Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (26 page)

“I’m sorry for making you do that, Rand.”

“You’re sorry?” he sputtered.

“I know you didn’t want to do that. That it’s only for making a baby and we don’t need to worry about that any more, but I…I couldn’t help myself, I suppose.”

“You’re sorry,” he stated. And then he started to laugh, real body-shaking laughs that made his eyes water. When he finally recovered enough to look at his lovely wife, she was scowling at him.

“You don’t have to laugh at me,” she said with a small pout.

“My dear, I would love for you to be sorry every day of our lives together,” he said, and watched as she realized what he was saying. “I should apologize to you.”

“Yes, you should,” she said with a nod. Then, “For what?”

He looked down at her still-flat stomach. “For the way I treated you before,” he said quietly. “It was not well done of me. I didn’t even really like it.”

She gave him a look of skepticism.

“Well, not overmuch,” he said with a grin. He sat up and pulled up his drawers and pants, handing her a clean monogrammed handkerchief. “You know,” he said, turning away so she could wipe herself, “I’ve never actually had a roll in the hay. Quite nice, really, don’t you think?”

“I do prefer a soft bed,” she said, grimacing when a bit of hay stuck into her soft behind. He helped her to stand, then kissed her mouth softly. The flood of feeling that came with that simple kiss nearly unmanned him, and he cursed inwardly. A roll in the hay was one thing, falling back in love with her quite another. He tried to remind himself that not long ago she was crying because her former love had married another, but looking down at her, all disheveled, her lips slightly swollen from their lovemaking, her dress still askew, he found the only thing he could think of was making love to his wife again. God, he was cursed.

“I suppose I should go inside,” she said, hugging her arms to herself as if she were suddenly cold.

Rand blew out the lamp. “I’ll walk with you.” They walked silently to the house, not touching, just a couple out for an evening stroll with nothing to say. He wanted to invite her to his bed or invite him to hers, but that seemed far too intimate even given what they’d just done. Their lovemaking was a rather animalistic slaking of desires and had more to do with base needs than love. At least, he felt certain, on his wife’s part. He would not make the mistake of handing her his heart when he was not at all convinced she wouldn’t crush it with her heel. And so, when they reached their private dining room, Rand gave a small formal bow and bid his wife good night. He turned to the left and she to the right, their doors closing almost in unison.

The next day, Elizabeth discovered blood in her drawers. She looked at it in dismay, that small spot of red on her pristine white underclothes. She’d heard stories, all girls had, of women “losing” babies, of blood and doctors and pain. The doctor had told her the pregnancy was early, that some pregnancies did not end with a baby, but with blood and a small amount of pain.

She was bleeding.

“Oh, God,” she said, praying fervently. “Please let me keep my baby.” Her eye caught the little yellow bundle of wool, the tiny cap she’d just finished, and she let out a sob of despair. Then, she took a deep breath and hunted out her pads, and smoothed her skirts before inquiring of the staff where the duke was supposed to be this day. Rand always left long before she woke up, especially lately as she’d been so exhausted.

“Mr. Tisbury, would you please have the buggy sent ’round. I need to speak to His Grace.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

“Would you happen to know where he is today?”

“At the Foresters’ place. That’d be at the end of Coggshell Lane, Your Grace.”

Elizabeth rode in the buggy, keeping her face completely void of emotion, her back straight, her chin up. She was nearly to the Foresters when she realized she’d forgotten her hat and gloves and worn her winter coat. That alone was nearly her undoing, but she swallowed and pretended it didn’t matter, that nothing mattered but that she find Rand.

The buggy stopped at a rather large home with chickens pecking about the yard and the distinct smell of pig wafting up from an enclosure not far from the house itself. Nothing, she’d always thought, stunk quite like a pig. Somewhere she heard hammering, and followed the sound until she saw her husband, hands on hips, looking up at the roof of the back side of the house, where several men worked.

“Your Grace,” she called out, clutching her hands together at her waist, as if she were holding herself together. She’d thought she was hiding every emotion she was feeling, but he took one look at her and rushed to her side.

“What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t speak, she could hardly stand, she simply stared at him until she couldn’t bear the weight of everything another second. With a small cry, she launched herself into his arms. He pulled her to him without a word, somehow knowing instinctively that she could not tell him anything at the moment.

He drew her away from the workers, and when they had relative privacy, he stopped. “Tell me what has happened, love.”

“Oh, Rand, I’m bleeding,” she said, and began sobbing in earnest.

He went pale. “The baby you mean?”

She could only nod.

“How much blood?”

Elizabeth clutched his shirt with her fists, using the cloth to hold herself up. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s blood. I’m not supposed to bleed. The doctor said I wasn’t supposed to.” She’d never been so frightened in her life, hadn’t known how much she wanted this baby until she saw that spot of blood.

He held her and led her to the buggy, helping her on board.

“Jake, is Dr. Walton still in these parts?” he asked their driver.

“Yes, sir. But it’s young Dr. Walton now. His son.”

The young man gave a quick look to Elizabeth. “Shall I bring you there, sir?”

“No,” Rand said. “Take Brownstar and make haste to the doctor and bring him to Bellewood. I’ll take Her Grace home.” He put a hand gently on either side of her head, forcing her to look at him, his eyes intent on hers.

“It will be all right,” he said, firmly. “No matter what, Elizabeth. Do you understand?”

She nodded, desperately hoping he was right.

Rand drove slowly to Bellewood, knowing there was no reason to rush, that there was nothing he could do until the doctor arrived. And he was so afraid jarring her would cause more harm. With agony, he remembered how rough he’d been with her the previous night. My God, he had taken her in a horse stall, come into her without a thought of anything but satisfying his body. If something happened to this baby, to Elizabeth, he would never for give himself. And if everything were fine, he wouldn’t touch her again, at least not until the baby was born. Torturing himself, he remembered the near brutality of what they’d done, turning what had been a mutual expression of desire to a near rape in his tormented mind.

When they reached Bellewood, he lifted her from the carriage, stricken by the fact she didn’t protest. She buried her head against his neck and he could feel the wet of tears. Where the hell was the doctor, he thought savagely, even though he knew logically there was no physical way the doctor could have beaten him to Bellewood. To Elizabeth he said, “Dr. Walton should be here any minute. How are you feeling?”

“Nothing hurts,” she said, sounding so unlike her usual self Rand’s heart gave another wrench.

He brought her to her room and laid her down upon her bed. “Shall I get you something? A glass of water perhaps. A whiskey,” he added, joking because he wanted to see her smile.

“Whiskey would be fine,” she said with a straight face, then broke into a grin. “I’m certain it’s nothing.” She did not sound certain at all, for her voice held the tiniest quaver that he’d never before heard.

Tisbury appeared at the door, knocking lightly to gain their attention. “Dr. Walton has arrived,” he said, then bowed out of the room, but not before giving Elizabeth a worried look.

The man who walked in appeared too young to be a doctor, but he strode briskly into the room, setting a large black bag at the end of the bed. Rand quickly explained what was happening, then Dr. Walton ushered him from the room so he could conduct his examination. For ten long minutes Rand paced outside, making bargains with God to make everything well again. When her door opened, he stood still and waited for the doctor to come to him, because he found suddenly he was unable to do anything more.

“Your wife and the baby are fine,” Dr. Walton said without preamble. “At this point, the amount of blood is small and does not indicate a loss of the pregnancy. However, I would like her to remain in bed for at least another day. If the bleeding should continue or become heavy, you will need to call on me again.”

Rand wanted only to hear that all was well. “Is there nothing you can do?”

Dr. Walton shook his head regretfully. “In most cases such as this, the bleeding is not an indication of a serious complication, especially so early in her pregnancy. Unfortunately, if she is losing the child, there is nothing we can do to stop it.”

Rand did not find the doctor’s words comforting in the least. He wanted her well; he wanted the baby safe. He wanted the doctor to goddamn do something.

“I do wish I could be of more comfort. But it is truly a matter of waiting.”

Rand tunneled his fingers roughly through his hair. “Why did she bleed?”

“She is six weeks into her pregnancy, correct?”

“I don’t know.”

“As I said, it is early, and it is not unusual for some women to pass a bit of blood. My own wife did when she was carrying our children. I know it can be disconcerting to say the least,” he said with a smile, as if remembering his own panic. “In most cases when the flow is so light, it is not an indication for alarm. Your wife has no cramps, no other signs that something has gone wrong.”

Rand let out a long sigh, his mind only slightly put at ease. “Is it possible that I could have caused the bleeding?” he said, dropping his voice low.

The doctor gave him a sharp look. “How do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

Rand could feel his face heating. “We…I…That is to say we…”

“You had relations with your wife.”

Rand let out a small laugh, feeling ridiculous. “Yes. Could that have caused it?”

“Actually, yes.” At the look of horror on Rand’s face, Dr. Walton quickly added, “But no baby was ever lost because a man made love to his wife. A woman’s body changes, becomes more sensitive, more delicate, so to speak.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Was this by any chance yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Walton smiled. “It is probably that.”

“Oh, God,” Rand said, horrified to learn it was, indeed, all his fault. He’d been too rough, too urgent with her. He’d lost his mind when she’d looked at him with such desire.

“Your Grace,” Dr. Walton said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “If that is the cause of the blood, then you should be vastly relieved. You cannot harm your wife or your baby in such a manner.”

“But I did,” Rand said harshly.

“Sir,” the doctor said firmly, “you did not. If you must, be gentle. But I see no reason to abstain. None at all.”

“Of course,” Rand said.

Unconvinced, the doctor said, with a laugh, “Nine months can be an awfully long time. For both of you. Go see your wife, Your Grace. She’s probably worried that I was not forthright with her and is waiting for you to give her bad news. I’ll return tomorrow, sooner if anything changes.”

Rand nodded and went into his wife’s room, his emotions so raw he had to swallow heavily before speaking. She looked so vulnerable, sitting in bed in the daytime, covered up to her chin in bedcovers, her hair loose and spilling down her shoulders. “The doctor says you and the baby should be fine.”

Elizabeth gave him a tentative smile, but squeezed the coverlet until her knuckles shone white. “That’s what he told me as well. You believe him, don’t you?”

Rand sat on the edge of her bed and took up one of her hands. “I see no reason for him to hedge the truth. In fact, he was rather forthright about the entire thing.”

“I’m sorry to have given you such a scare. I just wasn’t certain what to do. Seeing blood…I nearly fainted.”

“I nearly fainted when you told me,” he said, laughing.

Elizabeth looked to her window and watched as rain streamed down, making the outside world blurry and soft. “I didn’t know it was raining,” she said softly. She closed her eyes briefly. “When I thought I might lose the baby…” She couldn’t end her sentence, for her throat closed up. She felt him squeeze her hand and gave him a rather tremulous smile.

“The other day with the letter,” she began. “When I was crying, I wasn’t crying because Henry was getting married. I was crying because I hurt you so. I was crying because I had been such a fool. And when I thought I was losing the baby, I was devastated because I knew how much you wanted this child. An heir.”

He started to interrupt her, but she stopped him with a gentle hand to his mouth.

“My whole life, I’ve only thought about myself. I never realized how much until recently. And now I find myself thinking only of you, of doing this or that because I hope something will please you. Of not doing things I know will make you sad. And I realized it’s because…” Her throat ached so much from unshed tears, but she had to say this to him. She had to let him know, because even if the doctor said all was well, it might not be.