Page 45 of A Whisper Of Desire (The Disgraced Lords #4)

Marisa nodded. “I have to call for the physician.” She rose and pulled the bell. Simon arrived before she’d had a chance to retake her seat.

“Simon, would you please run to Dr. Philips and ask him to call on me?”

Simon took a hurried step forward. “Are you unwell, Your Grace?”

Bless his little worried face. She gave him a reassuring smile. “No, I’m very well, thank you, Simon. I simply need him to check my wound before I dress for our guests this evening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positively.”

He smiled before racing off to fetch the physician.

Priscilla stood to take her leave. “We may be celebrating tonight.” She pressed a kiss to Marisa’s cheek. “Maitland will be overjoyed.”

“Let’s not get our hopes up just yet.”

Marisa sat on her bed in her shift, covered by a robe, excitement coursing through her body.

She placed a hand on her stomach. She could be carrying Maitland’s child.

She hoped it was a son. He so wanted a son.

Now she understood what women in love, who were married to titled gentlemen, prayed for.

They wanted to give their husbands their heart’s desire—a son and heir.

A knock at the bedchamber door shook her dream away. “Come in, Dr. Philips.”

The Lyttleton family physician was a middle-aged gent, with graying hair and a friendly, weathered face. He was not very tall, but he was solid. His smile instantly put patients at ease, and from day one, when he’d treated her upon her homecoming, she’d never been frightened of him.

“Your Grace, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well. I must admit I was surprised upon receiving your summons. I was worried, but the little lad said you simply wanted me to check your dressings. I knew that to be a lie, as I removed the last dressings two days ago.”

The excitement rose so that her words tumbled out of her mouth in a rare babble.

“I haven’t had my courses for over six weeks, since before the accident. I think I might be with child,” she gushed. “Is it too early to tell?”

At the stunned silence, fear crept in and pushed out her hope. The doctor’s face filled with pity and tinged a faint pink, as if he were embarrassed.

“Has your husband talked to you about the injuries you suffered?”

Coldness swept the room even though the fire was blazing in the hearth.

“Why don’t you inform me again of my injuries in case I have misunderstood?” she all but commanded.

The doctor looked round for some way to escape. He wanted to be anywhere but in the room with her. “I think it would be better if you talked with His Grace.”

“And I want you to tell me—now.”

“You are putting me in a very awkward position. His Grace?—”

“His Grace is not here, and am I not the patient?” At his nod, she said, “Then you must tell your patient what she wishes to know. You are obliged to do so, are you not?”

“Of course, but perhaps we should wait for His Grace to be here with you.”

That is when Marisa knew she would not like what the doctor would tell her.

The coward in her almost relented, and it was on the tip of her tongue to agree to wait for Maitland.

She couldn’t wait. The woman in her wanted to know, wanted to know so badly she was prepared to face what she knew was dark news on her own.

“From the look on your face and the fact you want my husband here, I already know what you have to tell me is not good news. Please, tell me.” She left her bed and took a chair by the fire. Dr. Colbert followed and sank into the chair on a sigh.

“I was told a splinter of wood pierced my stomach. What else was I not told?” She gripped the sides of her chair, lying to herself. She knew what he would tell her. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but until the words passed his lips she could still hope.

“The crash caused you to miscarry. Dr. Colbert says the pregnancy was very early.”

Her hands tightened on the wooden handles of the chair. She’d lost a child. Her stomach roiled, but she would not cry. Not in front of the doctor.

“Thank you for telling me.” Her voice sounded distant.

He looked hesitant, and she saw something else pass across his face.

“There is more?” Without realizing it, she placed her hand on her wound.

The doctor would not look her in the eye. “I think we should wait?—”

“Tell me. ”

He drew a deep breath. “The splinter of wood was large. Dr. Colbert did all he could, but your womb was too damaged and the small splinters of wood too embedded. He feared gangrene.” He paused. Then, in a quiet voice filled with pity, he destroyed her world. “He had to remove your womb.”

Shock shook her to her core. “I cannot have children,” she said to herself in a whisper filled with pain. Her whole body screamed No. This could not be, but the hand, now trembling, that was tracing her scar through her robe knew it was the truth.

Don’t cry. Don’t fall to pieces in front of him. You are a duchess. Numb with shock and pain, she turned to him. “Thank you for telling me. I realize that could not have been easy.”

He brushed her concern aside. “Can I call someone to be with you? This must be quite a shock. I know His Grace was dev?—”

His words about her husband sent more arrows of pain through her. He would never have his son and heir.

“Thank you. No, I shall be fine. I just need to rest before our dinner engagement tonight.”

He looked at her strangely. “I’m so sorry.” She merely nodded, trying desperately to hold on to her composure until she was alone.

Hesitantly he stood and nodded. As he made his way to her door, she added, “Please do not tell anyone of our conversation. This is between His Grace and me.”

He drew himself up and bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Then he left her to grieve alone, the closing of the door a death knell on her life. She couldn’t stay married to Maitland now that she was so damaged.

She thought of Priscilla. Of the dignified way she had acted when she’d been abducted and abused. Priscilla had walked away from everything her heart desired because of her love for Maitland. She could have insisted on a marriage, and his honor would have seen him comply.

There was no choice. Marisa had to do the same. She had to leave him, demand a divorce. He needed an heir and now she would never be able to give him one.

The room spun and she slid off her chair to the floor, curled into a ball, and cried until she could cry no more.

Maitland skipped up the front steps of Kenwood House. It had been nice to get out with the men after the weeks staying by Marisa’s side. Yes, the enemy was still out there, but his wife was alive and still his.

Tattersall’s had been fun. He’d found a nice gelding for Marisa, a dapple-gray, fourteen-hands-high steed called Greystoke.

Plus, tonight they would have visitors. His spirits lifted.

All of the Libertine Scholars and their families would converge to celebrate Marisa’s recovery and also to plan their next move.

The men’s wives had been constant visitors since her return to London, but tonight would be the first time they had all been together.

He had plans of his own for later in the night too. He’d checked with Dr. Philips this morning on the way to Tattersall’s and he gave his permission to begin relations with Marisa. He’d ached with longing just to be able to feel her silken skin naked against his.

The dinner and business about the villainess came first. He had a score to settle. The woman would die for what she’d done to Marisa. For what the bitch had cost her and him. He’d never wanted revenge like he thirsted for it now. He hoped for good news from Arend tonight.

Apparently, Hadley told him, Arend had stayed very quiet when told what Angelo’s last words were, Fleur de Lily . Arend didn’t know the meaning of the phrase, but he’d been using the past weeks to find out more.

Yesterday, news had reached the others that Arend thought he had another lead, and he would share his findings tonight over dinner.

Maitland pulled out his watch. He had arrived home in plenty of time to bathe and change for dinner. The house was busy with the preparations as he walked upstairs toward his bedchamber.

He met Priscilla at the top of the stairs. “Hello, Cilla, have you had a nice day?”

She smiled at him and gave him a brief curtsey. “I took the girls to the museum again. They love the place.”

He stopped short at her words. “Perhaps I could escort them next time. I’m so sorry I haven’t been such a good host and it’s the first trip to London for the girls.”

“You have a lot on your mind, what with Marisa and this enemy.”

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t know what I would have done without you here. The house has never run so smoothly, and the boys we rescued . . . well, Simon worships you.”

Her face flushed a pretty dark pink. She really was a beautiful woman; it was such a shame that she could not marry. She deserved happiness.

“It has been my pleasure, Mait. It reminds me of the days when I was your hostess at The Vyne.”

He nodded and dropped her hand. “Have you seen Marisa? I hope she hasn’t tired herself out today. I know she has a tendency to overdo things.”

Priscilla reached out and squeezed his arm, a huge smile on her face. “I suggested she rest this afternoon. She is in her room, waiting for you. Go on . . .”

Did Priscilla just wink at him? He turned and made his way to Marisa’s room, a lightness in his step.

Priscilla’s smile saw him hurrying. Marisa had been trying to get him to make love to her for the past two days, another sign she was feeling well.

Was a seduction in the cards? His body hummed at the idea. He almost ran the rest of the way.

He knocked and entered and saw her on the floor by the fire, curled in a ball. His blood ran cold and he raced across the room, calling for help. He’d been a fool to leave the house this morning. The doctor said she was better, Marisa told him to go, but obviously something was wrong.

Little Simon appeared in the doorway and gave a startled cry when he saw Maitland pick up Marisa.

“She told me she called the doctor today simply to change her dressings. She told me she was fine,” the boy cried.

Marisa stirred in his arms. “I’m fine, Simon, I just fell asleep by the fire. There is no need to fuss.”

The little boy calmed down.

“Send for the doctor, Simon.” Maitland didn’t like the pallor of her skin. Her face looked so pale.

“He’s only just been. I’m fine,” she insisted.

Priscilla arrived in the doorway, looking worried. “What has happened?”

“Nothing, Priscilla. The doctor just gave me some bad news and I haven’t taken it very well.”

Maitland tensed, and when he saw the accusing gaze firing at him from within Marisa’s eyes he understood.

She knew.

“Priscilla, take Simon downstairs. There is no need to send for the physician. Her Grace is simply tired.”

“Do we need to cancel tonight?” Priscilla asked, as she shepherded Simon out of the door and shooed away the staff that had answered Maitland’s call.

“Yes.”

“No,” called Marisa. “More than anything, I want to hear what Arend has found,” she said in a brittle voice, low, so only he could hear. “I want revenge.”

Indecision tore at him. He could almost feel the anger thrumming through Marisa’s body. He owed her. “If my wife feels up to entertaining, then we will.”

Priscilla nodded and closed the door after her, leaving him standing helplessly in the middle of the room with his devastated wife in his arms.

“You can put me down.”

He looked at her as he held her in his arms, and fear entered his being like a poison.

Her eyes were cold, lifeless, as if all the joy in the world had fled.

Suddenly he realized, she might be enough for him, but perhaps he was not enough for her.

She might have wanted children more than she wanted him.

“I love you, Marisa. More than life itself. More than—more than—any children we may have had.”

She lay in his arms searching his face. “You are a duke. You deserve an heir. You must divorce me and remarry.”

He sucked in a breath and strode to the bathing chamber door, anger feeding his strides. He gently lowered her to her feet.

“There will be no divorce. You didn’t want to cancel the dinner this evening, so we will talk about this later tonight. Guests will be arriving in an hour and we both need to dress and compose ourselves.”

“She’s won, hasn’t she?” A bitter laugh choked in her throat. “Your line dies with you unless . . .”

“There is no unless. So it dies, but we still have each other.” He pulled her close, hard against his chest. “She hasn’t won because I have my heart’s desire right here. If she’d taken you from me, then she would have won.”

Marisa stood seething, fury engulfing her as she stood in his embrace. The villainess had won. Marisa wanted to find her and kill her for what she had taken from them.

Maitland married her for an heir. That was what he’d wanted.

He might say it didn’t change his feelings for her, that she was his heart’s desire, but over the years would that love be twisted and would bitterness rise between them?

As he got older would he come to hate her for all he’d lost? They’d lost?

She would never have children.

She wrapped her arms around herself as the pain lanced her.

She would never hold a baby in her arms, or at her breast.

Never take their child on his first pony ride.

Never watch him find his true love.

Never see him marry.

Never see her grandchildren.

The enormity of all she’d— they’d —lost, swamped her, and her knees buckled as a wail of pain escaped her lips.

She heard Maitland’s curse as he swept her up again and hugged her tightly to his chest.

Her tears fell freely, mingled with his, as he simply carried her around her bedchamber, letting her cry. Her heart broke, she felt it fracture, the pain so intense she thought she’d die.