Chapter 12

By the time her entourage made the three-day journey to Wiltshire, Rose was exhausted. It was close to midnight when they arrived, which she hoped would mean she would not see Philip until the following day, after she’d had a chance to bathe, rest, and fortify herself.

Kirkwood personally came to welcome her and Drake, and she hated to imagine what he must have thought of her state of exhaustion, because he quickly organized for Drake to be taken to his room and sent her immediately to her own.

Elaine, too, must have been fagged to death, but she still rang for a bath. Once it was organized, Rose shooed her off to her bed.

“The tub can stay as it is for one night,” she said firmly, “and I’m quite capable of drying myself and hopping into bed.”

Elaine didn’t need to be told twice. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall check that His Grace is settled first. Good night.”

Rose removed her dusty, grimy traveling gown, eased herself into the water and closed her eyes. When she found herself starting to doze she decided to keep them open. She would hate to fall asleep and drown in the tub.

Her pregnancy was probably the reason this trip had seemed longer than usual. The queasiness had started the previous morning. Whether the nausea stemmed from her condition or her trepidation at seeing Philip, she wasn’t sure. She hoped she wasn’t going to be too sick. It would not take her friends long to make an accurate guess as to why she felt so bad.

Another yawn almost cracked her jaw. Determined to wash her hair, she dunked her head under the water. She would sit in the chair by the fire and brush it as it dried. She didn’t care if she fell asleep in the chair. She could rest tomorrow.

While she hid from Philip.

But as she washed the soap from her hair she knew she couldn’t hide forever. A wave of nausea washed over her and she placed her hand on her stomach, caressing it gently.

How would she tell him? How angry would he be?

At that moment she didn’t care how he took the news. She was thrilled. She’d found something that would make the man she loved forego his ridiculous plan to remain unmarried and childless.

Philip paced his bedchamber like a caged lion.

Rose’s carriage had driven up close to midnight. It was now just after two in the morning. He wanted to see her. He knew it was a bad idea, but he wanted their first meeting to be private. He wanted to ascertain how she was, ensure his presence here did not embarrass her, and see how she wished to act when together in public.

He still didn’t understand why he’d accepted Kirkwood’s invitation. He told himself it was because at some point he and Rose were going to have to mix in society, and it would scotch rumors if they could demonstrate their mutual decision to end their affair and yet remain friends.

His heart, however, told him something different.

Thankfully, not all the guests had arrived yet. He waited until those who made up the party had retired for the night. Finally—and before he could change his mind—he slipped into the corridor.

He had made it his business to discover which suite had been assigned to Rose, so he wasted no time dallying in the corridor. Without bothering to knock he slipped quietly into her room.

A lantern glowed on the dresser by her bed, and the fire still burned bright in the grate. The bed was empty, and it was only when he walked around one of the high-back chairs near the fire, that he found Rose, curled up fast asleep, her hair spread across her shoulders like a shawl.

He saw the open door to her bathing chamber. Noted that the tub was still full of water. She’d bathed and then, being too tired to wait for her hair to dry before slipping into bed, she’d succumbed to sleep.

Gently, he touched her flowing tresses that glinted gold in the firelight.

She was so beautiful. He used to love lying in bed watching her sleep. Her expression was always peaceful, so peaceful he wondered what she dreamed about. He envied her sleep that was never interrupted by nightmares.

He stood looking down at her, undecided whether he should wake her. She looked exhausted.

He frowned. Her face was too pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. If he left her sleeping by the fire, she’d have a kink in her neck in the morning. Besides, once the coals burned low the room would become cold. It wasn’t snowing outside, but the morning brought heavy frosts.

It was probably best she got some rest. This time together was going to be difficult enough for both of them. Any conversation would just have to wait until tomorrow.

Carefully, he lifted her into his arms. She must be tired, he thought, for she barely stirred—and then only to nuzzle into his chest. He stood there holding her, torn between taking her to her own bed and carrying her down the corridor to his.

Finally, on a muttered curse he walked to her bed and drew back the covers. Then he laid her gently on the cold sheets, tucked her in as if she were a child, and placed a kiss to her head.

She snuggled deep into the downy bed, pulling the covers tight around her to ward off the chill. She mumbled something, but he wasn’t close enough to hear it.

Did she still dream about him, as he dreamed of her?

He had no idea how long he stood looking down at her, but finally it dawned on him that the fire was burning low and he should return to his room.

He took the coal bucket and stoked up the fire so that it would burn all night and keep the room toasty warm. Then, like a ghost in the night, he slipped out of her room, and back to his cold, lonely bed.

As he lay in the dark, indecision racked him. If he wasn’t strong this week, he might make a huge mistake. Rose was temptation incarnate.

He missed her more than he’d missed any of his previous lovers, but then he’d never stayed with any other woman as long as he had stayed with Rose.

While he missed their physical union, it was her smile, the way she always greeted him as though he were the most important man on earth, and the way he could converse with her about anything. She had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and was not afraid to share her opinions on his estate business and politics. She was also tenderhearted and understood his inner worries and thoughts.

And she was just down the corridor.

In a bed.

Alone.

His body throbbed with need—the need to simply hold her. To sleep with her in his arms. To wake up to her smile and…And what, then? At the end of this week he would only have to go through the pain of walking away all over again.

On a growl of frustration, he rolled over and closed his eyes. With Rose not far away he hoped he’d have sensual dreams tonight, instead of his normal nightmares.

“Mother, wake up. It’s light outside. May I have your permission to go riding with Lord Coldhurst and Henry? Please?”

Rose had been having the loveliest dream. She and Drake were breakfasting at Flagstaff Castle with Philip, who was crooning to her big fat stomach. One happy family. She didn’t want to wake up.

“Mother, please wake up.”

She cracked open one eye. A very excited Drake hopped up and down next to her bed, holding hands with Elaine.

“Sorry, Your Grace,” Elaine murmured. “Lord Coldhurst would only take him on his new horse if you said it was all right.”

On a sigh, Rose rolled onto her back and tried to pull her arm from under the covers only to find it caught up in her robe. Why was she still wearing her robe? And then a memory, like a dream, flashed into her head—strong, familiar arms carrying her and laying her in bed.

Philip had come to see her last night. She shivered from the warmth that he’d come to her so soon.

“Please, Mother,” Drake begged. “Lord Cumberland is riding, too. I have to show him how well I can ride Crusoe.”

She pushed up and managed to disentangle herself enough to sit up. “As long as you don’t try to show off. And you must follow Lord Coldhurst’s instructions to the letter.”

“I will. I promise.” He jumped up and down excitedly. “Thank you, Mama!” He leaped on the bed and gave her a smacking kiss before racing out the door.

Rose flopped back onto the bed as a wave of nausea engulfed her. She battled the bile but it was going to win.

She rolled over just as Elaine slipped in beside her with a basin. Then she threw up what little she had in her stomach until all she could do was dry retch until the spasm passed.

“I’ll get you some tea and toast,” Elaine said practically. “You need something in your stomach.”

Rose nodded through her misery. “If I recall, I was sick with Drake for almost two months.”

Elaine pursed her lips before saying, “That’s not too bad. Some women are sick the whole way through.”

The very idea exhausted her. “I think I’ll rest today. Please tell Lord Kirkwood I’m exhausted from the journey.”

Elaine handed the basin to the maid who had entered to see to the fire, and asked her to empty it, clean it, and return with two more. “I’ll personally see to your breakfast, Your Grace. I remember what you could manage.”

Once the women had gone, Rose lay back and closed her eyes. Her stomach rolled and pitched as though she were on a ship—and now all she could think about was how to tell Philip.

He’d come to her rooms last night. What did that signify? What had Kirkwood said to get him to come for the week? Or had he come for her? She wondered if he would hate her for getting with child. It was hardly her fault, and as far as she was concerned it was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Portia stopped the maid in the corridor. She could smell the sour odor of vomit from the basin the girl carried as she drew near. “Is someone ill?”

The maid curtseyed. “Yes, your ladyship. Her Grace has been sick all morning.”

Portia grabbed the maid’s arm. “It’s nothing serious, is it?” she asked, concern for her friend making her pulse jump and bounce.

The maid smiled. “Oh, no, my lady. From what her lady’s maid was saying, Her Grace was this sick last time she was with child.”

Portia’s world began to skip and slide but for only a moment. Then delicious happiness engulfed her and she hugged her newfound knowledge close.

Rose was with child. It could only be Philip’s.

This was perfect. Now the pigheaded idiot would not be able to walk away. He’d have no choice but to marry Rose and they would live happily ever after.

Portia wanted to go and hug her friend, to laugh, and cry, and plot, and plan together. But it was best to pretend ignorance. Philip should be the first person Rose told.

That thought arrested her. What if Philip already knew and that was why he’d agreed to come? Or what if Kirkwood knew and he’d made Philip come?

Surely Philip would be excited about becoming a father?

A small doubt crept into her head. No. She shook the doubt away. No. Philip was a good man. He would absolutely do the honorable thing.

Oh, dear. She would have to keep this secret and she was never very good at keeping secrets. She hoped Rose revealed all soon.

In the meantime, she would pretend that everything was fine, that Rose was in perfect health, and no one—no one—would be more surprised than she when Philip led Rose forward and presented her as his future countess.