Twice Fallen (24 page)

The last thing he would do was laugh at her, especially with the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She cleared her throat and added quietly, “I’ve always thought I wasn’t fertile, but it appears that isn’t true.”

Normally he would feel elation at the admission he
wasn’t just one of many men in her life, but at the moment he was still trying to assimilate the staggering news.

“You needn’t feel trapped.”

James came out of his initial shock, his eyes narrowing slightly at the flat sound of her voice. “What?”

“Trapped. I’m not asking for anything. I’ve money enough to—”

“Regina, my love, be quiet and try to not ruin this moment for me,” he interrupted, restive, crossing the rug to the window but not really seeing the silken draperies or the view even though he jerked aside the curtain. “You’re sure? I am going to be a father?”

“Yes.”

He turned, and this time his gaze burned into hers. “I should have phrased it differently.
We
are going to have a baby?”

With very uncharacteristic acquiescence she nodded, her gray eyes huge in the dim light. Her hands folded in front of her belly. “Yes.”

He’d come tonight half expecting to be turned away again… and now this. His voice ragged, he said finally, “I take it then the child will come in the late spring. Will you stay in London?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course.” His tone was clipped, more so than he intended. That he had no control over what she chose filled him with a sense of frustrating helplessness. “The child matters, you matter, that I love you matters. At least to me.” As much as he wanted to reach for her, gather her close and laugh or weep with joy, perhaps even both, he understood from her rigid stance it would not be welcome at this moment. So he composed himself
and took in a breath, letting it out with measured control. “I’m trying right now to imagine your position on this. What you’re thinking, how you could be feeling.”

“Odd that.” Her smile was fleeting. “Here I am, doing the same for you.”

Slowly, he pointed out, “Before I knew about the child, I told you I love you.”

She turned away, her profile distant as she walked toward the opposite window. She always moved with a certain fluid grace and he found it even more mesmerizing now, his perception of her changed, heightened, as if the fertility of her body lent her a new air of feminine mystery.

She stopped and turned. As usual, her hair was only carelessly caught up, the dark curling strands achieving a riotous beauty despite the lack of a sleek, perfect coiffure. Very softly, she said, “Please understand this, but I’m trying to decide if I
want
you to love me.”

Had that admission been a surprise, he might have been offended, but he was cognizant of her defenses. Regina did not like dependence. Fair enough, she didn’t need a male to care for her, but he wasn’t interested in possession. He just wanted a part in her life.

And in the life of their child.

“At the risk of sounding autocratic, you don’t get a choice.” His voice was just as quiet. “Neither did I. I fell in love with you. It just happened. I love you whether you wish it or not.”

“How easy you make it sound.” The statement ended on a choked sound.

To his consternation, he realized she was crying. Regina. His Regina, who was eclectic, and liberated, and
had never given another human being a commitment in her life. The twin trails of tears down her cheeks glistened in the faint light and there was the slightest tremble to her shoulders as she drew a breath.

An icy vise gripped his chest. “You don’t want this babe?”

She glared at him at once through her tears, her expression militant. “Of course I do.”

The tightness in his heart eased. “Then what’s the issue?”

Soft lips compressed and her eyes were a storm gray he’d seen before. “You’re going to offer to marry me.”

It was impossible to deny. “I
want
to marry you, and now it is even more pressing, as by doing so, I can make our child legitimate.”

“I’m not sure.”

That stung, but he’d braced himself for it. He knew she was unsure, and while he had no experience at all with pregnant ladies, he’d heard his cousin Jonathan discuss with affectionate exasperation his wife’s moodiness and emotional upheavals. So he reminded himself with as much pragmatic logic as possible that their unusual situation would shake even the most stable of relationships, and it was not a reflection of what they felt for each other.

Usually he’d give her time and not press, but in their case, while she might desire to wait to see if she could reconcile her emotions, they didn’t really have it. “Tell me why you have doubts,” he said simply, knowing it might be a painful exercise, but maybe if she had to articulate her feelings it would be good for them both. He knew his own mind; he had since the moment he’d politely
seated her at that fateful dinner a few months ago, taken the next chair, and turned to look at the dark-haired beauty who smiled at him with a sophisticated ease that instantly captivated his attention.

“Why?” Regina sighed, and for the first time since his arrival, relaxed a little. Enough to go sink down on the chaise she’d occupied upon his arrival, crossing her ankles negligently and swiping her wet cheeks with trembling fingers. “Oh Lord, James, where do I start? Our ages?”

As reasonably as possible, he pointed out, settling into a sagging chair that he’d decided was his favorite, the worn velvet immune to the occasional splash of claret if they got into a particularly animated discussion, “Our ages? Not a valid issue, my darling. Try harder.”

“How is it not a valid issue?”

At least she hadn’t taken exception at the endearment. He gazed at his glass for a moment before he looked at her. “I would never discount your sentiments, but truly, for me, those seven years mean nothing at all. You are a lovely, intelligent, and sensual woman. That is what I see. Every man in London will envy me.”

“And every person in London will talk about us as if we are the most scandalous couple to set foot on British soil if you married your much older pregnant mistress.”

“I think you exaggerate our potential infamy, and since when do you care what they think?” He grinned, because experience told him that the opinion of society mattered to her not at all. “You never have before.”

I am going to win this argument
.

Regina—the Regina he knew—sat up a little indignantly, and then she subsided. “What about how I am just a by-blow of the late Viscount Altea, the product of
his liaison with a woman who bedded him for money? You are the legitimate son of the brother of an earl.”

“What the hell does that matter? Besides, you don’t think of your mother that way.” James leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle, lightly swirling the brandy in his glass. “You loved her, and your father loved her from what you’ve told me. Yes, she was his mistress, but not a whore.”

“How is it different?”

That he was startled was not in question. Regina had never before acted anything but unaffected by the circumstances of her birth, her blithe acceptance of it an intrinsic part of her personality. After a moment, he said quietly, “They chose each other. She would not have accepted just anyone with coin in their pocket, nor would he have supported any woman just for her sexual favors. I don’t know why he never married her because you’ve never told me, but I am sure there was a reason. Can you explain why this is an issue now?”

“Because I am in her same position.”

James had never thought of Regina as his mistress, nor had he ever contributed to her household. She was more affluent than he was by far. But this was evidently important to her, and just the sheer emotional turmoil that was unlike the woman he knew so well told him to tread lightly. “You mean that you are pregnant and not married to the father of the child you carry? Otherwise, I confess I don’t see many similarities to our situation.”

“Don’t oversimplify this.”

“Don’t overcomplicate it. I am still unimpressed with your arguments against a swift marriage. Have I mentioned I want a girl?”

“Why?”

“Because there’s every chance she’ll be a perfect replica of her mother and—”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

It wasn’t hard to discern that was the truth. As difficult as it was to resist getting up to go take her in his arms, he knew that would be a less than prudent way to deal with their circumstances. “Why do I wish to marry you? Because we will suit each other perfectly. Because I love you. Because you carry my child. Because never, ever have I felt this way before and surely fate had a hand in gifting us with such a blessing.”

Regina stared at him, her eyes misty. “You sound as if you are sincere.”

“I am.” He set aside his glass with a definitive click and stood. “I’m staying the night. And in the morning, I will stay for breakfast again, and if you have no objection, then I will obtain a special license so we can be married at once.”

When he bent to kiss her she responded with the passion that had captivated him in the first place, her fingertips tracing his jaw. Then she whispered against his mouth, “Do you really want a daughter?”

“T

Charles nodded at a passing magistrate with a neutral expression as they walked along the echoing corridor. “Considering the man in question, that does not surprise me. What else?”

“I am now certain the victims are not committing suicide. I still don’t understand the purpose in killing them, but I doubt more and more that they’ve done away with themselves.”

That won Damien a sharp-eyed look. Charles murmured, “Is that so? Perhaps we should select a different venue for this discussion.”

To talk about cold-blooded murder? Maybe they should.

In the end they walked down the street to a small public house and without asking, Charles ordered them both a tankard of ale, planted his elbows on the less-than-pristine table, and lifted his brows. “Go on.”

“I can’t say with any certainty yet who is directing Kinkannon.” Damien shifted in his chair, which seemed
rather suspect and rickety. “This is what I
have
discovered. The threats are all based on small sins that have been committed, not usually anything catastrophic or criminal. Social embarrassment is the order of the day. Payments are asked for, and it appears some of the blackmail targets die.”

“Only some?” Charles nodded at the serving girl who carelessly deposited their drinks, and handed her a few coins. In the late morning, the place was nearly empty.

“Yes. That’s the dynamic I don’t understand. Including your nephew I know of four victims, but there are more, I’d wager.” Damien eyed his drink with dubious enthusiasm. It was going to be warm at best, and he was uncertain of the cleanliness of the glass, but then again, he’d drank out of a muddy puddle in the road in Spain once when he was so thirsty, so surely this couldn’t hurt him. He picked up the tankard. “There have been a number of unexpected deaths in the
ton
. The son of the Earl of Haversham most recently. Supposedly he was kicked by his horse. They found him dead in the stall one morning, already stone cold. It’s possible that is what happened, but when Sharpe asked a few questions, none of the lads thought it likely. The animal was well trained and the young man had been riding him for years. It came out he’d impregnated one of the scullery maids and was supposedly desperate to hide it from his father, which was probably why he was a target. I find the accident highly unlikely.”

The taproom was a bit odiferous, but Charles didn’t seem to notice. “Do you, now. Why?”

There were quite a few reasons he’d started to doubt the convenience of the deaths and the connection to
Kinkannon’s manipulations to be an accident—most of the facts unearthed by the intrepid Sharpe, but the main one, as far as he was concerned, had to do with conjecture. Not a good way to operate an investigation, but then again, he’d saved himself countless times during the war by listening to his intuition.

Damien said slowly, “There’s more. Six months ago Archibald Gorsham, the pride and joy of Lord Finnian, supposedly shot himself with a pistol in the garden behind their country house. He was an arrogant ass by all accounts. A strutting peacock, free with his money, with an eye for women and damn the consequences. Discreet inquiries unearthed a variety of sins, from gambling debts to insinuations of affairs with a married lady or two, and more—all the way back to purchased exams while at Cambridge. He was universally disliked by the servants, and his set of friends are among the worst rakehells in England. I am trying to picture him feeling enough remorse for anything to take his life and am unconvinced. In short, sir, he wasn’t the kind. I think our blackmailer miscalculated his target, and when our villain does that and knows he won’t collect, he kills them. Gorsham probably laughed in his face.”

“An interesting theory, to be sure.”

“I’ve more examples. Over the past year society has lost quite a few members due to accident or other circumstances. Kinkannon is behind the threats, of that there is no doubt because I’ve heard him myself. But he isn’t the maestro behind the symphony, if you’ll pardon the poor musical analogy. I know the difference between the puppet and the master.”

“Indeed you do.”

Damien simply smiled.

“I see.” Charles wore his usual understated dress: his coat plain, his waistcoat a drab brown, his neck cloth carelessly tied. Taking a sip of tepid ale, he frowned.

“You know of your nephew’s gambling debts.” Damien idly watched the barmaid cross the room again. “He hasn’t the money to pay any of them. He’s in deep, though I would have appreciated you explaining the family connection from the beginning.”

“I knew you’d discover it soon enough.” A thin film of tobacco smoke drifted toward them and Charles waved it away, his hooded eyes betraying nothing. “He finally asked for a loan three days ago. White-faced and sweating, all but weeping. He didn’t tell me the truth, but I had a suspicion anyway. The gambling was never a mystery. I have sources everywhere. What stirred my interest was his change in behavior. As I told you in our initial meeting, the prime minister has every confidence in your abilities, as do I.”