The Viscount and the Virgin (18 page)

‘You are a delight,' he said, kissing the frown line between her brows. More than that. He was coming to the conclusion that he was becoming addicted to her. He had certainly never suspected he was capable of making love quite so often. She only had to look at him in a certain way…just as she had done earlier, making him forget the reason he had come up to talk to her in the middle of the afternoon.

Which he had to bring to her attention now.

‘Sit down, will you, Midge,' he said, leading her to the dressing-table stool, waiting till she had sat down, then deliberately distancing himself by walking away and leaning against the bedpost. ‘There is some thing I should like to ask you. I have been wondering if you have already written to your aunt about it…' he conjectured, raising one eyebrow in enquiry. Then, receiving nothing in return from Midge but a blank look, he stuck his hands in his pockets and said, ‘Since we have been married, you have not refused me once. And you should have done, should you not? In the normal course of things?'

Midge's insides hollowed out. She knew it! Her behaviour was not what a husband wanted in a wife at all!
A true lady would have feigned reluctance, she expected. And made him work a bit harder before yielding. Pretence, she thought bitterly. That was what being a lady entailed. And she had never been any good at it.

She swallowed down a feeling of nausea. It was so unfair. He had taken full advantage of her wanton nature, after all!

‘You had better explain what you mean,' she said mutinously. Because she was blowed if she could understand what he was complaining about!

A faint flush swept across his cheeks. ‘To be blunt, my dear, you have not experienced your monthly courses, have you, since we married. I would have thought, after six weeks, that you would have been…um…out of commission at least once…'

The relief that he was not about to tell her she was better suited to the position of mistress than wife was so acute that, for a moment or two, Midge went quite light-headed.

‘Dammit, Midge, are you going to faint?'

‘I never faint,' she said weakly as the room spun round her.

The next thing she knew, Monty had scooped her up off the stool and was lying her gently down on the bed. Then he knelt on the floor at the bedside and laid his hands over her stomach.

‘You are carrying my child,' he breathed, in awe. ‘So soon!'

This was so typical of Midge, to charge full tilt into whatever she did! No holds barred.

She would be a wonderful mother. She was so loving; she would never abandon her child to the rigid regime at Shevington and seek her own amusements in London.
Nor shame it by taking a succession of lovers, no matter how disappointed she might be in her husband.

‘A baby?' Midge breathed, her own hands fluttering over where his rested on her stomach. ‘Do you really think so?'

Her whole world tilted on its axis. It had never occurred to her she might be pregnant. And yet, now he had put the idea in her head, it seemed so obvious. It certainly explained why she had been feeling a bit off-colour the last few days.

Monty looked at her slightly dazed face and felt a rush of protective ness towards her. Midge was normally healthy and strong, but already carrying his child was taking its toll on her. It was not referred to as being in ‘a delicate condition' for nothing!

She looked a little pale. Come to think of it, these last couple of weeks, she'd taken to going to bed every afternoon. Had she felt unwell and not told him?

When it was all his fault she was in this condition at all! Because his seed was growing inside her, the girl who was never ill had just almost fainted.

And suddenly, his father's words rang in his head.
‘If she should die in child birth, you will feel like a murderer…'

He leapt to his feet, running his fingers through his hair. Two of his father's three wives had died in childbirth. And he had never really recovered from the loss. Especially not from the first. The love of his life. And suddenly, he knew exactly how the old man must have felt. The prospect of carrying on living without Midge was too ghastly to con tem plate!

And more than that, he knew that if the worst should happen, it would indeed be all his fault. He clenched
his fists, a streak of resolve running through him. He would just have to make damn sure nothing happened to Midge!

‘I will get Dr Cottee to come and look at you in the morning,' he decided. She must have the best of care. Stay in bed all day every day if that was what it took to keep her safe!

‘What is it? What's wrong?'

Midge was staring up at him with her huge grey eyes clouded with anxiety.

‘Nothing, nothing at all,' he lied, his stomach roiling with fear.

‘Then why ask Dr Cottee to look at me? Does he even know anything about having babies? I thought you said he was an expert in nervous disorders?'

‘Well, I feel nervous,' he admitted, then immediately felt a pang of contrition. He should be reassuring Midge, not spelling out the dangers and terrifying her too.

Though what he most wanted right now was to clutch her tightly and never let her go!

Instead, he had to get away from her, fast, before she picked up on his fear.

‘You need your rest,' he said grimly, backing away from the bed and the temptation Midge presented, lying there looking so achingly vulnerable.

He hardened himself against the hurt look she gave him as he fled from her bedroom. If he stayed, she would winkle his deepest thoughts from him. She had the knack of doing that. He had told her things he had never confided to another living soul!

He slammed his door behind him, and leaned back on it, his whole body shaking.

He hated to have to admit that his father was right about anything, but he was already learning how painful it was for a man to be so much in love with his wife.

M
onty knew, the moment he set foot in his father's study, why he had been summoned. The doctor's gloating expression said it all, even before the earl offered his congratulations.

Dr Cottee bustled over with a glass of what looked like the best brandy in his hands. His father lifted his own glass towards him in salute.

‘To the Claremont heir,' said the earl with blatant satisfaction. For once, the faint tint of disapproval that always hovered at the back of his eyes was entirely absent.

Monty mechanically swallowed the contents of his glass and sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

‘You know I thought you had made a mistake, marrying that girl, given her family history,' said the earl. ‘For a long time, everyone believed Lady Framlingham was barren. You are most fortunate that she has not inherited that particular weakness. But,' he continued, a peevish tone creeping back into his voice, ‘there still remains
the question of whether she will be able to carry a son to full term. Her mother was singularly unsuccessful in that respect.'

The doctor got to his feet, folded his hands over his ample stomach and adopted what Monty sup posed he thought was a professional demeanour.

‘We will need to be extremely careful of her ladyship's health.'

Monty felt all his fears from the night before swarm up and wrap their determined fingers round his throat.

‘You have to put a stop to her careering all over the estate with those boys,' snapped the earl. ‘Especially on that damned horse! Most capricious beast in the stables!'

Monty had a vision of Midge's body flying through the air, to land with a sickening thud on the turf whilst Misty galloped off into the distance.

‘No more riding.' He nodded. ‘Definitely no more riding.'

‘Also—' the doctor cleared his throat ‘—it has not escaped our notice that you and she engage in marital relations with rather exceptional frequency.'

Monty hung onto his temper with grim determination. It felt as though the doctor had been spying on him! And what the devil did he mean by all this ‘we' business?

‘That will have to cease, of course,' said the doctor.

Much as he would have liked to tell the doctor it was no damned business of his how often he made love with his own wife, concern for Midge's health prompted him to ask, ‘Are you saying it would be dangerous to continue?'

‘In the early stages of pregnancy,' the doctor replied,
‘any woman, no matter what her back ground, is particularly vulnerable to the risk of miscarriage. We would not wish to do anything that might jeopardize her health, or that of the heir, would we?' Dr Cottee then went on, at interminable length, about exactly what was, and what was not permissible for a woman in ‘a delicate condition' to do.

‘Naturally, I do not wish to do anything that might harm the unborn babe,' Monty snapped, though he refused to assume, as they were doing, that the child Midge was carrying was the male heir his father longed for. It might very well be a girl. He had a brief, intense vision of a pretty little thing with a thatch of unruly hair and a sunny smile, just like her mother's.

‘Then you must make sure she behaves herself from now on,' bit out the earl.

Yes. Midge would never forgive herself if any thing happened to her baby, because of any care less ness on her part.

‘Then if you will excuse me,' he said, slamming the empty glass on the table and getting to his feet, ‘I shall go up to her straight away.'

He stalked to the door without waiting for his father's permission to leave. Midge was pregnant. He had made her pregnant. So now it was his duty to keep both her and the baby safe.

Poor Midge. It was not going to be easy for a girl with so much energy to sit about all day, which was what the doctor's strictures would mean. He seemed to think the most strenuous thing she ought to do was take a brief stroll through the gardens. And as for him…he strode along the corridor that led back to the west wing, his brows creased into a scowl as he envisaged
the torture of retiring to his lonely bed, which would seem far more empty now that she had shared it with him. He was going to spend night after night pacing the boards or wracked with the night mares her soft and fragrant presence had kept at bay.

Hell, never mind the nights! How on earth was he going to keep his hands off her during the daytime?

Well, somehow he was going to have to find a way, if that was what it took to protect her.

He gritted his teeth as he thrust open the door to their suite, already mourning the loss of the intimacy that had made such a difference to his formerly bleak existence.

Midge's eyes widened with apprehension when she caught sight of the expression on his face.

‘No need to look like that, Midge,' he snapped. ‘It's not the end of the world.' Only the end of the freedoms they had enjoyed. ‘I have just come from my father. Dr Cottee has con firmed my suspicion that you are going to have a baby.'

Midge glowered up at him. What had he got to look so irritated about? He had not been the one to undergo the most intimate and embarrassing examination any doctor could devise for a female patient. The moment Dr Cottee had left the room, she'd called for hot water so she could wash the feel of his slimy hands from her body.

It was only once she was fully clothed, when the feeling of revulsion had abated somewhat, that it occurred to her that he had not told her what the result of that examination had been. She had already been feeling hurt by the way Monty had left her to sleep alone, yet again, and puzzled by the way the news of her possible
pregnancy had affected him. It was a further humiliation to find that the doctor had informed both the earl and her husband before anyone considered she had a right to know what was going on inside her own body!

Monty's eyes narrowed on her resentful expression. It was a far cry from the way wives of his fellow officers had looked whenever one of them had discovered they were increasing.

But then, women only married serving soldiers if they loved them enough to endure all the privations that following the drum entailed.

And Midge had never felt that way about him.

Theirs was not a love match. Far from it. He had bullied her into marrying him, selfishly wrenching her from that other man, the one she
did
care for!

No wonder she did not look radiant at the prospect of bearing his child.

A chill descended on him as he recalled an episode from his child hood.

His mother had been chatting with one of her bosom friends. She had startled him by throwing one arm around his shoulder and, for the only time that he could recall, kissing him on the forehead.
‘How glad I am you are a boy,'
she had said, mystifying him. To her friend, she had then added, her lip curling,
‘Now the earl has his spare, lest anything should happen to his precious heir, I have no need to carry on with that tiresome aspect of this marriage.'

He felt short of breath. Some thing seemed to squeeze around the region of his heart.

No, dammit!
Midge was nothing like his mother. She
enjoyed
making love with him. She did
not
regard having his child as a duty to be endured.

Did she?

Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he stalked over to the window and gazed moodily out.

‘You may not go riding any more. The doctor has for bid den it. No strenuous exercise of any sort,' he finished bitterly, though he was now half-convinced that particular stricture was going to be harder for him to bear than for her.

As he spoke of horses, his eyes automatically followed the track that led round to the stables. And he saw his way out.

‘I am going to London,' he declared, giving the window frame a thump.

It was extremely un healthy for a man to be so totally obsessed with his wife. Getting breath less because he feared she might not care for him the way he cared for her! If he dithered about here much longer, he might find himself in the humiliating position of falling to his knees and begging for her love!

He heard her get to her feet.

‘I am so glad.'

He could hear the smile in her voice without having to look at her.

‘When do we leave?'

‘I said
I
am going to London,' he said icily, turning round and glaring at her. ‘Not you. You are to stay here and rest.'

The hurt look on her face almost had him weakening. Ruthlessly, he quashed the feeling.

The only way to preserve both her health and his sanity was to put a substantial distance between them. It would be madness to come anywhere near her again until he had got his feelings under better control. Better
for her too. She would have a few days to get used to the idea of bearing the child of a man she…

A fresh wave of pain surged through him.

‘Do not argue with me!' he snapped, as she took a breath to do just that. ‘And do not think you can do as you please once I am gone. You are not to go out riding any more, do you hear me? And for the Lord's sake, don't let those demon twins lure you into any scrapes, either.'

He stopped short of relating the lecture that Dr Cottee had just given him. He had no intention of frightening her. He could already tell, by the look on her face, simply discovering she was pregnant was quite enough of a burden for now.

Midge sank back onto the sofa again, as though all the wind had been knocked out of her.

‘I understand,' she said. ‘I give you my word that after you have gone, I will not go out riding again or get in any scrapes with your brothers.'

‘Dammit, Midge,' he began, instantly full of remorse for having hurt her. But then she lifted her chin and stared at him with such hostility that he bit back the apology.

Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, before he did what no man with an ounce of pride would ever do.

Get down on his knees and grovel at a woman's feet.

 

Midge would never understand men.

Yesterday, Monty had seemed pleased to think she might be carrying his child. But then his face had
changed, and he had left the bedroom abruptly. Since then, he seemed unwilling to come anywhere near her.

He had been down right cross when he had told her he was going to London without her.

And then, this evening at dinner, while everyone else had been showering her with congratulations, he had looked positively gloomy.

Even the earl had unbent towards her enough to ask if there was anything he might do for her. When she had seized the opportunity to beg him to consider sending the boys to school, she had thought Monty would have been grateful. He was always saying he wanted them to have the education that was being denied them at Shevington. But when the earl, with a slightly mocking smile, had said he would grant her request, Monty had carried on staring bale fully into his soup plate.

He had not risen from the table when she had, and though she had waited for him in their sitting room for hours, he had not come up to her. Eventually, when she heard the village church clock strike mid night, she had decided she might as well go to bed.

Her own. It was obvious by then that he was deliberately avoiding her. Nor had it taken all that long to work out why Monty did not want her to go to London with him. He knew her propensity for getting into scrapes. If he was going to get involved in politics, the last thing he needed was a wife who was a social embarrassment. The way he had lectured her about keeping out of trouble here at Shevington had hammered home what a liability he considered her.

But as the night wore on, her feelings of self-pity burned down along with her candle. As the new day began to dawn, so did her sense of resentment. Could he
not at least have offered her his congratulations? After all, the whole purpose of marrying her had been to provide him with an heir. She had fulfilled her side of the bargain, and he ought to be grateful!

And what, exactly, was she supposed to do while he was in London being in credibly important? At least in London, there would be people she could visit.

There was nobody she could talk to at Shevington except the twins! And he had made her promise she would not ride out with them once he had left.

Not that he had left yet. She had not heard the coach being brought round. And it had to pass right underneath her window on its route from the stables to the front door.

Her heart thudding, she swung her legs out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown, tiptoed across their shared sitting room and laid her ear to the door of his room. She could hear somebody moving about. It sounded as though Monty was either getting dressed or his valet was packing up his gear. In either case, it meant he had not left yet.

She had just raised her hand to knock on his door, so that she might at least clear the air between them before he left, when a wave of nausea struck her. She took a deep breath, determined to fight it down. She wanted to bid him farewell in a dignified fashion. And determine whether it really was anything she had done that had put him in such a foul mood yesterday. He did have an awful lot of other problems, besides being married to a woman who was a walking disaster area. She wanted to tell him that…she gulped. With her head held high, she was going to tell him—

It was no use! She was going to be sick! Hitching
her night dress up with one hand and keeping the other clamped firmly over her mouth, she ran to her room.

She made it to her bedroom just in time, grabbing the chamber pot from beneath the bed, and heaving wretchedly into it for what seemed like an eternity. What eventually got her to her feet was the sound of carriage wheels passing under her window. To her dismay, she realized that Monty was leaving.

Leaving without even bothering to bid her farewell.

Her legs gave out under her, and she sank into a disconsolate heap on the floor. That one night he had permitted her to sleep in his arms had meant nothing to him at all! He did not care. He truly did not care.