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Seduced by His Touch(57)

By:Tracy Anne Warren


Crossing to a nearby side chair, he took a seat as well. As he did, she  saw him set a paper-wrapped parcel onto a small nearby table.

"Forgive the unexpected nature of my call," he began. "I was … traveling  and thought I would stop to see how you are faring. How are you finding  the house?"

Traveling? Yes, she supposed he'd had occasion to travel recently.  Probably departing one house party and making his way to the next.

"T-the house?" she answered. "The house is everything to be desired, extremely comfortable and pleasant."

"Good." He paused, a quiet descending that was both awkward and  pronounced. "And the servants?" he continued. "They're to your liking,  as well?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "They take excellent care of me. I have only to  make a comment, however offhand, and my wishes are seen to in an  instant."

"They were hired for their efficiency. I would expect no less."

"You chose well, my lord."

Assuming he'd chosen at all. More likely, his estate agent had made all the arrangements.

But what did it matter? What did any of it matter now? she thought,  ruefully aware how stiff and formal everything was between her and Jack.  It was as though they were little more than passing acquaintances. But  perhaps that was all they were to each other now. What did she expect  though, since they were separated? What is it she wanted?                       
       
           


///
       

"So, you're happy here then?" he ventured.

"Yes, I'm very happy with the residence."

His brows drew together a fraction of an inch, and he cleared his throat. "And what of you? Are you happy?"

Her pulse thudded in her throat and wrists as she lowered her gaze.

Happy?

Happy wasn't a word she used anymore, at least not in relation to herself.

Comfortable? Yes.

Surviving? Obviously.

But happy? No, she couldn't say she was happy.

Except when she thought of the baby. The promise of the child, and all  the love she would shower on him or her, brought her immeasurable joy.  Even so, she wasn't sure whether that was the sort of happiness Jack  meant.

Clearly, he wanted to make sure she was well-settled. That way, he  wouldn't have to concern himself over her any further. He could continue  on to his party and not spare her another thought.

Forcing her lips upward, she put on a falsely cheerful smile. "Of course, I'm happy."

His face grew very calm and even, almost devoid of expression. And she  knew she'd been right in her assumptions about his motivation for this  visit. In a few minutes, he would leave and who knows how much time  would pass before she saw him again. If she saw him again.

A fluttering erupted in her chest, a sensation not unlike panic. Tamping  it down, she thought again of the baby, and let the knowledge bring her  comfort. But with it came a reminder that she needed to share the news  with Jack. All she had to do was open her mouth and say the words, and  her duty would be absolved.

My lord, you're going to be a father.

How easy and simple the statement. And yet, how impossible the words seemed given the distance between them.

As though the baby agreed, her stomach lurched, churning with a queasy  dip that had grown almost familiar over the past few weeks. Ignoring it,  she gathered her nerve.

Before she could speak though, he did.

"I brought you something." Reaching over, he picked up the parcel from  the table and held it out. "Or rather I should say Terrence Cooke  brought you something. He asked me to deliver this."

She let him press the package into her hands. "You saw Terrence? When?"

"A couple days ago. That's your book, the latest one. He wanted you to have it."

She smoothed a hand over the paper. "My book?" she said blankly. "Oh, of the birds. Of course."

She'd almost forgotten about the publication in the whirlwind of the  last several months. How amazing to think that nearly a year had passed  since that long ago day when she'd first met Jack in Hatchard's. How had  everything that had once seemed so right, gone so very wrong?

Her stomach lurched again, more insistently this time.

Please God, she prayed, not now!

Laying the book aside without unwrapping it, she drew a few shallow  breaths in hopes that it would stave off the need to be sick. "Well,  thank you for bringing the g-gift to me. I shall have to write and thank  Terrence as well."

"Yes, do that," Jack said in a low voice. "I'm sure he would appreciate hearing from you."

She nodded and concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and steady,  hoping he didn't notice the perspiration beginning to dampen her skin.

"I suppose I should take my leave," he said.

"If you must, I won't keep you. It was good of you to call."

She thought she saw his jaw tense, but she wasn't sure, too consumed with her own inner turmoil to pay careful attention.

Perhaps she was being idiotic, but she couldn't bear the idea of being  ill in front of him. She hated the notion of letting him see her at her  worst-weak and vulnerable and stripped of her control. But what of her  obligation to tell him about the baby?

She would do it later, she decided. She'd write him a letter, after all.  Besides, given the awkwardness between them, he would probably prefer  it if she shared the news in writing.

Her stomach lurched again. He really does need to leave now.

Relief poured through her when he stood.

But instead of moving away, he hesitated. "You will let me know if there is anything you require?"

She nodded and clamped her lips tight.

"I may be going north for a while," he said, gazing toward the window.  "I'm not sure of my plans. As I told you before, you may reach me  through my solicitor. Or Edward. My brother will always know where I may  be found."

"T-thank you, my lord," she whispered. "You are most solicitous."

"Being solicitous has nothing to do with it," he said in a rough tone.  "No matter our situation, you are, and shall always be, my wife."

Her gaze went to his, lingering for a long moment.                       
       
           


///
       

Then her stomach rebelled again and scattered every thought in her  brain. Blood drained from her cheeks, as she shot to her feet.

"Grace?" he asked. "You don't look well. Are you all right?"

But she didn't have time to answer, her feet already moving as fast as  they could carry her toward a stand on the far side of the room.

Thank heavens for her housekeeper, who'd quietly seen to it that a  plentiful array of bowls and basins were set throughout the house for  just such a circumstance. Otherwise, Grace knew she would have  thoroughly shamed herself by being ill in the most inappropriate of ways  and places.

As it was, she managed to grab the bowl just in time, sinking to her  knees as she emptied her stomach in great, aching heaves. She sensed  Jack standing somewhere behind her in the room. But he didn't come near.  He was probably too disgusted.

Finally, the worst was over-her stomach calmed, her face streaked with  tears. She huddled there, trying to find the strength to struggle to her  feet, when a hand reached down to help her.

With efficient ease, he set the bowl away, then knelt beside her.  Tipping up her chin, he stroked a dampened handkerchief against her hot,  perspiring cheeks and across her trembling lips. She closed her eyes in  gratitude, the refreshing coolness wafting over her like a benediction.  Refolding the handkerchief, he slid the linen over her neck as well,  then drew it away to offer her a glass of water.

Gratefully, she drank.

"Slowly now," he admonished, as she swallowed too fast. "Just a few sips."

Nodding, she took the glass again, careful to sip this time.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" he asked in a thick voice.

"It … it just came on me. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? It's not your fault you're sick." He stood, then reached down to help her do the same.

She'd barely gotten to her feet when she found herself off them once  more, as Jack swung her up into his arms. "Put me down," she said. "I'm  too heavy."

He made a dismissive noise and strode with her toward the door. "I'm  going to put you to bed, then call for the doctor. You've obviously  taken ill with a stomach flux of some kind."

"It's not a flux and I don't need the doctor."

"Of course you do. If you're worried about him bleeding you, I'll make sure he doesn't."

"No, it's not that, it's … "

"You, there," he said to her footman, who was standing wide-eyed in the  hall, watching them. "Send for the physician immediately."

"No, don't," she countered, glancing over Jack's shoulder at the other man. "You are to ignore that order."