Melisande nodded, no trace of self-pity in her steady brown eyes. “He hasn’t a clue who I am.”
Emeline looked over to where her fiancé sat among a bevy of young ladies. He was gesturing widely, evidently in the midst of some story, and his right hand nearly clipped the cap of the lady sitting nearest to him. She again wanted to snap at Melisande not to be silly, but the truth was, Jasper probably did indeed have no clue what Melisande’s name was. He’d always paid more attention to the most beautiful ladies in their circle. That was only to be expected, she supposed. Men were rather shallow that way, caring more for a lady’s looks than her feelings or mind. Most men, anyway. Samuel sat in the opposite corner, flanked by his sister and Mrs. Ives—a rather plain lady of advanced years. He had his head tilted to the lady as she said something, but his eyes caught hers just as she looked at him.
Emeline looked away, feeling heat invade her cheeks. Damn the man. It wasn’t enough that he’d used her body until it ached this morning in a terrible, pleasurable way; now he must invade her every waking thought.
“...do hope you used a preventative,” Melisande was saying across from her.
“What?” Emeline asked too sharply.
Her friend glanced at her as if she could tell that Emeline’s mind was elsewhere. “I said I hoped that you used a preventative last night.”
Emeline stared. “What are you talking about?”
“Something to prevent a baby—”
Emeline choked.
“Are you all right?” her bosom beau asked as if she hadn’t just shot a cannon into the conversation.
Emeline waved at her as she took a drink of tea. Briefly, she contemplated denying that she’d spent the night with Samuel, but the conversation seemed well past that point. Instead, she settled on the more pressing matter. “Quite. How...how—?”
Melisande stared at her sternly. “I can’t think how you can embark upon an affair without taking appropriate measures. There are sponges that fit in the female body—”
“How in the world do you know of such things?” Emeline asked in real wonder. Melisande was unmarried and presumably a maiden.
“There are books if one is interested.”
Emeline’s eyes widened. “Books about...?”
“Yes.”
“Good Lord.”
“Pay attention,” Melisande said sternly. “Have you taken the appropriate measures?”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Emeline muttered.
Her hand crept to her laced belly before she caught herself and snatched it away. How could she not think about such a fundamental thing, even in the heat of passion? The possibility of a baby was a real concern, and one she could not afford. Jasper was very sophisticated, but no man wanted his heir to be someone else’s get. If she was with child, she’d have to marry Samuel. The mere thought turned her stomach. There would be nowhere to hide, living with such a man. She’d be constantly exposed, her feelings, her worst traits, open to him. He saw her, really saw her as no man had ever done before, and she didn’t like it. He would demand things of her, emotions she didn’t want to feel, and she wouldn’t be able to hide behind a fraudulent facade.
Her horror must’ve shown on her face, for Melisande leaned forward and placed her hand on hers. “Don’t panic. It’s too soon to know; there may be no cause for worry. Unless”—she frowned—“this affair has been going on longer than I’ve thought?”
“No,” Emeline moaned. “Oh, no. It’s just been...” But she couldn’t finish the thought. What must Melisande think of her? She’d been cavorting with a man she’d known only a little while at the same party that her fiancé attended.
Her friend patted her hand. “Then there’s no point in worrying. Enjoy the rest of the party and don’t go back to him without prevention.”
“Of course not.” Emeline drew a steadying breath. “I won’t even look at him again. I’m certainly not going to...” She waved away the rest of the sentence and straightened her shoulders. “I’ll just avoid him. There won’t be another time.”
“Hmm.” Melisande’s murmur was noncommittal, but her look was skeptical.
And Emeline really couldn’t blame her friend. She’d tried, but her voice sounded uncertain even to herself. Against her will, her gaze wandered back to the corner where Samuel sat. He was watching her, his eyes narrowed. To anyone else, his expression was casual, she was sure. But to her it was not. In his eyes she saw lust, possession, and certainty of his own strength. This man wouldn’t give her up without a fight.
Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into?
Chapter Fourteen
Iron Heart woke on the next dawn—the day before he was to be released from his silence—to the scream of a woman. The wet nurse stood in the doorway to the plundered nursery, and she screamed and screamed. For every stick of furniture was broken, the walls were splashed with crimson blood, and worse, far, far worse, the baby was gone. Soon the nursery was crowded with the people of the palace—guards, servants, cooks, and maids. All stared at Iron Heart, covered in blood in the nursery where his son had once slept. But his heart did not ache until Princess Solace pushed to the front of the crowd and beheld her husband, and her eyes filled with sorrow....
—from Iron Heart