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“Richard won’t allow it,” Isabel said softly.
“Richard is not the master of this house. And he is not the master of me.”
At this moment, the maid entered bearing the tray of tea and honey.
“Forgive me, I’ve lost my appetite.” With these parting words, Sam stalked out of the room.
Sam returned to her room and pulled out her valise. She started collecting her clothes and stuffing them inside. Unfortunately, after about three minutes of vigorous activity, she started feeling dizzy and had to sit down. She was so angry her hands shook. She couldn’t get her nerves under control and she could only think what kind of destructive path her husband was on. He’d either locked himself inside his townhouse and was drowning in self-pity, or he was drowning his troubles in drink. She didn’t want to think about that; she wanted to get to him as soon as possible. How could Richard do that? Why would he send him out of the house? Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids. She had to stop. She’d never get anything done if she were crying every five minutes.
There was a knock on the door. Sam didn’t want to see anyone, unless it was her husband, so she didn’t answer.
“Sam,” Richard called. “May we enter?”
We. A family council, probably. Sam smirked irritably. Her family had no right to intervene in her affairs. The door opened a crack and Isabel’s head peered inside.
“Good,” she said, looking at Sam, then at her brothers. “She’s decent.”
Sam huffed. All three of her beloved family members entered the room. The same family members who’d thrown her husband, the rightful owner of this estate, out of the house.
“You are not going anywhere.” Richard’s voice was hard and brooked no argument.
Sam wasn’t cowed by it, even for a moment. “Why would I listen to what you have to say?” she said, lifting her chin in defiance.
“First, because of the bruises on your neck.” Richard indicated her shawl-wrapped area with his hand. “Second, if you won’t do it for yourself, at least think about the babe.”
“What?” Sam’s eyebrows lowered in a frown. “What are you talking a—”
She froze mid-sentence. In her turmoil, she’d completely forgotten about the possibility she might be carrying a babe. “How do you know about that?”
“The doctor,” he said simply.
The doctor. She remembered being inspected by a doctor. He must have confirmed she was increasing. She couldn’t quite identify the jumble of emotions that hit her. Tenderness, happiness, protectiveness, horror, or some combination of all of those. Sam swallowed, not quite knowing what to say to that.
She was with child. And John was not with her.
“Does John—”
“He knows,” Adam interrupted swiftly. “Sam, we want you to know that it was his decision to leave.”
Sam huffed her disbelief. “Truly?” She sent a pointed glare to Richard.
He raised his hands in mock self-defense. “All right, I suggested he leave. But he did agree with me. Trust me, no power on Earth would make him leave you if he didn’t want to.”
“Why in the world do you still want to go back to him after what he did?” Adam looked genuinely angry and perplexed.
“Oh, for God’s sake, he didn’t mean to!” Sam yelled in a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “He didn’t mean to.”
“So, when he kills you next time, is that supposed to be a comfort to us?” Adam fairly barked.
“He won’t hurt me.” Sam’s chest heaved in indignation.
“Sammy.” Isabel’s soft voice interrupted her seething anger. “But he did.”
Sam wanted to cry in frustration. Her family did not want to listen to her at all. They’d made John the villain, and they were not relenting.
“It’s his child,” she ventured her last protest, before her strength gave out.
“And he’d be here to protect it, if he weren’t the danger,” Richard said as softly as he could.
