Until You (28 page)

Wham!  The door flew back on its hinges and slammed against the wall as Nicholas entered the building.  He stood on the threshold, his five-caped black
garrick
whipping around his booted calves, snow swirling into the room in great, icy gusts.  His gaze took in the empty front chamber and the unlit fireplace; the place was freezing.  “Ashleigh!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating throughout the silent building.  He got no answer, but then he hadn't really expected one either; she’d probably heard him coming.

Pushing the door shut, he quickly searched all of the downstairs rooms.  Finding them empty, he made his way upstairs, his fury mounting with each passing second.  Taking the steps two at a time, his boot heels thudding loudly against each step, Nicholas reached the second floor landing and angrily shoved open the first door on his left.  A brief glance confirmed that the room was empty.  When he reached the second, his heart nearly stopped at the sight that greeted him.  Ashleigh lay upon the floor like a discarded rag doll, a thin quilt tangled around her exposed limbs. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, as he slowly moved toward her, forcing his legs into motion.  His anger quickly turned to fear.
 
Kneeling down beside her, he gently rolled her onto her back.  He grabbed her limp hand, frantically feeling for a pulse, holding his breath until he felt the slight fluttering under his fingertips.  “Thank God,” he murmured hoarsely, she was alive.  But then, as his gaze swept her face, he noted that her skin was flushed and damp with perspiration.  He pressed his hand against her cheek; she was burning up with fever.  Sliding his hands underneath her back, he raised her into a sitting position.
 

“Ashleigh, wake up.”  He shook her gently, trying to rouse her.  “Ashleigh, can you hear me?” he asked, praying that she would open her eyes.  “Answer me,” he demanded, once again shaking her gently when she failed to respond.  She didn't make a sound, not even a whimper.  She was a dead weight in his arms, the only movement the barely discernible rise and fall of her chest.  Her head rested limply against his forearm, her beautiful hair and the slight flush on her cheeks adding the only color to her deathly white pallor.  Gripped with fear, he knew he had to get her to a doctor immediately.

Lifting Ashleigh from the floor, he laid her onto the bed and then quickly wrapped her in every blanket he could find.  Then, picking her up in his powerful arms, he held her tightly against his body as he carried her down the stairs and out the front door.  He entered the stable, kicking the door open with the toe of his boot, and then laid her gently on a bed of straw while he saddled her horse.  His own stallion had been ridden hard the entire morning, so he knew that Ashleigh's black would be better able to handle the weight of two riders.  With a strength he hadn't known he possessed, he managed to mount the black with Ashleigh held securely in his arms, having tied the reins of his own stallion to the rear of the saddle.  Ashleigh still hadn't made a sound and Nicholas was suddenly terrified that he wouldn't get her to a doctor on time.

Due to the poor weather and the encroaching darkness of the evening sky, the ride back to
Sethe
Manor took over two excruciatingly long hours.  During that time, Nicholas held Ashleigh across his lap, her cheek pressed against the warmth of his neck and away from the cold, vicious wind and stinging bits of frozen snow that pelted them from all directions.  He talked to her the entire time, switching abruptly from pleas to threats, anything to try to keep her from slipping into permanent darkness.

As Nicholas' body protected her from the harsh elements, Ashleigh struggled against the clinging blackness that numbed her senses and clouded her mind.  She knew that someone was calling out to her and she desperately wanted to answer, for the voice was achingly familiar.  But she was tired, so very tired.  It would be so easy to give in to the peaceful oblivion that hovered so near, yet the voice was relentless, continually pleading with her to open her eyes, to fight against the darkness that seemed determined to prevent it. 

As they drew nearer to
Sethe
Manor, Nicholas quickened their pace in spite of the fierce weather, for with each passing moment, his anxiety increased.  It was then that he felt a slight movement against his chest and looked down in time to see Ashleigh’s eyes flicker open and then attempt to focus on his face, before once again drifting shut.

“Ashleigh.  Ashleigh, listen to me,” he commanded, jostling her slightly.  “You need to stay awake, do you hear me?” 

“Don't want to,” she replied groggily as she attempted to bring Nicholas' blurred features into focus once again.  She wanted to tell him that she was cold, that she just wanted to sleep, but she couldn't seem to make her mouth form the words.  What was wrong with her, why did her head hurt and why was she so cold?

“We are almost home, you just have to stay awake a little longer,” Nicholas urged, his tone coaxing now.

“So cold,” Ashleigh managed to utter.

“I know you're cold sweetheart,” Nicholas murmured, pulling her more tightly against his body, her slight form wrapped in quilts, blankets and the folds of his heavy
garrick
.  “Soon we will be home, and then we shall tuck you into your nice warm bed and you can sleep all you want.  But, until then, you have to be a good girl and stay awake.  Do you understand?” he asked, looking into her glassy, feverish eyes.

“Not a child,” Ashleigh muttered softly, with a touch of her old spirit.

Nicholas looked down upon her flushed cheeks and trembling lips; she looked so fragile, but still as beautiful as ever.  “I know you're not a child darling, believe me, I know,” Nicholas told her as he reached out and tenderly brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

Ashleigh felt the warmth of his skin upon her cheek and instinctively she turned her face so that it rested against the palm of his hand.  Was she dreaming or was Nicholas really holding her in his arms, speaking to her so tenderly and calling her darling?  She struggled to keep her eyes open, but the thick fog was closing in on her once again.

As Nicholas watched helplessly, Ashleigh's eyes fell closed, and her head once again lolled to the side.  Although he tried several times, he was unable to rouse her again.
 
He’d never been so frightened in all his life.

When Nicholas entered the house carrying Ashleigh's limp body, he wasn’t surprised to see his grandmother and Brendon rush into the foyer just as the door slammed shut behind him.  Apparently, they had been awaiting his return in the front parlor.

“Oh dear Lord,” Madeline exclaimed, as she took in the limp form Nicholas held in his arms.  With her hand pressed tightly against the hollow of her throat, she looked at him beseechingly.  “Is she...?”

“She’s alive,” Nicholas responded, already heading for the staircase. 

“Send someone to fetch the nearest physician,” he called to Brendon as he climbed the stairs with Ashleigh.

Entering Ashleigh's bedchamber with Madeline following right on his heels, he carried her over to the bed and laid her gently atop the bedcovers.  He then began to remove the cold blankets and quilts, until she wore nothing but her undergarments.  He would have removed those as well, but his grandmother was suddenly pushing him out of the way and shepherding him towards the door, where Brendon now stood.

“I sent Dalton for the physician.”

“Good,” Madeline said, taking charge of the situation.  “Nicholas, go and fetch Annie and Edith and send them to me at once.  Brendon, rouse Monsieur
LeFeve
and have him prepare some warm broth to be sent up as soon as possible,” she ordered.

Turning, Nicholas and Brendon quickly left to do as they were bid.

“How is she?” Brendon demanded anxiously. 

Nicholas immediately turned from his position near the window as Dr.
Ainsley
entered the study, followed by his grandmother.  Nearly an hour had passed since he had returned with Ashleigh’s lifeless body.

“She has a high fever and has been slipping in and out of consciousness.  We will continue to try to bring the fever down of course, and hopefully it will break soon.  Her breathing is labored, but fortunately, I do not believe that she has contracted pneumonia.  As long as she is well cared for, gets plenty of rest and follows all of my instructions, I see no reason we cannot get her through this,” replied Dr.
Ainsley
confidently.  “However, my greatest concern at the moment is for the baby.  At this point, it is virtually impossible to determine whether or not the pregnancy has been affected by the fever.” 

Nicholas felt as if he had just been poleaxed.  “She is with child?  Are you certain?” he asked incredulously.

“Quite certain, Your Grace.”

He glanced at his grandmother.  Her features were taut, but she didn’t appear shocked as he was.  The physician must have informed her of Ashleigh’s condition when they were upstairs.

“Thank you, Dr.
Ainsley
, you have been extraordinarily helpful.  However, would you mind excusing us for a moment?” Madeline asked, her tone deceptively calm.

“Of course, Your Grace, I will return to my patient.” 

As the door closed behind the doctor, Madeline turned to face Nicholas, who had been standing quietly for the past few moments attempting to absorb what he’d just learned, his face now devoid of all expression. 

“Nicholas, how could you?”

He stiffened under his grandmother’s reproving regard, feeling as if the walls were suddenly closing in around him.  
Ashleigh was pregnant!
  “How do you know it's mine?” he challenged, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “
You may have been the first, but you certainly weren’t the last
,” Ashleigh's words came back to him like a slap in the face.  She’d said there had been others?  Had Brendon been one of them?

“How dare you look to your brother, as if he might be to blame,” Madeline said, clearly appalled.  “Your brother has only been home for three weeks and in that time he has treated Ashleigh with the utmost respect.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, swinging his gaze toward Brendon, encountering his brother's look of censure and disgust.  

“I may be old, but I am not blind Nicholas,” Madeline stated indignantly.  “I have seen the way Ashleigh looks at you.  She is obviously in love with you.”  She eyed him disbelievingly.  “How could you take advantage of that?”

Nicholas raked his fingers through his hair and sought to compose himself.  “Christ!  It only happened once.  I had been drinking; it was… it was a mistake.”  He longed to tell his grandmother of Ashleigh’s claim, that she’d had other lovers since then, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  Besides, there was no denying that he could in fact be the father.

“Don't you dare use alcohol as an excuse for your behavior Nicholas Leighton,” Madeline uttered angrily. 

Her anger and condemnation flayed him like a whip.

“Once Ashleigh has recovered, I expect that you will do the right thing Nicholas.”

Despite his guilt, he balked at the notion. “I will not be forced into marriage Grandmother.”

“Good,” Brendon exclaimed, moving to stand beside Madeline.  “Ashleigh doesn't deserve to be married to a coldhearted son of a bitch like you!”

“Brendon that is enough,” Madeline commanded, giving him a quelling look before returning her gaze to Nicholas. 

Madeline sighed heavily.  “Ashleigh is not your mother Nicholas.  I suggest you keep that in mind.  But of course, the decision is yours to make, and yours to live with.”  With a last compelling glance at her obstinate grandson, Madeline turned and walked toward the door.  “I am going to check on Ashleigh.  I certainly hope you will reconsider,” she said, softly closing the door behind her. 

“Father would be proud Nick,” Brendon sneered, looking at Nicholas in disgust.  “From what I've heard about the old man, you are turning into the same type of degenerate bastard that he was.”  With that parting comment, Brendon left the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Nicholas stared at the closed door in silent fury.  He had been terrified when he’d thought that Ashleigh might die, but now, knowing that she would likely recover, he deliberately pushed those feelings aside.
 
He didn’t want to think about that now.
 
Instead he chose to focus on the situation at hand.
 
An unplanned pregnancy didn’t necessarily require marriage, or at least not to the responsible party.  If enough money was involved, Nicholas knew of at least a dozen men who would be willing to marry a woman carrying another man’s child.  There was also the option of placing the child with another family.
 
Women found themselves in similar situations all of the time and simply left the country for a few months, returning from their “holidays” as if nothing had happened, having given their child to be raised by strangers or perhaps by a remote family member.  Everyone understood that there were solutions other than marriage.  Of course he would have to deal with the Earl of Dexter, but even that wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. 

He turned and walked back to the window, sighing in frustration.  So why then did he feel as if he had no choice?