new gang operating out of Lamballe a few miles inland from the coast. Former French soldiers who, according to our friend Armand La Roche, have a number of the local authorities in their service. They are led by a man named Vincent Marec, and from what I hear, he is not to be underestimated. I am not sure how many more of these trips I am going to be able to undertake. I haven’t told any of you this before, but the last trip wasn’t without incident,” replied Gus.
Stephen sobered up somewhat at hearing this news. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Gus shrugged. “Harry and George have both been busy with their wives, Monsale his estate. And you seemed distracted after your father’s death. I figured a woman must be involved somewhere, and I was privately hoping you might have finally found love.”
