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“Wait till he meets Selina,” Imogen said with a happy gleam of mischief in her eye. “She’ll bust her seams if he kisses her fingertips!”

“Imogen!” said her mama. “Behave yourself!”

Imogen only giggled.

< 7 =

Lady Rawlings Hosts an Evening at Home

The first person Esme saw when she walked into her drawing room that evening was her nephew, Darby, being entertained by one of the local matrons, Selina Davenport. Mrs. Davenport was holding court before the great windows at the end of the room, throwing her head back in such a way that her breasts practically fell out of her gown and made themselves a present to Darby.

“Oh Lord,” she moaned.

“Mrs. Davenport made a beeline for him,” Helene murmured with a little chuckle. “I gather that she is determined to snare the fine gentleman who opportunely strayed into our midst.”

To Esme’s irritation, Darby looked engrossed. He couldn’t be finding Selina’s conversation so absorbing. Selina seemed to have only two topics: herself and her prowess at various activities. Some of which even occurred outside the bedchamber.

“Darby!” Esme said, approaching him from behind. He turned with a start and bowed, kissing her hand. “My dear aunt,” he murmured.

Fool for Love

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His voice was cool. Helene is right, Esme thought to herself. He did come to see if I’m carrying a bastard. Selina swept a curtsy that exposed her breasts to the whole world. Never mind the fact that Esme herself was prone to magnificent displays of her chest. That was before she embarked on her career as a circus elephant.

“My goodness,” Selina said with an arch smile. “I hope you don’t mind my mentioning, my dear Lady Rawlings, that you are simply growing more”—she hesitated—“more beauteous every day.”

Esme smiled at her, a dagger keen smile honed by swimming the dangerous currents of London society for eight years. “That is so kind of you,” she cooed, “especially given that you undoubtedly met so many beautiful women in the years before I made my debut.”

Selina’s smile snapped shut like a fan.

Esme turned back to her nephew. “Darby, shall we take a turn around the room? I am hoping that you can make a long stay with me, and this is a perfect occasion to introduce you to some of my local acquaintances.”

They walked toward the other side of the room.

“Lady Rawlings, I trust we do not intrude,” Darby said. “I hoped that the children would be the better for country air, but we needn’t rely on your hospitality.”

“Oh please, do call me Esme,” she said. “We are far away from the formalities of London, and we are family, after all.”

He looked a little taken aback at that. “Of course,” he murmured. “And you must call me Simon.”

“How is little Josie? Miles told me that she had a particularly difficult time accepting your stepmother’s death, poor little thing.”

“He did?” Darby looked faintly surprised.

“Well, yes,” Esme said. “He was quite distressed to think of the difficulties you would face becoming an unexpected 50 Eloisa

James

parent. I only hope I can do as well as you, given that I must raise this little one without Miles.”

Darby looked down at Lady Rawlings’s hand, resting on the great mound of her stomach.

She was pregnant, all right. He’d never seen anyone so pregnant in his entire life. The elegant leader of the ton was swollen up like someone about to give birth in a day or two. It must be an illegitimate child. Miles certainly hadn’t slept with his wife before going to that blasted house party in July. Something must have shown in his face because she led him into the hall and from there into the library.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Esme said, sitting down on a velvet couch. He just looked down at her for a second, nonplussed by the change in his aunt’s appearance. He remembered her as a sensual goddess, all luscious curves and glossy black curls. Now she looked bloated and tired and altogether unattractive.

Suddenly before he could speak, she said: “I am carrying Miles’s child.”