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The piercing sensation in her heart worsened. “We said no regrets.”
“This is not regret,” he said, a tic jerking in his jaw. “This is me doing the honorable thing.”
She flinched and took a few more steps back from him. Pippa felt as if she wanted to run from the room. “If not for honor…would you marry me, William?”
Oh, please say yes. Everything inside Pippa was drawn tight as she awaited his answer.
“If not for my child that you might be carrying, I might have let our interlude remain a interlude.”
For precious moments her thoughts blanked. “A child?”
His gaze hooded even further. “Yes, that is how they are made.”
Pippa swayed, resting her palm on her belly.A child?Oh, God. She had not given the possibility a moment’s thought. “How long does it take for a lady to know if she is with child?” Oh, God, she needed to speak with Theo right away.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “The general idea is if a lady misses her…menses, she is with child. Other signs follow such as casting up accounts and exhaustion, or even peculiar cravings.”
Pippa stared at him wordlessly. It was a considerable feat to gather her composure and wait for the pounding of her heart to settle. “If I find that I am with child, I will inform you of this matter and then consider if we should marry,” she said hoarsely. “If there is no child, you need not so reluctantly bind yourself to me for something as cold and empty as duty and honor.”
He stilled, his gaze as watchful as a predator, yet he said nothing.
Pippa felt like foolishly weeping. She clasped her fingers together even tighter and dipped into a curtsy. “I cannot accept your offer. Good evening, my lord.”
Pippa hastened from the room, praying she had not made the gravest mistake. Instead of joining her friends in the parlor for charades, she rushed up the stairs and into her chamber. Once there she tossed herself onto the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.
A child.
Oh, God. She pressed her face to the pillow, hot tears leaking from her eyes. If William had even hinted of some tender sentiments she might have said yes. And then what? Surely, he would grow to resent her. Pippa could not imagine a marriage that was filled with uncertainty and icy civility. She rested a hand on her belly, hunger crawling through her for the baby that was just a mere idea. If she were indeed with child, she would have to marry William. Yet the thought filled Pippa’s heart with no happiness or thrill, merely cold doubt and torment.
* * *
I cannot accept your offer.
William stalked out of Hartford Hall with Pippa’s words ringing in his ears, an odd sensation carving out the inside of his chest. He called for Phoenix to be brought around and vaulted into his saddle. Then he cantered back to the cottage, not sure he understood the emotions writhing inside his chest. She’d said no. Yet he did not feel any sense of relief to have escaped that marriage noose. William admitted to himself that he was furious. He tried to bring his temper under control and, when that failed, he tried to analyze why he felt so irate. He found no answer, and blanking his mind from it all, he rode until he reached the cottage. Once inside, tossing the sparse belongings he had traveled with into his saddlebags, he realized perhaps his pride was piqued.
Pippa had dismissed his proposal out of hand and with an immediacy that was shocking. He printed a brief note to his local man and left it caught on a hook, by the backdoor. He hoped it would not blow away. The steps were too wet for him to place his instructions under a large stone as he usually did. Seth, his local man, could read and write, and he would see that the cottage was cleaned, and the remaining food supplies were used and not left to rot. There was no point rubbing the mud off Phoenix as he intended to ride straight for Town. The horse would only acquire a further covering of muck as the roads still held inches of standing water in deep puddles.
William strapped his saddlebags to his saddle and remounted. Then they were off, heading back to London as if the wild hunt or the devil was behind him. Phoenix was a strong horse and, although William was tall, he was slender and rode light. William stopped at a posting house en route to rest and feed the horse. He tossed half a guinea to the ostler, to make sure Phoenix was well tended and went inside, where he quickly downed two pints of the inn host’s top ale and then consumed the best that its missus could produce by way of a meal.
He asked for some bread and cheese to be packed for him to eat on the rest of his journey and resolved to take it at a slower pace to not abuse his very tolerant mount.
Once back on the road, he tried his damnedest to examine the feelings stabbing and pricking him, poking at his own emotions in a way he did not usually indulge in. With a frown, William acknowledged it was not just pride and pique; he was angry at himself. He had made a real mess of his proposal and the pompous way he had treated Pippa filled him with disquiet.
He had not asked her what she wanted. Hell, he hadn’t even truly asked her to marry him, he had simply laid down an order. William thought he was better than that, and he acknowledged that he had hurt her in the backhanded way he had spoken to her. But that was not all that was eating at him; hiding behind all the heat and fury, he found that he was disappointed.
Shock tore through him. William was indeed disappointed that she had refused him, but he was still not prepared to fully examine that thought or to consider its implications. It was dark and the streetlights had been lit by the time he arrived in Grosvenor Square. He was tired, damp, and muddy and Phoenix was grateful to be led away into a nice warm stall and a loving rubdown. William ordered a bath and, when clean and wrapped in a royal blue banyan, he settled down with a book and a decanter of brandy. He thought the only way he would sleep tonight would be if he was in his cups. Still, his solitude riding had stiffened his resolve.
If she did not wish to marry him, he would not force the issue. William went to stand by the window, needing to understand the feelings writhing inside his chest. What the hell were they? Perhaps he should have stayed and tried to convince her that the best thing was to marry by special license. He did not trust in this assurance no one would speak about their compromising situation. At least twenty ladies had been in residence at the duchess’s home. How could they foolishly believe everyone would honor their vows of discretion?
Damn well annoyed, William realized he could not stay indoors. It was barely after midnight. Moving decisively, he called his valet who assisted in dressing him in dark trousers and matching jacket, with golden waistcoat, and a complicated yet expertly tied cravat. William was more careless about his hair and waved away his valet’s concern that he needed a trim and a shave. Calling for another horse, he rode to White’s and was soon walking through those doors of his gentlemen’s club to greet a few of his cronies. The club was alive with facile chatter, gentlemen smoking, drinking, reading newssheets, making their ridiculous wagers, and debating political ideas.
William spied a few of his good friends in the common room, the Earl of Wycliffe, Henry Clayton, Viscount Welham, and James Peabody, the Earl of Holton, a crystal decanter of brandy between them.
“Trent,” Welham greeted, beckoning him over.
He joined them at the table, sitting and reaching for the decanter, and poured himself a drink. William noted the air of excitement around Holton.
“What are we celebrating,” he drawled.
