His eyes narrowed. “You know I do.”
“Then come to my bed tonight and I’ll prove you’re mistaken.”
Young and foolish, he’d gone that night only to be reminded one final time of how much his wife hated bed sport. Though she hadn’t made her disgust known verbally, she’d pretended to encourage him with her words while her body tensed and trembled, and her hands clutched the sheet. After she’d endured his attentions one final time, she went behind the dressing screen and sobbed. And for the first time, she’d not been the only one who felt shamed and impure, he did, too. Like all the times before, he bought her the most expensive necklace he could find. Giving it to her, he vowed he’d never again ask her to be intimate with him.
That was the last they’d spoken of it until a few weeks later when she approached him with the news she’d once again conceived...
And now, here he stood in his hallway, looking at a bleary image of a physician while some vile scent filled his nostrils.
“Lord Drakely!” the doctor yelled.
Patrick blinked. “Yes?” Why was the man fanning him? And more importantly, why was he waving Abigail’s bag of smelling salts beneath his nose.
“You swooned, my lord.”
Patrick twisted his lips and made to stand up, his legs terribly unstable. “No, I didn’t swoon.”
“Yes, you did, my lord. I was talking to you one minute, then you were on the floor the next.”
“That may be,” Patrick conceded, rubbing the painful knot he’d just discovered on the back of his head with one hand and bracing the other against a credenza to help keep him standing, “but just to be clear. I fainted, not swooned. Ladies, swoon. Gentlemen, faint.”
“Yes, my lord,” the physician said with a weak smile. “But all the same, my lord, it’s time for you to be the strong lord of the manor—even if that means tucking this packet of smelling salts into your breast pocket to keep you from fainting again.”
“And why do I need those?” He cast a look into the bedroom and swallowed at the sight of Abigail’s lifeless body, snippets of the doctor’s previous words running through his head.
The doctor sighed and wiped his brow. “I do not have time to explain it all again, Lord Drakely. She needs you. If you don’t go in there―” he gulped― “if you don’t go in there, she won’t make it.”
“Are you certain?’
The doctor nodded. “She may not make it anyway, but if you’re in there, she might have a better chance.”
“A better chance?”
The older man nodded again. “She’s very weak, my lord. She can hardly push. If she waits any longer, you’ll lose both her and the babe.”
For a brief moment, terror and panic seized him, then he glanced in that room again, and his resolve was restored. He’d put Abigail in this position, and like always, he’d get her out. He marched into that room like a general marches off to war, burying his emotions and forcing himself to accomplish his goal. His goal: see both Abigail and their child to safety. That was it. Nothing too complex, or daunting.
Oh, how wrong he was.
Two hours later, Patrick almost gave into his wife’s pleas to just cut the baby out without regard to her fate. But he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t let her down. Especially knowing this was all the result of his own selfishness.
“Just a bit more, Ab,” he crooned, clasping her shoulders and helping her roll to a partial sitting position. Why wasn’t she doing anything to help him? Was she that weak? He glanced at the amount of blood on the far end of the bed. He’d never seen so much in his entire life. He swallowed, and pushed the thoughts from his mind.
“I can’t do anymore,” Abigail said with a sob.
Patrick eased her back against the pillows to let her regain what little strength she might. “Yes, you can. Just be strong. You can do this. Do it for me.”
She shook her head against the pillows. “No. I’m done. I’ve enjoyed Celia and Helena, I truly have, but I have nothing left in me now.”
“Yes, you do,” he said firmly. “The difference is, you’re not trying.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I’m not strong enough for you, Patrick. I never was, and you’ll always resent me for it. Just let me go.”
His breath caught. “Go? Go where?”
She didn’t respond.
“Is this because of what happened in my study?” he asked. He had to know. Was she punishing him for his sharp words and insinuations that led to her begrudgingly inviting him to her bed only to conceive once again?