The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

Unbidden, images rose to her mind, of blows, and the time when Godfrey pinned her arms behind her back with one meaty hand, using the other to roam over her body, poking and probing. The shock of pain reminded her, and would for some weeks yet. She was bruised from that encounter and others, some marks visible, like the ones on her wrists, reddened now but they would turn black in a few days. She had some grazes from where he had pushed her down on her knees on the carpet by the bed, but they were not visible. Last night she had wondered if she could survive the treatment he meted out. At least she didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

“Answer me. Was your marriage consummated, or did he merely strike you?”

Merely? She stared at him, her mouth tightly closed.

His eyes remained expressionless, the mouth a thin, flat line, sharp enough to cut. He stood perfectly still, only his chest rising and falling gently as he breathed. “If you are with child, I will help you.”

Icy horror crept up her spine. If she had a child, a son in particular, her father would have his heir.

Would she abandon a child to her father’s tender mercies?

Did she have any choice?

A chill swept over her, nothing to do with the bright spring day outside. He did not care if she had time to live her life, only that she birthed his grandchild.

And yet...her father’s longing for a male heir gave her a lever. Something she could work with. To keep herself alive. Juliana had had no idea how badly she wanted to cling to life until her death became probable and imminent.

If she had a son, he could become Lord Hawksworth of the second creation.

More bribes would have to be handed over, but he would do it. Her father was tireless in his efforts to save the estate. If she was enceinte, then she was valuable. She could expect to be taken care of, at least until she was brought to bed.

That would not save her, not in the long run, though it would give her a nine-month breathing space.

“What if I am? What if he did consummate the marriage?” She folded her arms over her chest, hating that she had to negotiate. But if she could save herself, she would. At the price of a child?

Any knowledge she gave lessened her power. She wanted to consider her options before she admitted to anything. Keep him waiting, wondering.

He longed for a grandson. If she bore a son, he would be pampered and indulged, cosseted, even. Juliana had not been deprived of belongings, of education or of attention. Only of affection and the freedom to make her own decisions. If it had not been for the servants assigned to her welfare, she would not have known love at all.

She needed her father to fight for her. He had power and influence, and she did not. She mustered all the arguments she could, all the ones she hated, but this was her life at stake.

“If you can help me escape the gallows, even if I am not pregnant now, I can marry again.” She had never spoken to him so straightly before, or met his cold gaze with such boldness. “Oh, I cannot marry the wealthy man you wanted, or gain you the political influence Godfrey could, but I can have children. Society will not allow me back; I know that. But I could bear your heir.”

She could play this game. She didn’t even have to have a child at all, just tease him with the possibility. And she would have some measure of choice in a second husband, although she was not foolish enough to demand that now. If her father helped her escape the gallows for a crime she did not commit, then she would give him what he wanted. Bile filled her throat as she considered the deal with the devil she was about to make. But she had no choice.

He nodded. “I can do something, though I cannot promise anything. I could help you to move abroad. You would have to stay there, but your child must come home to me and his inheritance.”

Moving abroad meant escaping justice. Escaping the gallows. She’d be forever labeled as a murderess, but she’d be alive.

Would she barter a child for her life, even knowing what he had in store? Would she accept the label of murderess, if it meant she lived?

She opened her mouth to speak.

A knock sounded on the door, but nobody entered until her father said, “Come!” Although this room was hers, he would not consider that nicety.

A footman entered and bowed. “There’s a gentleman from Bow Street to see you, your lordship.”

“A gentleman?” her father echoed. “Not a court official or a gaoler?”

“No, your lordship, a gentleman. Says his name is Sir Edmund Ashendon.”

“Never heard of him. If he will not stink up the blue parlor, put him there.”

He turned, glared at her, and then strode out of the room.

Ash wandered around the large, empty salon, much like the one he’d left half an hour before, except that in this house the upholstery and drapes were sky blue. He’d had to force his way through the restive crowd in the street, at least twice as many people than he’d left behind at the marquess’s house. And they were not in a happy mood. Leaving with his prisoner would be difficult, to say the least.

The door opened to admit a tall, thin man with the air of an exalted being. He wore black, but his waistcoat was a festive sky blue. Undoubtedly the Earl of Hawksworth.

Ash bowed and introduced himself. “I am here to see your daughter, my lord.”

The Earl of Hawksworth shot him an indifferent glance. “I hardly think my daughter is receiving visitors.”

He would have been surprised if the earl said anything else. “I