The Light in the Darkness (30 page)

This morning, when he had awakened and found her
sleeping in his arms, curled warmly and confidingly against his chest, he had realized bleakly that he could not trust himself to stay away from her. He was too drawn to her beauty and her innocent passion. Therefore, he had decided coolly, the only alternative was to make her hate him so much she would not come near him.

As he strode up the bustling main street of Williamsburg, away from his wife and away from the ecstatic and joyous night they had shared, he wondered why the hurt expression on her face should have torn so at his heart. After all, she meant nothing to him. He should not care that he had hurt her feelings. Yet, for some reason, he did. He cared a great deal.

It was utterly bewildering.

“Jennifer!” Catherine exclaimed as her friend walked into their chamber at Wetherburn’s, still clad in breeches and coat. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried—”

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer interrupted, placing a hand on Catherine’s arm. At least Catherine cared something for her, she thought bitterly. “I know I shouldn’t have stayed out all night, but …”

Her voice faded out, and Catherine looked at her sympathetically. “I take it you found Grey.”

Jennifer nodded. She did not trust herself to speak.

“Are we staying in Williamsburg?”

At last Jennifer spoke. “No,” she said hoarsely. “But he is.”

Catherine sighed. She had hoped, when Jennifer did not return, that she and Grey had worked out their difficulties. But Jennifer’s expression made it eloquently clear that the situation between them was worse than ever.

To her surprise, she saw that Jennifer was crying. “Jen,” she said in horror, “what did he do to you?”

Jennifer only shook her head dumbly, tears streaming down her cheeks, wrenching sobs shaking her shoulders.

For the first time, Catherine put her arms around her
friend and hugged her. “Damn Grey to hell” she said fiercely. “I’m so sorry, Jen. I tried to warn you. I was afraid—I was afraid this would happen.”

“You were right,” Jennifer choked.

“I always am where Grey is concerned, but I would give a great deal to be wrong, once or twice.” Catherine sighed. “Perhaps someday I will be.”

Jennifer sat in the parlor at Greyhaven, listlessly tapping at the keys of the harpsichord. There was no music in her mind today, nor had there been since Grey had stalked out of the tavern yesterday morning. She and Catherine had ridden back to Greyhaven yesterday afternoon. All day today she had sat in the parlor, wondering when Grey would return from Williamsburg and trying to convince herself that she did not care. But it wasn’t true. She cared dreadfully.

Why, she wondered bleakly, did Grey have to be so mercurial? Why did he have to be so kind and loving one moment, and viciously cruel the next? If only he would ignore her, she would be able to forget him. But when he made love to her tenderly, as though she were the most precious thing in the world, then leaped at her throat with fangs bared like a starving wolf the next morning, she had no idea what to make of it. Sometimes she thought Grey enjoyed reducing her to tears. She suspected his motives were more complex than simple cruelty, but she could not imagine what those motives might be.

Her hands stilled on the keyboard as she heard the front door slam and booted heels clacking on the floorboards of the entranceway. Grey. Home at last. She suppressed her wild desire to race from the parlor and throw herself at him, begging to know what she had done to anger him. Dignity forbade it. She forced her hands to continue playing the melody she had been fiddling with, but it sounded harsh and atonal. Completely wrong.

She had expected Grey to go straight to his study and
his decanter of whisky. Therefore she was startled when the door to the parlor opened and Grey strode in briskly, closing the door behind him. The music broke off in a discordant clash and Jennifer turned to stare at him.

“Good afternoon,” he said politely.

Jennifer said nothing, only stared at him harder. How could he be so rude one day and so civil the next? Perhaps he really was mad. It was difficult to believe a sane person could behave so.

Painfully aware of her confusion and the reason behind it, Grey paused awkwardly, then pressed on. “I’ve brought you your present.”

“There is nothing you could give me that I would want,” Jennifer said shortly, echoing back his own words with unmistakable hostility.

Grey cloaked his hurt with a sardonic grin. After all, he reminded himself, he had wanted her to hate him and had provoked her on purpose. He had no reason to feel hurt by her attitude. After his decision yesterday morning to distance himself from her, however, he was uncomfortably aware of his inconsistency in bringing her a present anyway. He wished he understood his own motives, but perhaps they were best left unexamined. “Odd,” he drawled coolly. “You seemed to want what I gave you in Williamsburg.”

Jennifer surged to her feet in rage. “How dare you remind me of that, you—”

“Before you feel compelled to say something unladylike,” he interrupted, “let me present you with your gift.” He opened the parlor door, and a spaniel puppy, perhaps six months old, trotted in. Its long silky coat was buff and white, and it looked fearlessly around at its strange new surroundings. When it spotted Jennifer, it began to wag its stub of a tail until its hindquarters wiggled frantically, and trotted across the room to her feet.

“Oh, Grey!” Jennifer knelt on the floor and gathered the puppy into her arms. It licked her face with enthusiasm. “He’s gorgeous! Wherever did you find him?”

“I went to Williamsburg to purchase a dog for you, since you once told me you had always wanted one. Unfortunately, no one had a litter of pups available. As I was riding up the main street, this little fellow darted out in front of my horse. I was nearly thrown. It was quite evident he had no regard for hooves or carriage wheels. I feared he might be run over, so I picked him up and made inquiries. Since no one claimed him, I decided he would make an excellent pet. He seems friendly enough.”

That was an understatement. Unable to keep the puppy from licking her face, Jennifer placed him back on the floor and stood up. Instantly the spaniel caught the hem of her petticoat between his sharp puppy teeth and tugged at it, growling with mock ferocity. Jennifer smiled in delight.

“Thank you so much,” she said softly, at a loss for anything else to say. She was still angry with him after what had happened yesterday, yet it was difficult to maintain her hurt and annoyance in the face of his unexpected generosity. She was startled to realize he had remembered her offhand remark that she had always wanted a dog. The realization made her soften involuntarily and curbed the bitter words that might otherwise have risen to her lips.

Grey hesitated. It had taken him most of the day to cover the nine miles from Williamsburg, with the squirming puppy held firmly in his lap with one hand, and the reins of his nervously dancing stallion in the other. Yet he had been unable to determine his motives in bringing the pup home.

Yesterday he had intentionally alienated Jennifer and told himself that he was better off if she hated him. Today he was trying to win back her friendship. It was perplexing. He decided to try for a facade of cool indifference. “After all,” he said in a chilly voice, “I did promise you a present.”

Jennifer smiled uncertainly at him. Although she still hadn’t forgiven him for his ugly behavior yesterday, she was reasonably certain he had intended the puppy as a peace offering, and she was willing to consider a truce. And
yet his tone was as cold and indifferent as it had been yesterday morning. Perhaps, she concluded unhappily, he had simply brought the puppy because he thought she would be expecting it.

“He’s a wonderful present,” she said, averting her eyes from his face when he did not answer her tentative smile with one of his own. Picking up the puppy and cuddling him against her chest, she added thoughtfully, “What do you suppose a good name would be?”

“How about Nuisance?” Grey suggested.

She ignored the remark. “Let’s see. Since you found him in Williamsburg, I believe I’ll call him William.”

“Quite a dignified name. Rather too dignified for the likes of him, I should think.”

“Oh, I think he’ll grow up to be dignified,” Jennifer replied, putting the puppy back down on the Oriental carpet, where he promptly urinated.

“I shouldn’t like to bet on it,” Grey said dryly.

J
ennifer lay in bed, her eyes shut tightly. The world seemed to be spinning around her, and she had the irrational conviction that she was going to fall off her bed. Due to the hard work she had endured in her lifetime, she was generally healthy and far less prone to the vapors or other womanish illnesses than most other women were. In fact, she had only been ill once in the past nine years. But there was no denying that she was sick this morning. She knew that if she moved an inch she would be horribly and tumultuously ill.

The door opened. The young black maid, alarmed by Jennifer’s greenish color, had summoned Catherine, who tiptoed across the chamber to the bed.

“Jennifer?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

Jennifer wanted to smile at the concern in the other’s voice, but smiling seemed like entirely too much effort. In a very small voice, she said, “I don’t feel well.”

Catherine laid a hand on her forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever,” she said dubiously.

“Perhaps not,” Jennifer said, her eyes still screwed tightly shut. “But the fact remains that I am dying.” It was a mistake to have uttered such a long sentence. She suddenly leaped from beneath the covers and staggered across the room, vomiting violently into the silver chamber pot.

Catherine sympathetically averted her eyes. When Jennifer straightened, she said, “Better now?”

“Perhaps a bit” Jennifer admitted, leaning weakly against the wall. She no longer felt certain that she was going to die. The thought occurred to her, however, that living might be a less preferable alternative if her body insisted on feeling this way.

“You won’t feel entirely well for a while,” Catherine remarked calmly. “Seven or eight months or so, I should imagine.”

Jennifer frowned at her, trying to imagine what sort of plague might last so many months. Abruptly her eyes lit up. “Are you saying I’m with child?” she demanded in wonder.

“I should say it’s a likely possibility. When did you last have your monthly courses?”

Jennifer concentrated. “About two months ago, I think. Not since—” She broke off and burst into a radiant smile. “A baby! I’m going to have a baby!” Grey’s baby, she thought joyfully. Perhaps it would be a boy, a child on which she could lavish all the love and attention she longed to lavish on Grey. A boy, with dark hair and silver eyes and a sharply curving nose …

“Where’s Grey?” she demanded abruptly.

“Surely you aren’t going to tell him.”

Jennifer stared across the chamber at her sister-in-law, aghast. “Whatever do you mean? Of course I’m going to tell him.”

“Are you certain Grey wants a child?”

“Of course,” Jennifer said automatically. “How could he not want a child?” Even as she spoke, her mind questioned the assumption. How did she know Grey wanted a child? Certainly he had made very little effort to produce one. Perhaps, even with a son in the house, he would still barricade himself in the study, day after day, emerging only to sullenly eat dinner.…

“It has dawned on you, I think,” Catherine remarked dryly, “that Grey would not make an ideal father.”

Jennifer stared at her, wide-eyed. “He has no choice,” she protested. “It’s too late to debate whether or not he will make a good father. He’s going to
be
a father, like it or not.”

“Perhaps it would be wise not to tell him immediately,” Catherine suggested.

“Why do you say that?”

Because I don’t want to see you hurt,
Catherine thought.
Because when he finds out, Grey is likely to become colder and more vitriolic than ever. Because I know for a fact that Grey does not want children.
“Grey has told me more than once that he would make a poor father,” she said hesitantly, trying to explain in a way that would not unduly distress Jennifer. “He has indicated that he has no intention of fathering a child. In fact, when you first came to Greyhaven he specifically stated that he did not want children. I think I know when you became pregnant, and I don’t think he intended—that is, I did not think that you and he were still—”

“Only once,” Jennifer said briefly. She did not count the first time, the time Grey had carelessly taken her virginity on the floor. As far as she was concerned, they had only made love once. “In Williamsburg, just as I’m certain you suspected. It was a terrible mistake. At least,” she added softly, resting her hand on her flat stomach protectively, “up until now I thought it was a mistake. Perhaps I was wrong.”

Catherine nodded. It was exactly as she had thought. Apparently they had succumbed to passion—or, more likely, insanity—for only one night. Which meant that Grey felt nothing at all for Jennifer, and had regretted his actions afterward. Probably a reminder of that night, in the form of a son or daughter, would not be welcome.

Jennifer was still considering Catherine’s last words. “Do you think Grey will be angry?”

“He had as much to do with it as you did,” Catherine pointed out reassuringly. “It would be most irrational of him to be angry.”

“Which means it’s a likely reaction.”

“Probably,” Catherine admitted. “Why don’t you wait for a while before you tell him? After all, it will eventually become obvious.”

“I wish I could,” Jennifer said after a pause, during which she did battle with her more cowardly impulses. “But it’s Grey’s child too. He has a right to know. And when the baby is born, perhaps he’ll make more of an effort to be a good father. Who knows? Perhaps he’ll even grow to love the baby.”

“Perhaps,” Catherine agreed dubiously. She could not imagine Grey holding a baby in his lap as it spat up on his clothes, or patiently cuddling a child, trying to stop it from screaming while it had the colic. The thought was ludicrous. After Diana’s death, Grey had become incapable of love, affection, or gentleness.