Keeping her secret was harder than she had expected. A dozen times a day the words rose in her throat. At night, in his arms, after they had made love, the words begged to be said and yet she kept them locked inside. She could not put aside her fear that, once he knew his seed was growing within her, he would no longer have need of her.
They went riding every morning. She knew she would soon have to stop, for safety’s sake. A fall could be dangerous for her child. But not on this beautiful day. It was the first of July and the sky was a clear azure blue. As always, she lost herself in the joy of riding, in the beauty of the landscape. The grass spread before them like a carpet of lush green velvet. Flowers dotted the countryside, as bright as gems scattered by a careless hand.
They paused after an hour or so to rest the horses. It was then, as she watched Erik dismount and walk toward her, that she noticed the stiffness in his movements.
“Are you in pain, my lord?” she asked as he lifted her from Misty’s back.
“It’s nothing.” He set her on her feet. Gathering the horses’ reins, he led them to a small pool and let them drink.
Kristine frowned as she watched him walk away. He was limping. She was sure of it.
Plucking a bright yellow dandelion, she twirled it between her thumb and forefinger, her gaze focused on Erik’s back. The sun glinted in the blackness of his hair. She watched the muscles ripple beneath the fine wool of his shirt, and her fingers ached to touch him.
He turned and caught her watching him. Heat suffused her cheeks, not the heat of shame at being caught staring, but the heat of desire. The attraction between them sizzled like summer lightning.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she crushed the dandelion in her hand as he tethered the horses to a tree and crossed the distance between them.
“Kristine . . .”
She looked up at him, her green eyes bright. “Yes, my lord?”
Erik’s gaze swept the surrounding countryside. They were alone, quite alone.
Taking her by the hand, he led her to a small copse of trees.
“Here, my lord?” she asked as he drew her down beside him.
“Here, now.” He was running out of time, he thought desperately. The right side of his body ached, the pain reminding him that time was one thing he didn’t have to waste. If he was going to sire an heir, it had to be soon, before even layers of clothing and a mask would not hide what he was becoming.
He undressed her quickly, his heart pounding with need and desire, his gaze drinking in the beauty of her face and form. Her skin was soft and smooth and he wished that, just once, he dared remove his clothing and feel the heat of her body against his. And even as his body became a part of hers, he knew she deserved so much more than the half man, half monster cradled between her thighs.
Release came quickly for both of them.
With a sigh, he drew her into his arms and held her close, one hand lightly moving over her belly, her breasts . . .
Muttering an oath, he sat up, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he cupped her breast, spread his hand across her belly.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked, his voice sharp.
A dark flush stained her cheeks as her gaze slid away from his. “I’m . . . that is, we . . .”
“Are you breeding?” he asked curtly.
“Aye, my lord.”
“How long have you known?”
“Nearly a month.”
“And you saw no need to tell me?”
“I . . .” She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes.
“Why did you not tell me, Kristine?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
The flush that stained her neck and cheeks crept up into her hairline.
“Answer me!”
“I was afraid,” she stammered. “Afraid you would no longer come to my bed if you knew.”
He stared at her, speechless. “Why would you think that?”
She grabbed her riding habit and drew it over her, as if it would protect her. “You once told me that you wanted nothing from me but a child.”
Erik nodded, still not understanding.
“I . . . I . . .”
He would have wagered half his estate that her cheeks could get no pinker than they were. He would have lost. “Go on.”
“I didn’t want to lose your company in my bed, my lord.”
“Ah, Kristine,” he murmured. “What a delight you are, and how I shall miss you.”
“Miss me, my lord? Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” he said quickly. “When is the child due?”
“I’m not sure. Mrs. Grainger thinks sometime after Christmas.” Kristine bit down on her lower lip. “Will you be terribly disappointed if it is a girl, my lord?”
“No.” He plucked the habit from her hand and tossed it aside, then placed his hand over her belly. His child was growing there, beneath his hand. It was a powerful thought.
She glanced at his hand, then frowned up at him. “I don’t even show yet. How did you know?”
He shook his head. She was right. How had he known? He shied away from the answer that quickly came to mind even as he knew that it was somehow tied to the curse that plagued him, to the heightened senses that enabled him to see things, hear things, that others could not.
Kristine’s gaze slid away from his as she wondered how to phrase the question that plagued her without hurting his feelings.
“My lord, may I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“You won’t be angry?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“I know you said I was not to ask about the mask, but I should very much like to know why you wear it.” She lifted a hand to silence him. “You needn’t tell me what you’re hiding. I should only like to know if . . . if it’s an affliction you were born with and if . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You need not worry, Kristine,” he replied stiffly, “your child will not be cursed with my affliction.”
Right or wrong, his words removed a huge weight from her mind. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. You have every right to be concerned for your child’s welfare.” He spread his fingers over her belly. His hand was large and very brown against her pale skin. “Now I would ask you a question, and beg you tell me the truth honestly. Is this child something you want?”
“Oh, yes!” She placed her hand over his. “Never doubt that, my lord husband. I am happy to be carrying our child.”
With a sigh, he drew her into his arms and held her close.
“May I ask another question, my lord?”
He smiled at her. “Today you may ask anything.”
“You are in pain, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.”
“What of your physician? Can he do nothing to ease your suffering?”
Erik rested his chin on top of her head and stared into the distance, the sound of Charmion’s voice roaring like thunder in his mind. When my daughter forgives you, so shall I.
“No,” he said heavily. “There is nothing anyone can do.”
He had planned to see less of her now that she was with child, to gradually withdraw from her presence, thinking it would be less painful that way. Instead, he resolved to spend as much time as he could with her, to store up a wealth of memories against the day when he would no longer be able to hide his affliction and he would be forced to leave the castle for good.
True to her word, Kristine asked no more questions, but accepted the peculiarities of their life together. She grew accustomed to dimly lit rooms, to making love in the dark to a man who was fully clothed, to being unable to touch him.
As time went on, they took their rides after sunset, when the world was gray. He cherished the quiet times they spent riding together.
He could see her clearly in the darkness, and he memorized every inch of her face and form, every expression, the happy sound of her laughter. She was radiant now, with a new life growing within her. Her eyes seemed to glow from within, her skin was soft and pink, her breasts were fuller, often tempting his touch. She never pulled away, never denied him.
Loving her was a mix of pleasure and pain. He delighted in touching her, holding her, caressing her, and ached because he could not accept her touch in return. And she wanted to touch him. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she sometimes forgot herself and reached out, only to have him stay her hand. Soon, he would not be able to share her bed. Soon, there would be no hiding what he was becoming.
Shortly after their attendance at the masked ball, Kristine began receiving invitations to other events—horse races and luncheons, card parties and afternoon teas. At first, she refused to attend, but he urged and then insisted that she accept. It was not good for her to spend all her time in the castle. She needed to make friends of the other women in the district, needed a life of her own.
Kristine argued at first, afraid to venture out of the house without him, afraid her manners would be found wanting. And so he had Mrs. Grainger and the mute women instruct her in every art of polite society he could imagine, and then he sat back and watched her blossom. Her hair, longer at last, framed her face with honey-gold curls. Her green eyes sparkled like the emeralds he had given her. The sound of her merry laughter filled the rooms of the once-gloomy castle.
He knew a sense of pride as he watched her accept invitations, watched her confidence grow. He gave her leave to have company whenever she wished, though he made himself scarce on days she was entertaining. In the city, it was unheard of for a pregnant woman to entertain or to accept invitations, but here, in the country, it was common for women to go out in society until their condition was quite pronounced.
Now, sitting upstairs in his room while she entertained a handful of new friends, he listened to the sounds of merriment rising from below, and knew that when the time came that he must leave her for good, she would not be alone.
Chapter Eleven
“I should like to have a party, my lord husband,” Kristine decided at dinner one night.
“Indeed?”
She nodded, her eyes twinkling. “A masked ball, such as the one we attended at Lord and Lady Gladstone’s.” She smiled at him, pleased with the idea.
“And when is this auspicious occasion to take place?”
“On All Hallows’ Eve.”
Erik lifted one brow in wry amusement. “Indeed? And shall I come dressed as the devil?”
“If you wish. And I shall be one of your angels.”
“You are already that,” he murmured.
“I have your permission, then?”
He nodded, knowing he would willingly grant her anything she desired.
Her gaze slid away from his, and he could see she was trying not to laugh.
“Will you not share the joke with me?”
“I knew you would agree,” she said with a bright smile. “The invitations went out this morning.”
“Vixen,” he muttered. “What would you have done if I had said no?”
Rising, she rounded the table and sat in his lap. “I would have convinced you to change your mind, my lord.”
It would have been an easy task, he mused, for he could deny her nothing.
He gave her free rein to plan for the ball, letting her order whatever she wished in the way of food and decorations for the house. He hired extra servants to help Mrs. Grainger in the kitchen, gardeners to work in the yard, maids to clean the place from top to bottom. It had been years since he had opened his doors to his neighbors; if he was going to do it now, then Hawksbridge Castle must shine as bright as its mistress.
The night of the ball, he walked through the house, thinking that all the fuss and preparation had been well worth it. The castle shone like a rare jewel, the perfect setting for his lovely lady wife.
Clad all in red, with a horned mask firmly in place, he went into Kristine’s room. She was sitting at her dressing table while Leyla and Lilia fussed with her hair. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him.
She was a vision, he thought, a true angel in every sense of the word. She wore a long red gown that clung to every curve, displaying her creamy shoulders and a good bit of cleavage. No one looking at her would suspect she was six months with child. Her body was still slim, though her breasts were fuller. He frowned at the thought of other men staring at her beauty, then forced his jealousy aside. She was young and beautiful. She would marry again.
“My lord, is something amiss?”
He wiped the frown from his face and smiled at her. “If that is how the angels in hell look, I can hardly wait to go there.”
“My lord!” she exclaimed in horror, “what a dreadful thing to say. Say a prayer, quickly!”
“You say it for me.”
“I will,” she replied soberly.
He had prayed, in the beginning, promised to do anything, anything, if only the curse would be lifted, but to no avail, making him wonder if Charmion had been right and he had truly caused Dominique’s death. But it no longer mattered. His soul was indeed bound for hell. As soon as he knew his child had been born, he would take his own life and thus put an end to the hideous curse that plagued him.
“Here now.” He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “Smile. We’re having a party, remember?”
“You look quite frightening,” she said.
“Do I?” He caressed her cheek, thinking she would be far more frightened if she knew what lay beneath his costume.
Leyla and Lilia applied the finishing touches to Kristine’s hair. Smiling and bowing, they left the room.
Kristine stood up and kissed Erik on the cheek. “Ready, my lord husband?”
With a nod, he placed her hand on his right arm and they went downstairs to greet their guests.
Erik stood in the shadows, watching Kristine play Lady of the Manor. She charmed their guests, from young Edward Randolph to the old dowager, Lady Rowena Silverstone. He heard several young ladies whispering about Kristine’s short hair, wondering if perhaps it was the result of a high fever. The young men swarmed around her, their eyes hot as they devoured her.
It seemed strange, to see the house and grounds lit up, to hear the sound of laughter ringing from the walls. Not since Dominique died had there been so many people within Hawksbridge Castle.
He watched as his guests went in to dinner. Mrs. Grainger had planned a buffet, and she had done herself proud. Several long tables nearly groaned beneath the weight of food being offered—succulent hams, pheasants, chickens swimming in wine sauce. Vegetables and fruit, bread and rolls. The air was redolent with the varied aromas.
He frowned as he watched young Lord Hoxford escort Kristine into the dining room. Hoxford had been hovering near Kristine all evening, smiling at her, paying her outrageous compliments, claiming her for every waltz, holding her far too close.
Erik felt his anger rise when Hoxford leaned in to whisper something in Kristine’s ear. The man was far too bold, and yet he would make an excellent match for Kristine. He came from an old family. He was tall and broad-shouldered and handsome. And discreet in his liaisons.
Taking a deep breath, Erik forced himself to relax. One of the reasons he had agreed to this elaborate affair was so that Kristine could get better acquainted not only with her neighbors, but with possible suitors.
He did not join the others at dinner. One of the advantages of the buffet was that he did not have to sit at the head of the table. There was no formal seating. Some of his guests sat at the dining table, others wandered into the parlor or the library, or found seating in the gardens.
Grabbing a glass of wine, Erik sought the darkness beyond the house. Dark gray clouds were gathering overhead. He could smell the moisture in the air. There would be rain before morning. He wondered how many of hi
s guests would look at the weather and decide to spend the night.
He drained his glass and tossed it aside. Laughter and music drifted on the breeze as he wandered through the gardens. He lifted his head, sniffing the wind, then swore as he realized what he was doing. The beast within him was growing stronger. More and more he found himself behaving in feral ways, found himself feeling hampered, confined, by his clothing, found himself asking Mrs. Grainger to serve his roast beef rare instead of well-done.
He lifted his left hand and removed his glove, staring at the animal-like paw as if, by doing so, he could make it disappear. And then he lifted his right hand and wiggled his fingers. What a wondrous thing a hand was, he mused. He could hold a glass, pick a flower for his wife, caress her warm, soft skin. . ..
He closed his eyes as pain ripped through him. It was constant now, the pain that throbbed through his body as it fought the transformation, the anguish of knowing he was running out of time. And the worst pain of all, that of knowing that he was going to lose Kristine. He had known her such a short time, yet he loved her beyond all reason. He longed to tell her so, to hold her in his arms and pour out his love. It took all his willpower to keep the words locked inside. Once said, they could not be taken back. It was better for her to go on thinking that all he wanted from her was an heir. She knew he was fond of her, but there was a vast difference between fondness and what he felt. Better for them both if the words remained unsaid.
With a sigh, he turned back toward the house. He was the host; it was his duty to mingle with his guests.
As he neared the back of the castle, he heard whispered voices. And then he saw a couple standing near one of the hedges. Young lovers. The thought filled him with a bittersweet longing, and then, catching Kristine’s scent on the air, he felt a surge of anger rise up within.
On silent feet, he padded toward them.
“You are most fair, Lady Trevayne,” Hoxford was murmuring. “Truly, you are the most beautiful woman here this evening.”