“It’s too early to say,” she said, even as that betraying hand cradled her belly where he already knew his child grew. The dog gave another soft whine and pressed against her as if to offer comfort.
“When did you last have your courses?” Ashcroft asked relentlessly, more to convince her than himself.
“That’s none of your business,” she said sullenly, without meeting his eyes. All her vinegar had drained away.
He was every kind of lunatic. He should have known her Gypsy remedies were absolute nonsense. She was less experienced than a kitten, for all she’d been married. Now the two of them were stuck in this mess.
Hell, after all these ye
ars, he was snared. With a respectable woman at that.
It was a damned disaster.
He waited for horror to overtake him. For anger and denial and recriminations and suffocation.
He waited…
And felt a slow, shimmering joy.
Diana carried his child. She’d grow round and glowing, nurturing his son or daughter inside her glorious body. She’d give birth to a baby who, he prayed, would be the image of her.
“Say something, Ashcroft,” she said in a stark voice. She stared at him as if she beheld a volcano or a flooding river. Some unpredictable force of nature.
He tried to tell his heart that his joy was futile. That he wasn’t fit to be a father. That he’d find some solution to this dilemma that left him free to resume his life of debauchery.
The fountain of happiness refused to be quenched.
He cleared his throat again. His voice kept deserting him. He had so much to say, sentences swarmed into his mouth, but only two words emerged. Two words he’d already spoken.
“You’re pregnant.” He sounded like he’d been caught in a hurricane.
Diana looked wretched. Ashamed.
Foolish girl. Surely she’d soon feel the happiness he did.
She rushed to fill the silence. “Even if I am, don’t worry. I promised I’d take care of any repercussions. I don’t expect you to do the honorable thing. I’d never expect that.”
He brushed aside the insult. The wild song in his heart rang too loudly for him to worry about her opinion of his old self.
Just as he’d waited for horror to descend at the discovery of her pregnancy, he waited for every nerve to protest at linking himself to one woman for life. He’d always avoided the parson’s mousetrap the way a cat avoided water. For the same reason. It was a totally inappropriate environment for a louche roué like him.
Except marrying Diana promised paradise. With the full approval of Church and state, he’d have her in his bed. She’d never sneak away again. His days would be full of looking at Diana and talking to Diana and arguing with Diana and sleeping with Diana. Even at this euphoric instant, he recognized marriage was no heaven, but right now, it beckoned like heaven.
For the first time in his life, the universe was absolutely right. Whatever Diana’s secrets, at this moment, he knew they didn’t matter. What mattered was that he wanted her, and she carried his child.
He drew himself to his full height. He clasped her more firmly around the waist, a waist that would expand as his child thrived.
“Marry me, Diana.” To his surprise, he sounded utterly sure.
She stared at him aghast, her pupils dilating with the force of her feelings.
Fighting back the hurt that pricked his bubble of happiness, he hurried into persuasion. “I know you think I won’t make an acceptable husband. I swear I’ve changed. It sounds asinine to say a good woman’s been the saving of me, but these last weeks with you, I’ve…”
She placed a trembling hand over his mouth, and he fell silent. He stared into her gray eyes, flat and lightless as the sea under cloud, and this time, he read her emotions with complete accuracy.
She looked as though her best friend had just died.
He frowned. Of all the responses he’d expected to his impulsive proposal, and in truth he had no idea what he expected, this turbulent sorrow seemed out of place. He was inexperienced offering marriage, but other men survived the deed. A speedy acceptance of the fellow’s hand or, in fewer circumstances, a polite refusal were usual.