The Dangerous Love of a Rogue (46 page)

Drew also thought it might be because she’d not been eating enough. He’d sat beside her at luncheon to ensure that changed, and filled her plate, ignoring any complaint.

Not wanting to disturb her sleep, he’d left her alone, avoiding temptation.

He walked along the upper hall to go back outdoors for a smoke.

“Steady now, a step at a time…” Pembroke’s deep tone had a low sing-song pitch. A gurgling, gleeful sound followed. Pembroke walked forward from the other direction, doubled over, his forefingers gripped by an infant’s chubby little hands. The child toddled before Pembroke on unsteady feet, rocking and swaying, but grinning and laughing.

A sharp lancing pain struck Drew’s chest.

He had eavesdropped this morning, but now he felt as if he looked in through a window and had seen something personal – and precious.

Pembroke looked up, and smiled. “You have not yet met my son have you?”

Pembroke gripped the child’s waist, and picked the boy up, tossed him in the air and caught him. The child squealed with excitement.

Then Pembroke balanced the boy on one arm while the other protected him from toppling.

Drew took two more steps towards them, feeling as he had done in Pembroke’s drawing room that day – out of place – bemused.

“Katherine is lying down too, she is also expecting. I thought I would give Paul some air. He likes crawling on the grass, or rather he likes the endless space where there is nothing to make me say, no. Are you going outside?”

“Yes.”

“Then we may keep each other company, if you wish?”

Drew nodded, then followed Pembroke as he turned to the stairs.

Pembroke crooned at the boy, while Drew fought to imagine himself with a child. He could not.

When they reached the downstairs hall Pembroke ordered lemonade and cake to be served in the garden. They did not go out the front, but to the back, to the terrace, where the sprawling building gave some shade from the sun’s rays.

Pembroke descended the flight of steps on to the cut grass and set the chid down. The boy instantly sped off on hands and knees.

Pembroke rose up and set his hands on his hips, watching. “It takes some time adjusting to it, yet fatherhood is a wonderful thing. I shall never cease to wonder at the miracle of it. But you will know it for yourself soon enough.” Pembroke glanced back at Drew.

He understood. He knew Drew was out of his depth and treading water hard not to suddenly sink.

“You may practice on my son, if you wish, or you may just wish to dive in to the deep when your own arrives.” Pembroke was laughing at him, without actually laughing, but there was humour in his eyes. “I was like you once, Framlington. I assure you, the instinct to love will fill you, in droves.”

Easy for a man to say when he had been loved and not hated by his mother and abandoned by his father. The instinct to love had not come to Drew’s parents.

“If what you said, and what Mary has said, is true, and you love each other, you will love the child.”

Damn it,
was Pembroke reading his mind?

“I doubted my own capability. Edward, Lord Marlow, was a father to me from the age of ten, before that my uncles and grandfather had been it to me in various ways, my childhood had distorted my view of love. When you knew me in Paris I was as self-destructive as you. I sentenced myself to exile for a while until my grandfather died and then I came home. Katherine was my saving grace. My son is our completion.”

Drew’s hand lifted to comb through his hair. His hand shook.

The servants delivered the lemonade and Pembroke ran to fetch his crawling, wayward child.

Pembroke picked up the boy and returned to the terrace, then sat and fed the child small pieces of cake and sips of lemonade.

Drew watched mesmerized. Nothing in his life would have let him imagine this…

Yet he wanted to learn to do the same, he would not treat his child as he had been treated as a boy. He would love – no, more than that – he would cherish his child as Pembroke did his son.

When the lad was crawling across the grass again, Pembroke sat on the steps to watch.

Further along the terrace Drew leaned on the balustrade, watching them both and lit a cigar.

“I have a property you may be interested in.” Pembroke said in the direction of his son.

“A property?” Drew straightened and moved closer.

Pembroke looked at him, “It’s some miles away, so you would not literally be on my doorstep, but it is a small manor that adjoins my lands, I bought it recently when it was for sale because it did so. There are rents from two farms which belong to it and a home farm.” Pembroke stood up.

“Of course I shall give you Mary’s dowry back and I would be prepared to sell that property to you at a fair rate. Or if you preferred I would lease it to you and you could manage it, have the rents, but in that case you would not have the chance to pass it on to your son, and his son in future years.”

“And you want us close, so you may keep an eye on Mary, because you do not trust me…”

Pembroke held Drew’s gaze, but there was no fierceness or challenge in Pembroke’s eyes.

“I do not wish you close, but I wish Mary happy and settled. The property is ideal. You and I were acquaintances once, perhaps if you let down your guard, we could be friends. Certainly Mary would like to have Kate and I near.”

And Mary was the most important thing to them all.

“You may show me it, and I will consider it”

“Then we’ll ride over there tomorrow.”

Chapter 37

Andrew had been solicitous for days. He’d barely left her side, and they’d talked and walked.

In the morning they always rode out together, about John’s estate, and in the evening they spent time with Kate and John playing cards. Andrew had even sat beside her as she’d played the pianoforte and sung, turning the music for her, and he’d read to her several times in the afternoon.

He was purchasing a property nearby. He’d taken her to see it the day after he’d been there with John. It was halfway down a hill which dropped into the river valley. It was a Tudor manor. Its wooden beams formed a skeleton, running through red bricks.

When they’d ridden down there the front of the house had caught the morning sun, as if it cast a blessing on their chosen home.

It was not overly large, but it was charming, nestling in woodland which surrounded it at either side.

Andrew was pleased with the prospect of building a home for them. It had become his favourite topic, and he’d begun learning estate management from John.

One afternoon, while she’d rested, he’d even ridden out with John, and John’s steward, to the farms that would be Drew’s, to meet the tenants and labourers and look over the fields and herds.

He and John seemed on good terms, and although Andrew claimed that living close to Kate and John would benefit her and that was why he’d agreed to John’s proposal, she knew he would benefit from John’s presence too. This was all new to Andrew, and John would be there to ask questions of, and provide assurance.

They had been together here for six days, and already so much had changed. Mary truly believed things would be good. They could become a true family and be happy.

“A carriage is approaching, Your Grace.”

John had Paul on his knee. He looked at the footman. “Is there a coat of arms?”

“There is, Your Grace.”

John stood. “Well it appears we have a guest. Would you prepare the kitchen…”

Andrew stood too. They were all still wary of Lord Kilbride’s threats.

“I had better go down.” John passed Paul to Kate.

“I shall join you.” Drew rose.

Mary stood. “Then I shall come also.”

Kate rose too as they left the room.

The carriage was pulled by four glossy blacks, and as it pulled up before the portico, they all descended the stairs. Mary recognised the insignia. Her uncle Richard’s.

Mary moved forward with John, leaving Andrew behind. John’s footman put down the step and the door opened.

“John.” Richard’s voice rang deep with formality. He looked back at Andrew.

Mary turned back and gripped Andrew’s hand, as Richard looked at John.

“How fair you?”

“Well.” John answered.

“And how are things?”

“Things are fine, Your Grace.” Andrew answered, as though he knew the question was code for,
and how do you find Framlington
…“Have you come all this way to ask that?”

John glanced back across his shoulder, clearly asking Andrew for restraint, then he faced Richard again. “Things are fine, if a certain person knew when to restrain his bravado. What has brought you here?”

“Lord Framlington.” Richard stepped forward. “May I speak with you? May we go inside?”

Mary knew that John had written to Richard and told him Andrew was here and that they believed him innocent, but Richard had not replied, and his eyes said he did not trust that judgement.

Andrew’s fingers gripped hers harder. Mary gripped his arm with her other hand. She would willingly protect him.

“Go up to the family drawing room,” Kate said, from behind them. “Finch will send up a tea tray.” The butler beside her bowed, acknowledging the request.

Richard lifted a hand, “There is no need for refreshment on my account.” Finch bowed again, and Richard’s hand encouraged Andrew to lead.

Mary’s heart pounded.

What was this?

What new disaster?

She took a seat in the drawing, her legs suddenly wobbly. Andrew stood beside the chair, his fingers on her shoulder.

Richard did not sit, neither did John, and Kate hovered at John’s side, her fingers laced through his. She must have passed Paul to one of the servant’s to take up to the nursery.

“What is it?” Andrew asked, his voice an ominous deep pitch. “What charge have you against me now?”

“This is not my charge. It is a formal charge against you – of incest. I have come to take you back to London. If the story you’ve told Mary and John is true, then you must tell it to a magistrate. Your only other option is to flee the country, and I will not have that for Mary’s sake. You should ask your sister to speak for you too.”

“I’ll not give Kilbride a chance to find Caro, but I will come with you and state my case.”

“You would face one man’s word against another, then, Framlington. When all evidence points to one conclusion. You will risk hanging, if your sister will not speak for you.”

Andrew sighed. “I will risk hanging anyway; her word may count for nothing as I am sure you know, and I will not risk her.”

Mary stood and faced him. “Andrew.” Her voice begged as his gaze met hers.

He looked past her to Richard. “No, I cannot do it. I’m all she has. If they do not believe either of us Kilbride will have her back and he will kill her. I cannot risk her safety. I have hidden her alone, she has no one to protect her. No. I’ll go, but I will not betray Caro. She is safe only as long as no one knows where she is.”

“Lady Kilbride may come here,” John spoke. “If you go to London, I shall fetch her. She may live here for as long as she wishes so you know she is safe. You have seen how many servants I have, no one can reach her here without me knowing.”

Mary looked at John then Andrew; he hesitated. He did not trust John enough.

“It is a good idea,” Richard added, “Your sister will be safe here whatever the outcome, remember this allegation is raised against her also.”

Mary wished to scream when Andrew still did not speak.

She turned and took hold of both his hands. His eyes were pale amber and honey as they looked at her. “You trust me. Let me fetch her with John and bring her here. I promise she will be safe. Then she can speak for you.”

“Very well, bring her here but I will not ask her to speak. I will not have her return to London, Kilbride’s thugs would steal her away. I will give you the address and a letter from me. She will know she is safe with you, Mary.” He looked at John. “But do not ask her to leave your lands, Pembroke. She would be in danger then.”

He looked back at Mary, gripping her hands hard, as though he wished to promise he’d return, and promise all would be well – he could not promise, it was not within his power, but his gaze held hope.

She withdrew her hands from his, denying her urge to cling to him, and turned to a desk in the corner of the room, hiding the tears in her eyes as she searched for ink, a quill and paper.

When he sat down to write she watched his fingers form the familiar script, which she had seen in his love letters; even if the words on the page had not been his, they had been in his hand.

When he finished, he blotted the letter, folded it and handed it to her. “It is addressed and carries nothing private.”

He gripped her free hand as he turned back to face the others. “I’m ready, Wiltshire. I’d rather get this settled.” Andrew squeezed her fingers again offering reassurance – he could not give it.

“Framlington.” Her uncle nodded at Andrew with an intense light in his eyes.

Ten minutes later, Mary said, “Goodbye,” crying, her tears now unrestrained. She had only just found happiness with him.

He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, and then bent to kiss her fiercely. “I am coming back,” he whispered as he pulled away. “I would not have dragged you into this muddle for anything, but I cannot regret helping Caro.”

“I know.”

They stood on the steps beneath the massive stone portico, their foreheads resting together. John and Kate stood to one side of the waiting carriage, the same that Richard had arrived in, with fresh horses in the straps, Richard stood beside the open carriage door.

“It is not your fault. I do not blame you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, back, and with that he kissed her again and then he was gone.

A few moments later she stood on the steps beside John watching as the carriage rattled off along the drive, the horses’ hooves striking at a canter.

“We had best fetch Lady Kilbride immediately.”

John looked at Finch, who nodded to confirm a carriage would be prepared.