Invitation to Ruin (31 page)

Ted, the head gardener, had been a young lad when Anthony and Richard were born. His stories made her wish she could cut out her tongue for having lashed out at a man who had suffered more than she could have ever imagined.

What Anthony had endured as a child she could not begin to fathom, and she’d thought her upbringing had been devoid of love! She’d never been subjected to such abuse and cruelty … it was little wonder he was as guarded with his emotions as he was. She understood him better now and wished she’d known more before she irrevocably pushed him away. Her ache for him was sharply focused and wearing her down.

They both had something in common. They had both been denied the love of their parents. They both had no real notion of what real love was like—what it took to earn it and how hard it was to keep it.

She glanced at the ceiling, blinking back the glimmer of tears. Now, knowing about Anthony’s childhood, she more than ever wanted to reach out and teach him about love. They could learn together.

She prayed with all her heart that she’d be able to show Anthony what it was to be cherished. That he’d forgive her enough to be in her company.

Anthony had wanted her, but not enough. Not enough to risk being hurt again. He did not love her. Now it was clear he would never let her close enough to try, not without a fight. And here she was lying here, as if beaten. She sat up. That would never do.

Richard, on his last visit, told her why Anthony was so scared of having a child. Anthony thought he was evil like his father, incapable of love. She briefly closed her eyes. She’d accused him of that very thing, here, in this bedchamber, the night he’d left.

That is why Anthony had lashed out.

But she didn’t believe he was incapable of love. She knew there was good in him. He’d been so tender when they’d made love. It wasn’t just about his pleasure; she’d felt his feelings for her.

“You’re right, Theresa, I am wasting away. But I don’t hate his lordship. I love him. I’m not sick because I’m pining for him. I think I’m with child.”

Theresa’s calm voice broke into her thoughts. “I thought you said he’d not—”

She raised her hand to her throat, willing her emotions to stop choking her. “The night he compromised me, the night he thought I was Cassandra, he did not withdraw.” She tenderly cupped her stomach. That night, almost two months ago, the man who did not want her love had given her the most precious gift. How could she hate him? She was going to have his child.

“When are you going to tell him?”

Her hand stilled its stroking. “I don’t know. I have to handle this carefully.”

He’d made it very clear that he wanted to lead separate lives. More of a concern was his opposition to children. She had simply been a means to keep Society at bay. What would he do if he found out she was with child? Would he build even thicker walls around his heart? She had to think of a way to break through, even if it took months of chipping away the stone—block by block.

“He’ll find out. You’ll not be able to hide your protruding belly for long.”

Melissa threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. The dizziness and nausea always left her by early afternoon. “I’ll wear my riding habit today. I need some fresh air to clear my head. I need to think. I need to understand what Anthony is likely to do when he finds out.” She stood and moved to the window. The splendor of Bressington lay before her. Though she never tired of its beauty, it was still her prison. A prison with no bars, but a prison all the same.

Melissa didn’t know what to do. Perhaps a ride would reveal an answer.

   “You want me to be what?” Anthony asked in stunned amazement.

Freddie Dorrington, the Marquis of Skye, stood before the fire, cradling his newborn son in his arms. The silliest smile plastered across his handsome face. “Samantha and I would
like you to be Philip’s godfather, and Melissa to be his godmother.”

At the mention of his wife, Anthony’s stomach churned. He missed her. He still wanted her. He feared her and what she made him feel.

Then again, his greatest fear was currently sleeping in his best friend’s arms. The thought of being this tiny infant’s godfather gripped his innards. He broke out into a cold sweat. “No. Absolutely not.”

Samantha, sitting across from him on the settee, gave a warm chuckle. “A grown man scared of such a tiny babe. You’re being ridiculous.”

The drawing room of Freddie’s home became oppressive. Anthony ran his finger around his cravat. His gaze hardened on Freddie’s face. “You don’t know what you ask.”

Like an assassin sent to kill him, Freddie approached, one foot before the other, bringing the danger ever nearer. Anthony was frozen, unable to move from his chair.

Freddie held out his precious bundle. “Hold him.” Freddie smiled. “Go on, he won’t bite. He might throw up on you, but I’m sure the mighty Earl of Wickham can survive a bit of vomit.” He tenderly laid Philip in Anthony’s arms.

Anthony became a statue. He was too scared to move. What if he dropped him? He looked down at the babe lying peacefully in his arms, and something tugged in his chest. Lord Philip Dorrington was so small. So vulnerable.

Protective feelings reared inside him. He’d never let anything hurt something so tiny, something so precious.

   Samantha watched the play of emotions flicker over Anthony’s face. She couldn’t imagine the war being waged within. Her heart bled for his pain. He would make a magnificent father. She believed Anthony had so much love to give … if he’d let himself. She’d hoped his marrying Melissa might have burst the damn, but he’d managed to push her away, too.

She gazed at her husband. Her wonderful husband. She
would not fail today. She owed Anthony everything for he’d introduced her to Freddie.

She rose. “I have some correspondence to answer. I shall leave you three boys alone.”

She gave Freddie a knowing look before closing the door quietly behind her.

   Freddie stood looking down at him. In a soft voice he whispered, “What are you so afraid of?”

Anthony closed his eyes, his voice raw with emotion. “Don’t do this to me, Freddie.”

Freddie crouched down next to Anthony’s chair and stroked a finger down his son’s face. Lord Philip opened his eyes. Baby-blue eyes focused on Anthony, then Philip smiled.

Anthony’s heart lurched, filling his chest to bursting point. Philip looked so much like Freddie.

Philip’s little fists waved in the air, his little legs jerking against Anthony’s arm.

His proud papa said, “Isn’t he amazing? A true gift from God. To think Samantha and I created something so innocent, so helpless, so … perfect.”

Without thinking, Anthony gave the baby his finger. Philip grabbed it with his tiny hand and made a gurgle of sound.

“He likes you.”

Anthony couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. Philip lay content, gripping his finger, kicking his legs and blowing bubbles of saliva out of his mouth.

Anthony’s eyes lifted to Freddie. “You know me. You know what I am capable of. You know what I did when I was young.”

Freddie looked at his son, then back at Anthony. “The boy, heavily under the influence of his father, is nothing like the man you have become. You should be proud. You survived.” Freddie stood and moved back to lean against the mantelpiece. “Would you let anyone hurt him? Would you protect Philip?”

Anthony swore. “With my life.”

Freddie nodded. “I need to know that if something should happen to me, my son would be raised by someone I trust. Someone who would not only protect him but teach him right from wrong, show him how to be a man, and most of all love him.”

His eyes pierced Anthony. “You are that man. You know what is important to a child. You know how a child should be treated. If your father’s cruelty taught you anything, he taught you how a child needs to be loved, should be loved.”

His voice a ghost of a whisper, Anthony asked Freddie, “How do you know? How do you know I’m not like my father? Love is only a word to me. Am I even capable of love?”

“Look at you. You’re holding my son as if he were the most precious thing in the world to you. I can see the emotion in your face. Fierce and proud.”

Anthony raised his head, startled. Freddie was right.

“Now imagine what you’d feel if you were holding your own son.”

The words sent a blinding image crashing through his head. A picture of a little girl laughing up at him. She had large hazel eyes, flowing black hair, and the face of an angel. Melissa’s face.

A floodgate opened, and his heart filled with emotion until he thought it would explode from his chest. Tenderness and something deep, too deep for words, swam through his body, touching every part of him.

His child. Their child.

His throat clogged with emotion. Christ! He knew this infant was dangerous. He gathered Philip tightly against his chest. He loved this baby already. And he would love his own children, ensuring nothing hurt them. He would protect and cherish them.

Anthony rose and handed Philip back to Freddie, his eyes misty with unshed tears. “Thank you. Thank you for showing me.”

“I have tried to show you for years, as has Rufus. You are not your father. “

Anthony gripped the mantel with both hands and hung his head. “Melissa. God, what have I done?”

“You love her.” It wasn’t a question. “I know because you pushed her away. If you had no feelings for her, you would have left her at Craven House. She’d have been no threat.”

“It’s frightening how well you know me.” He turned to Freddie. “I think I’ve loved her from the moment I compromised her and she told me not to sacrifice myself for her. I simply refused to recognize the emotion. I didn’t think I was capable of love.”

“Love is scary. It’s painful, frightening, and frustrating. But it’s also the most noble of emotions. You’d do anything to hold on to it, to revel in its glow, and most importantly, to bestow it unconditionally on the people you love.”

“I love her.” His voice hitched. “I love Melissa.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you’ve been behaving like a man whose head is pounding from too much drink.”

“I’m such a fool.” He turned beseechingly to Freddie. “What should I do?”

Freddie smiled and held Philip up to his shoulder. “When everyone else looked down on Samantha and her background, when Society told me to throw her away, do you remember what you said to me? ‘Selfless love is a gift so rare, a gift beyond measure, and a man should give up everything he owns just to have a glimpse of it.’ You were right. To have what I have with Samantha I would have given up everything—including my pride.”

The two men eyed each other.

“Go to her, Anthony, and even if you have to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness until eternity, do it.”

“What if that is not enough?”

“Then do whatever it takes until it is enough. You’re the Lord of Wicked; surely you know how to woo a woman?”

“That’s the problem. She was never terribly impressed with the Lord of Wicked.”

Freddie simply smiled. “Then show her the man underneath. She won’t be able to resist loving him.”

S
he’d managed to give her constant shadow the slip. Stubbs

had been adamant that Mr. Dutton must accompany her whenever she left the immediate grounds of Bressington. Apparently there had been some thieves in the area attacking the wealthy. Stubbs felt responsible for her with her husband absent.

Nevertheless, today she needed to be alone. Alone to contemplate her next move. Was she brave enough to go to London and beg Anthony’s forgiveness? What kind of reception would he give her?

The late afternoon sun warmed her skin as she steered her bay mare along the lush fields of Bressington. Melissa tried to ignore the churning despair grinding her stomach.

She was pregnant and Anthony had left her. She’d heard no word for almost six weeks. Where was he? Who was he with? Had he procured a mistress? Her eyes filled with tears. Of course he would have.

How ironic that the man she loved, the man she’d gifted her heart to, was unlikely to let her near enough to prove to him how rewarding their match could be.

If she chased after him, he’d push her away. He dealt with intimacy by seeking mindless pleasure and avoiding anything that truly made him feel. He protected himself by shielding his heart behind a stone fortress. She wasn’t sure she had the
strength or tenacity to chip away and free his heart, stone by stone.

For the child she carried she would try anything, do anything, to ensure their son or daughter knew its father’s love.

After the way he’d made love to her, she had foolishly thought she’d penetrated his protective wall.

Then he’d calmly informed her he did not want children.

She’d realized her mistake too late. His wall had not been bridged, it was still impregnable. Making love, for him, was not about the joining of two souls. It was a pleasurable pastime. He’d tried to warn her of that once. He used pleasure to block out hurt and bitterness.

He could not grasp the fact that love was the only true protection. Nothing could hurt you, if you had love.

The pain his words had inflicted still knifed through her chest. He wanted a “white marriage” so that he would never father a child.

She placed a hand over her stomach. The thought of never having a child to love was like being told she had a cancer. She got down on her knees and thanked God that their very first union had produced this child, for if she could not win his favor, she did not think she’d ever be blessed with another.

Her senses skittered. If she had to choose between a loveless marriage and her child, there was no contest. She would face any exile as long as she could hold her child in her arms. She’d never let him take the baby from her—never. She’d flee to the ends of the earth.

She wanted the baby she carried. She wanted his child. This baby now meant more to her than life itself.

Guilt made her give a small sob. She would have to tell Anthony. He deserved to know he had a child. Perhaps—perhaps when he held his baby he’d change his mind. That’s it. As soon as the child was born she would return to Anthony. Not before. The only way to break through to him would be to place their child in his arms. Make the child real to him.