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His hands fell away from his face. He regarded her with a piercing gaze. “What?”
“I…she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, your son, Christopher.”
Blood drained rapidly from his face, leaving him ashen.
Leaping to her feet, she rushed to his side. “My lord, should I call for assistance?”
His arm shot out, and he gripped her wrist. She squealed with shock.
“Just tell me, are they both alive?”he growled.
She hesitated. Here was her chance to explain all, to tell the truth, to reclaim the love of her life.
She looked into his pale, anguished face, hisbeloved face,so beautifully chiselled, handsome, his rich sable hair, which her hands itched to thread her fingers through. His dark expressive eyes spoke to her soul, touching her heart, his square chin resolute, especially when she’d aroused his ire. How could she condemn her husband to a life with the damaged creature she’d become?
Sucking in a lungful of air and banishing all hope from her naïve heart, she resolved to stick with her plan to free him as he deserved. Her brother-in-law, the count, would never know of her duplicity, not living so far away in Italy. He would believe whatever she told him. Mary could be made to swear not to tell. With a deep breath, she threw away her final chance at happiness and lied.
“I am sorry to say that Angele died in childbirth, St. Nicholas, but happily your babe survived. Your son resides at Churchton, with your sister, even as we speak. I have travelled from Italy with him in order to return to you your rightful son and heir.”
He released her wrist and spun away from her. Gripping the bridge of his nose, he rapidly paced about the room, eventually coming to a halt before her.
“Why was I not informed that she still lived? I could have gone to her, brought her home. Why have you waited until now to tell me of this?” he asked his voice cracked and harsh.
She winced. “It was Angele’s choice. She was also scarred that day. She did not wish you to see her poor visage so changed and contorted in such a dreadful way. I don’t know what would have happened had she lived, but she died shortly after Christopher was born.”
“Christopher…She named him for my father? By Hades, I should have been there. My sweet and foolish wife… Did she not know I would have loved her even if they had left her with no face at all? Angele was my heart’s life-blood!” His voice cracked again. He spun away, once again hiding his face in his hands. “I am sorry, madam, but I need to be alone. We can talk of the child later, over dinner.”
“Christopher... Dear Lord,I have a son!”
Angele gaped after him. He stalked from the room, leaving her alone and shaken. She stumbled back onto her chair, feeling uncertain about everything she had said and done, wondering for the first time if she’d been mistaken over her decision to play dead.
* * *
Gabriel moved blindly through the house without destination. He simply continued ahead, not acknowledging any member of the household as he passed them by. Eventually he found himself outside and down by the frozen lake, where he’d swum often as a child. It had been a favourite haunt of Angele’s. Here, he had taught her to swim, an act unheard of among ladies of the aristocracy. He had not been back to this spot, to the site of so much happiness, since word of her death had reached him.
He breathed in the still, cold air, sharp and bracing. So, she had lived for nine months. Nine months in which he had nearly taken his own life, nine months of hell, and all the while she had still been living. He could have been with her, held her, and comforted her. If he had travelled to France to trace her whereabouts at that time, might he have saved her? Would she have remained alive? Hauntingly, the thought repeated over in his mind tormenting him like the insistent throb of toothache. Then came another thought, as powerful as the first.He had a son,a five-year-old son, so named for hisfather.
Christopher.
It was too much to take in all at once. His head felt like it might explode with the fullness of emotion. Suddenly he threw back his head and roared. The anguish and pain which poured from him was fully evident in the terrible shout that ripped from his throat, echoing strangely in the muffled landscape. For fully a minute, his entire being screamed with agony.
Finally exhausted, he fell to his knees, a sob caught in his throat. For the first time since the devastating news had reached him of his wife’s death, Gabriel wept healing tears of grief.
As he calmed, a small fluttering caught his peripheral vision. He dragged his cuff across his eyes. A robin had landed on a low holly branch beside him. Bird and man regarded one another for a fleeting moment before, with a flick of his tail the bird turned his back and hopped onto a branch laden with succulent red berries. Head tilted, the bird studied the fruit with a beady eye. Darting forward, he plucked the largest crimson berry from the middle of the scarlet cluster. Gabriel smiled as the cocky little bird took off with its trophy.
Taking a deep breath, Gabriel glanced about him. The clandestine snowfall had blanketed the parkland in a perfect crystalline carpet of twinkling white. He looked back towards the frozen lake, glinting blue in the winter sun. Nature had always brought balm to his soul. He relaxed and let his mind fall blank.
With a jolt he once again recalled that he had a son, a boy who would want to skate on this ice, just as he had done as a lad. He smiled for the first time since Marie had told him the truth of Angele’s passing.
Christopher.
He pondered the fact the count and countess had not returned his son to him after Angele’s death. There was something troubling him at the back of his mind, something about Marie. He recalled she and the count had been at their wedding and tried to bring to mind an image of the couple…but he could not remember either of them.
After he had lost the woman who had been the centre of his world, he had wondered how he still managed to live. After the initial shock had worn off, his traitorous body had craved sustenance, then, after a while, his libido had returned. It was the latter that had finally driven him to look for a bride. He knew he would never love another as he had loved Angele—they had surely been soul mates. He did not expect, nor want, to replace her, and so he had drawn up a list of qualities that he required in a wife. The purpose of marriage was to produce an heir, and he intended to beget sons whilst enjoying the process.
He did not wish for a demanding, cloying relationship. Visiting the ballrooms last season, he had finally narrowed down the available candidates to two young women of noble birth, both of whom appeared to be self contained, quietly biddable and pretty. His final decision was simply decided by the size of the two prospective debutantes’ assets—namely the size of their bosoms. He liked breasts, and so he made his choice based solely on lust. He chose the girl who sported the larger bust which was Lady Noelle Bellingham. For the life of him, he could not picture the girls face, even though he’d tried, and yet he recalled her décolletage quite clearly.
Shivering in the biting cold, he put all thoughts of his fiancée and Angele from his mind and refocused upon the present. He had a son, one whose arrival he needed to prepare for, along with a Yuletide celebration to arrange. This would be the best Christmastide since he’d lost his wife. It was as though she’d handed him this gift of their child from the grave, and he welcomed that precious gift with every fibre of his being.
