Dancing With A Devil (40 page)

Bridgette cleared her throat. “After Gwyneth died Pierre tried to raise Julian, but then Pierre, of course, became ill. When I contacted him, he came to see me to beg me to take Julian, but Pierre decided I would be better persuaded if I saw the child. During the night, however, Pierre took a turn for the worse and feared he wouldn’t live another day. That’s why he called me to him the next day. On his deathbed, he told me of Gwyneth’s British spy husband, whom she’d wed and then left for dead. He told me of the man’s escape and how Pierre had seen the man tumble off a bridge and float facedown with the river current. Pierre believed you dead.”

Trent stilled, his body tensing. “But you knew different.”

Bridgette stared at him, the silence in the room growing until his nerves seemed to crackle within his body. Finally, she spoke. “I asked Pierre to describe Gwyneth’s husband. His description didn’t fit you, except for your eyes. You have unusually green eyes. Pierre said the same thing. Besides that, I had just met you and you had claimed to have loved Gwyneth. I put the pieces together, and it made sense that you would have lied to me and disguised yourself so Pierre wouldn’t recognize you.”

Trent clenched his jaw to stop the ticking on the right side. Once sufficiently under control he asked, “What did your brother want you to do with the boy?”

“
He thought I might be able to bring Julian to London and find you, or rather since he believed you were dead, he supposed I might be able to find your family. He knew you were wealthy and I believe he had hopes your family would take one look at Julian and see the resemblance and take the child, because he was yours. Despite everything bad about Pierre, I believe he loved Julian.”

“
Do you want me to take the child?” When he saw Julian, if he believed the child was his, he would not let her leave with his son. He had to know what he was going to be up against.

She cast her gaze down. “I love my nephew, but I cannot raise a child on my own. I deserve a life, and he’s
your
son. Will you not take him, because of Gwyneth?”

“
Gwyneth be damned,” Trent snapped. He gentled his tone when Bridgette flinched. “If I see the resemblance you say is there, the child will never be apart from me again.”

Bridgette grabbed his hand, surprising him. “You are a good man. You will see it.”

Trent pulled his hand away and stood to pour himself a drink but halfway to the liquor cabinet, he remembered Pickering saying the child was sick. “Is Julian sick?”

“
A small cold. Nothing serious.”

Trent strode to the door and flung it open. “Pickering,” Trent bellowed down the hall.

Pickering appeared before him within minutes. “My lord?”

“
The minute Harris returns send him to fetch my physician to the house with all due haste.”

“
Yes, my lord. Shall I prepare the lady a guest room?”

Trent caught Bridgette’s wary gaze. Damnation. He couldn’t turn the lady out in the middle of the night, whether the boy was his or not, and he certainly couldn’t put her up in an inn. Too many prying eyes would see them and he couldn’t chance questions that may lead anyone to delve into his past. The best course of action would be to keep her here, until he could see her safely on a ship headed back to France. Yes, that was a good plan and would ensure Audrey didn’t hear anything questionable.

He nodded at Pickering. “Prepare the lady a room.”

After Pickering departed, Bridgette walked out of the study and stood by Trent. “I’d like to check on Julian if you don’t mind.”

“
Yes, of course,” Trent replied, eager to see the child himself.

A few minutes later they stood at the child’s bedside. Julian’s breathing rattled in his tiny chest. Trent reached out and placed his hand over the boy’s heart. Underneath his palm, he counted a steady beat. Trent’s heart constricted in response as he evaluated the boy’s face. Julian’s hair was the same golden color as Trent’s and it did seem the child had the same full lips, but it was hard to tell while he slept.

Moving quietly away from the bed, he waited as Bridgette bent down and pressed a kiss to Julian’s forehead. After they departed the room, Trent walked her down the hall to the guest chamber Pickering had prepared for her. “Why don’t you wash up and try to get some rest.” When she started to protest, he held up a forestalling hand. “I’ll check on Julian while you’re sleeping, and the minute the physician arrives, I’ll wake you. You have to be exhausted.”

Bridgette nibbled on her lip, but the dark circles under her eyes revealed what she would not say with words. Finally, she sighed. “You promise to check on him and wake me when the physician arrives.”

“
I promise.”

“
All right, then.” She stepped into her bedchamber as Pickering came out and closed the door, leaving Trent standing in the hallway with his butler. The silence stretched for a few awkward moments before Trent turned to Pickering. “Bring me a glass of whiskey to the boy’s room.”

“
Right away, my lord.”

Trent made his way back toward Julian’s room as the sound of the butler descending the steps echoed in the quiet house. Once Trent pulled up a chair to the child’s bed, he yanked off his cravat and loosened his shirt. His throat tightened as he stared at Julian. Was this his son? The funny feeling he always felt in his chest when he was around Audrey tugged inside him.

A few minutes later, Pickering returned and Trent accepted the glass of whiskey his butler silently handed him. Without drinking it, Trent sat in the dark contemplating what it might mean if this boy was his. He squeezed his eyes shut, losing track of how long he remained that way, his mind locked with disbelief. Then a memory of earlier today skittered across his thoughts. His belly had ached when he’d given the boy Martin a pony ride. He loved children, and no matter what havoc Julian being his son might cause his life, he would accept him.

Trent slowly opened his eyes and stretched his hand out to lightly touch his fingertips to Julian’s brow. By God, the boy was hot.

Fear lodged inside Trent’s gut. He shoved the chair back and was out the door, down the hall at Bridgette’s room and rapping on the door within a few breaths. She opened the door right away. “What is it?” Fear made her voice tremble.

“
Julian is burning up.”

“
Mon dieu!” Bridgette pushed past Trent and his anxiety escalated as they raced down the hall. When he entered the room, she was already shaking the child. “Julian!” She babbled some words in French while patting the boy’s cheek. He moaned and slowly opened his eyes. First just a bit, and then he brought his tiny fists to his eyes, rubbed them and opened them all the way.

Trent met the child’s frightened green gaze and all the air in his lungs expelled in a rush of astonishment. The hairs on his neck stood on end as Julian blinked. It was like peering into a looking glass at a younger version of himself.

The boy cocked his head, causing a lock of golden hair to fall over his right eye. Immediately, he shoved the hair back. That gesture. That flick of his hand, all wrist and arrogance. Trent’s heart seized in his chest, then exploded into a vicious beat. He scrambled onto his knees by Julian’s bedside. On his son’s level, staring into his eyes, the anger that had festered since the day he realized who and what Gwyneth was dissolved. He reached a hand out and Julian glanced at it, then looked to Bridgette for guidance of what he should do. Bridgette gave his son an almost imperceptible nod.

Trent held his breath until the moment the soft, small hand came to his and he wrapped his long fingers around the tiny, chubby ones. He brought his face close to his son, his vision blurring with tears. “Julian,” he croaked. “Do you know who I am?”

“
Qui,” Julian answered in a tiny, unsure voice. “Papa.”

“
Yes,” Trent agreed, warm tears trickling down his cheeks. “I’m your papa and you’ve come home.” He gently pulled the child to him and hugged him to his chest. Julian wiggled in his arms until Trent reluctantly released him.

Bridgette set her hand on Trent’s shoulder. “He’ll accept you quickly. Children are like that.”

Trent nodded, and smiled as Julian picked up his hand and played with the crest ring on his finger.

“
Mine,” the child said petulantly.

Trent ruffled his son’s hair. “Someday,” he answered as footsteps sounded behind him and the physician followed Pickering into the room.

Trent stood and turned to greet the physician. “Otts. This is my son. I trust you’ll take excellent care of him.”

The physician gaped at Trent for a moment before recovering his composure. “Of course, Lord Davenport.”

Stepping aside, Trent motioned him toward Julian, but Julian held his chubby hand out to Trent. “Papa. Stay.”

Trent’s heart constricted as he took his son’s hand and locked gazes with Bridgette. She beamed at him. As the physician examined Julian, the child played with Trent’s ring some more, twisting it on his finger. Trent suspected Julian had wanted him to stay by his side more to fiddle with his ring than for his sake, but it didn’t matter. He was reluctant to part from the boy. It was astonishing to think he had a son. More shocking than that was the instantaneous intensity of his feelings for Julian. He wanted to protect him from any harm anyone would ever intend him. The first order of business before Julian was introduced to Society would be to make up a story he could tell about Gwyneth. People would talk, of that Trent was certain.

As the physician examined Julian, Trent couldn’t help but worry about Audrey. He was certain she’d been on the verge of accepting his proposal, but what would she do now that he had a son? Julian was his rightful heir, no matter whether he and Audrey had a son or not. Could she accept that? Fear twisted his gut. He didn’t want to lose her, but he wasn’t sure there was going to be a way to entice her to stay.

Unless… He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then slowly opened them. Could he offer Audrey his love and trust? Tiny fingers twisted his crest ring as the question rang in his mind. Trusting and loving a child was simple. But a woman?

“
My exam is complete,” the physician announced.

Trent nodded and motioned toward the hall. “Let’s speak out of the room. Bridgette, I’ll inform you of what Dr. Otts says.”

Bridgette nodded and moved to sit by Julian.

Once in the hall, Trent’s concern exploded. “Well?”

“
You boy’s lungs sound excellent.”

“
I heard a rattle,” Trent countered.

“
It’s nothing serious.”

“
What of his fever?”

“
Children run warmer than adults, which often worries parents.” Otts clapped Trent on the shoulder. “I wasn’t aware you were married.”

“
I was. My wife died,” Trent said evenly, not wishing to discuss the situation before he knew exactly what he wanted to say. “I trust you can keep my personal life to yourself.”

Otts nodded his head. “Of course, my lord.”

“
Excellent. Is there anything you recommend I do for Julian to help speed his recovery?”

“
Cool cloths to help with the fever and then fresh air once it breaks.”

“
I’ll do it personally,” Trent replied. He’d been absent for too much of Julian’s young life already. He wasn’t about to miss any more.

Much later in the evening Trent held his sleeping, less feverish, son in his arms. He hadn’t felt this relaxed and happy in a very long time. The moment was almost perfect. He wanted to share his happiness with Audrey, and for once, the idea of opening up to her didn’t set him on edge.

After five days of catering to her sick aunt and four days since she had last seen Trent at the Lionhursts’ home, the moment the physician’s carriage pulled into the drive of her home she scrambled to her feet and flew out of her study, anxious for Dr. Otts to pronounce her aunt in good health. If Aunt Hillie was truly better as she seemed to be, maybe Audrey could somehow see Trent today. She raced down the hall, ignoring the look of astonishment Mr. Barrett gave her when she soared past him and to the door. Flinging open the door, she rushed down the steps and halted as the carriage door slowly opened and doctor Otts descended followed by a young gentleman who resembled the physician. The man had to be Dr. Otts’s son. He was in training to practice with his father, so it made sense.

“
My goodness, Lady Audrey, has your aunt taken a turn for the worse?” doctor Otts asked.