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Andrew Lord of Despair(59)



Amery appeared to be debating a second cake and declining the pleasure.

“Then we have the situation today,” David went on. “Dr. DuPont was clear Astrid’s symptoms could not all be explained by the abuse of herbs or drugs intended to end the pregnancy. They were, however, consistent with use of a deadly poison. I either believe my sister is making artless and painful efforts to kill herself—when relatively painless and certain alternatives exist—or I believe someone else wishes her grievous harm.”

David took a steadying sip of his tea before concluding. “Knowing my sister, and knowing what I do of your family, I am not inclined to believe she is making attempts to end her own life, or that of your brother’s child.”

Amery frowned at his plain blue teapot. “We are at an impasse then, as we simply hold differing interpretations of the agreed-upon facts.”

Rather than watch Amery demolish another tea cake, David rose to take his leave.

“Douglas,” he said, clearly startling his host with the use of his Christian name, “for God’s sake, use your intellect. I need not prove you wish my sister ill. You’re a second son who will be disinherited of your title should Astrid have a boy.”

Douglas remained sitting and did indeed help himself to another cake, this one chocolate. David forged on, when he wanted to smash his lordship’s jasperware pot to bits.

“Forget the courts, Amery, for Greymoor and Heathgate will be after you like dogs on a bitch in heat if any more harm befalls my sister—as will I. Moreover, I need not investigate your theory that Astrid has been driven into a murderous rage over your brother’s theft of funds Heathgate, Greymoor, and I can each easily replace. You are blinding yourself to the more sensible possibilities.”

Amery rose and regarded David closely, all pretense of bored politesse gone from glacially blue eyes. “So you’ll spend your time trying to prove I’d murder my brother’s widow and his unborn child?”

The offense in those blue eyes looked genuine, and it was offense—not the feigned dismay of a murderer trying to appear righteously innocent.

Which was a relief, though a puzzling one. “If Astrid isn’t trying to kill herself, and you are not trying to kill her, then at least one other person assuredly is. While we are busy pointing fingers at each other, that person will be plotting another trip down the stairs for her and for the little Amery heir, hmm?”

To that, Amery had made no answer, but merely wished David good day, and asked him to convey felicitations to the happy couple. As David departed, Douglas himself was tidying up the tea things, much as any butler or footman would do upon the departure of a guest.

***

Astrid awoke to lengthening shadows and a sense of peace. She was wrapped in warmth and softness; she was safe and… happy. The child within her moved, as if waking up with her.

“Was that the baby?” asked a familiar, masculine voice. The rest of Astrid’s reality snapped into place. She was burrowed against the warmth of Andrew’s bare back in a bedroom at Lady Heathgate’s town house. She and Andrew had been married earlier that afternoon, which meant… She was his wife.

“There it goes again,” Andrew said, her belly still flush with his spine. He shifted to face her and covered her tummy with his hand. When the baby obligingly kicked at his hand, Andrew’s smile would have lit up Mayfair.

“It’s so odd,” he said, “to think that there’s a complete, small person in there, probably listening to your voice all day, and feeling hungry and tired or sleepy or restless. But you’re used to all this.” He laid his cheek on the upper swell of Astrid’s breast while his palm remained on her belly.

“No, Andrew, I am not used to all this.” She’d never thought to be intimate with Andrew Alexander again, and now they were man and wife for the rest of their lives. As surprises went, that qualified, and Astrid was certain it would not be an entirely happy development.

Which she would worry about later. She slid an arm around Andrew’s neck and watched while he learned her new contours. The baby moved occasionally, and each time, Andrew laid his hand over the spot where the movement occurred. He’d been her lover before, and he had certainly been curious and considerate toward her pregnant body, but his touch was now that of a husband. And not like any husband she’d had previously.

“How do you feel, Astrid Alexander?”

Gracious, she liked the sound of that. With Andrew beside her, touching her this way, she felt married.

And yet, she’d decided on a nap directly after the ceremony—or her body had decided for her. “Not as tired. Still a little off, mentally. I could eat something bland.”