"You're too stubborn by half, do you know that?" Jack said to her through his teeth. "Well, it shall make no difference in the end."
Taking the stairs, he carried her up them with an ease that left her feeling as small and dainty as the tiniest of females. Leaning her head against his coat, she closed her eyes for a moment and let herself relish his familiar warmth and clean, male scent.
Without asking for directions, he took her straight to her bedchamber, then strode across the sun-filled room to lay her gently against the mattress. She nearly reached for him as he drew away, but she forced herself to allow him to let her go.
To her surprise, he smoothed a hand over her hair, brushing a few loose strands away from her forehead the way he might do for a child. "I'll go send for that quack now," he told her in a gruff voice.
Reaching up, she caught hold of his wrist. "No, truly, there's no need. He's already been here to see me."
Jack's brows drew together in a sharp arch. "What do you mean? Already been here? Have you been ill like this before?"
A bit of color seemed to drain from his cheeks, as though he were quite alarmed, but she supposed it must be her imagination. "It's nothing," she told him, lowering her gaze. "At least nothing unusual for a woman in my condition."
His fingers tipped her chin upward, forcing her to look him in the eye. "What condition, Grace? Why are you sick?"
She drew a quick breath. "I was going to tell you, but-"
"But?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd feel." Drawing a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "I'm with child, Jack. I'm going to have a baby."
For the space of several heartbeats, Jack just stared, not certain if he'd heard her right.
Did she say she was expecting a baby? My baby!
Without thinking, he sat down on the bed next to her. "Are you sure?"
///
"Quite sure," she assured him. "I had my suspicions, and the doctor confirmed them a few days ago."
"When?"
"When what? When is the baby due, you mean?"
He gave a clipped nod.
"This spring. March, the doctor estimates, since I'm only a couple months along. It's still early yet in the pregnancy."
And it is, he thought, realizing that she must have conceived only a few weeks before she'd left him. Before that dreadful night at the Pettigrews' ball when everything between them had changed. To think she'd been pregnant then. If only he'd known, could he have found a way to stop her? Could he find a way to stop her from sending him away again now?
A small frown settled above her nose. "What are you thinking, my lord?" she murmured. "You aren't … you aren't sorry, are you?"
"No," he declared in a firm tone. "I'm not sorry at all." He paused. "I'm glad. Very, very glad."
She sent him a tremulous smile. "I am too. So very happy."
And abruptly the anger he'd been nursing these past weeks fell away, along with the misery that had left him numb and only half-alive. Warmth seeped slowly into his veins, the faintest sliver of hope stealing in behind it. He had no right to hope, he knew, but he couldn't seem to prevent the impulse, or the desire, however futile it might seem.
Reaching out, he drew her up and enfolded her in his arms to press her gently to his chest. She stiffened at first but then gave a weary little sigh and leaned her head against his shoulder, relaxing.
They sat that way without speaking, time passing with no real awareness. She relaxed even more in his embrace, and, to his surprise, he realized she was falling asleep. Tenderly, he lay her back against the pillows.
"Forgive me," she murmured. "I get so … sleepy these days. It's because of … the baby. Sometimes I can … barely … keep my eyes … open."
"Then don't." Standing, he picked up the light cotton blanket folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over her.
She sighed and snuggled into the warmth, her eyes closed, her breath becoming slow and even.
Using the lightest of touches, he brushed his fingertips across her cheek, then bent to press his lips to her forehead. "I love you, Grace," he whispered, too softly for her to possibly hear.
Straightening, he gazed at her for another long moment, then turned toward the door.
"Are you … leaving?" she mumbled in a drowsy voice.
"You need to sleep."
"Don't go, Jack," she said, clearly caught in a state halfway between consciousness and dreams. "Don't go away."
The warmth and the hope curled inside him again. "Not to worry. I'll be here when you wake."
And I will be, he vowed.
This time he was staying, whether she wanted him to or not.
She came awake in slow stages, stretching as sleep fell gradually away. Turning her head, she gazed into the waning light and realized that she must have slept nearly the whole of the afternoon. At least her nausea was gone, along with her tiredness. Obviously, she'd needed the rest.
Jack.
Had he really come for a visit, or had it all just been a dream?
She remembered bits, like puzzle pieces falling into place. They'd talked for a while. Their conversation had been awkward and uncomfortable. Then he'd given her a book … from Terrence … her book with the birds she'd painted.
He'd been about to depart when she'd taken ill.
How kind he'd been afterward, carrying her up the stairs and here to her room.
She knew she'd told him about the baby, remembering how her heart had pounded while she waited for his reaction, and the rush of relief and happiness when he'd told her he was glad.
Her relief had turned to surprise, though, when he'd taken her in his arms-and then to profound pleasure as he'd cradled her against him with a tenderness that had proven her complete undoing.
After that, everything grew hazy, drowsiness claiming her with a strength she'd been unable to resist. She thought she remembered him promising to be there when she awakened.
Was he? Or had that been nothing more than some somnolent fantasy? Her hopes manifesting themselves in the world of dreams? She supposed she would find out the answer soon enough.
Sighing, she sat up and pushed the blanket off her lap.
Walking quickly to the washstand, she bathed her face and brushed her teeth, then hastily tidied the strands of hair that had come loose from her coiffure while she'd slept. She could have rung for her maid, but she didn't want to wait. She had to know.
///
Is Jack still here?
She beat a hand against a wrinkle in her skirt, then drew a steadying breath and went out into the hallway. By the time she reached the ground floor, she'd convinced herself he was gone.
Very likely, she would find a note informing her that he'd been unable to stay, after all. His missive would go on to say that she should keep him apprised of her needs regarding the baby and her health, and to let him know when she was brought to childbed.
Spirits dashed, she walked into the drawing room, expecting to find it empty. Instead, she discovered Jack, settled into a comfortable corner of the sofa with a book on his lap.
The sight of him brought her to an abrupt halt. "You're here."
Glancing up from his reading, he gave her a smile. "Of course. I told you I would stay. So, how are you feeling? Are you sure you should be up?"
"I … I am much better, thank you."
"Still queasy?"
"No, not a bit. Luckily, the nausea seems to disappear nearly as quickly as it comes upon me."
"Here now," he said, jumping to his feet. "You shouldn't be standing there like that."
In seconds, she found herself ferried with a few gentle steps to the nearest armchair. A laugh escaped her as she sank down onto the comfortable cushions. "I'm perfectly capable of standing, you know. I'm enceinte, not an invalid."
"Perhaps so," he said as he released his hold on her elbow, "but I'd feel better if you rested a while more, just in case."
"Just in case of what?"
"I don't want you fainting. Your housekeeper's been telling me you have bouts of vertigo in addition to your nausea and tiredness."
Her lips pursed. "I hadn't realized what a very big mouth Mrs. Mackie has."
"Don't worry. She hasn't been unduly forthcoming. Just sharing a few interesting details here and there."
Yes, she thought-knowing Jack, she was sure he'd had no trouble wheedling information out of the servant. Mrs. Mackie might be middle-aged, but she was still female. And as Grace knew all too well, females of any age were susceptible to Jack Byron's charming ways.
Sobered by the thought, her smile fell away.
Jack, however, seemed to take no notice as he slipped a pillow behind her back. "Comfortable?" he asked.