Page 31 of Win Me, My Lord (All’s Fair in Love and Racing #5)

She kept moving forward, as if her feet had no other choice.

The past, however, had no care for her forward momentum.

It carried an impetus of its own.

And— today … after ten years … at last —it caught her.

TEN YEARS AGO, MORNING

Artemis wiped the vomit from her mouth with the back of her hand and straightened.

It was the sixth morning in a row, and she knew.

She was with child.

It was a ruinous thing for an unmarried young lady—a calamity, to put a fine point on it.

But all she felt—when she wasn’t feeling nauseous—was utter and complete joy.

She was going to have Lord Branwell Mallory’s child.

He’d been visiting his family estate all this week, which was why she hadn’t yet told him. But she would the next time they met.

On this morning, she returned from the water closet to find Mother perched on the edge of her bed. “How long have you known?”

It was only after she asked that Artemis noticed how closely Mother was watching her.

“Pardon?” she asked, trying to buy time, though she knew it to be a doomed effort.

“How long have you known you’re with child?”

Resistance would’ve been no use. “Six days.”

“And the father?”

“The Earl of Stoke’s brother.”

Mother thought for a moment. “Lord Branwell?”

Artemis nodded. For the first time in her life, she realized she was unable to read her mother’s thoughts.

At last, Mother asked, “Have any promises been made between you?”

“Yes.”

Though that wasn’t the exact truth.

Bran had wanted to make promises, but she had stopped him before they could leave his mouth.

“I want us to know each other in every way first.” She’d spoken the words as she’d idly trailed her hand across his ridged stomach, the tickle causing the muscles to flex.

“We don’t have to love every single thing about each other.

” Although, even as the words left her mouth, she knew them to be untrue.

She loved absolutely everything about Lord Branwell Mallory.

“But we should love, at least ninety percent.”

A smile curled about the corners of his mouth—the one that turned her insides to molten lava—and, with smooth efficiency, he rolled on top of her, making her giggle. He stared down into her eyes and said, “As long as you’re mine in the end, Artemis, we can play this your way.”

After all, they were in love.

Words of love had been spoken between them.

Weren’t words of promise implicit?

From her perch on the bed, Mother broke her stillness with a slow nod. “I shall speak with him.”

With no small amount of disappointment, Artemis understood this was the correct path. The time for spoken promises—and vows—had arrived. Yet … “Shouldn’t Rake be involved?”

As mortifying as it would be to confess her indiscretions—and, oh , so much more—to Rake, he wasn’t only her older brother, but he was the Duke of Rakesley and her guardian.

Further, he was her ally.

He always has been.

Mother shook her head, firm. “There’s no need to involve Rake just yet.”

Artemis should have felt soothed. Instead, she’d experienced a sense of foreboding that she’d immediately tamped down.

It was nerves.

After all, she was going to have a baby, and Bran was going to be hers— at last .

Three long days later, Mother had returned with information that would forever alter the course of Artemis’s life. Not only had Bran denied the possibility of the child being his, but he’d then turned around and demanded ￡20,000 to keep quiet.

The rupture of Artemis’s heart had been sudden and irrevocable.

She stopped leaving her house.

She stopped leaving her bed.

A few weeks later, Mother gently broke the news that he’d purchased a commission in the Light Dragoons and had taken himself off to the Continent to fight Napolean.

Not long after, Artemis lost their child.

It took months, but eventually she recovered her smile and her brightness—all the brighter to hide the shadow she ever carried in her heart.

Those four months of her life with Bran had yielded its greatest happiness … its greatest love … and its greatest despair.

Now, she saw with crystal clarity her mistake.

She should have allowed him to ask Rake for her hand. If she had, all the wretchedness that had followed would have been avoided. Bran wouldn’t have joined the Light Dragoons … He wouldn’t have been permanently injured or scarred …

Oh.

None of the past was Bran’s fault—all of it was hers.

As for their lost baby— Selena , for she’d been conceived beneath the moon—perhaps that loss was her fault, too.

But shame and guilt weren’t the reasons she wouldn’t tell him.

These last ten years, Bran had lost so much. Would it be a kindness to burden him further?

She owed him better.

A knot formed in her chest, making it impossible to breathe, as certain knowledge came to her.

She couldn’t have him.

It wasn’t only that she owed him better—he deserved better.

He deserved a future uncomplicated by this tragic past they shared.

He deserved honesty and happiness.

And if this secret was to be hers alone, he deserved better than her.