her, talking more to himself than to her. ‘You would give the baby away? Or pay someone to care for it?’ She preferred that?
She shrugged. ‘I do not want to do either of those things, but I cannot imagine my parents allowing me to keep the child. Think of the scandal I would bring on them.’
He came closer. ‘There will be scandal, no matter what.’ But he knew the right thing to do.
‘You need not worry about that,’ she said.
He need not worry? He’d been born to scandal. He never worried about what people thought of him.
Except for one person. He cared what Amelie thought of him, and it seemed she wanted nothing to do with him.
He was so close to her now his body flared in response to her, betraying him as it had that night in Brussels. He again remembered how it felt to lie next to her, how it felt to be inside her.
It wounded him that she did not want him to take responsibility for the child, but what did that matter? She must see there could be no other way.
He began pacing again. ‘I can provide for the child.’
‘Money is no issue,’ she said. ‘I have an inheritance, and my father can easily pay.’
‘I am not speaking of money.’ He was speaking of what must be done.
She cleared her throat. ‘I have no more to say. I—I thought it my duty to tell you. I truly ask nothing of you—’
Before he could protest, before he could tell her what he thought they must do, no matter how distasteful to her, she turned and rushed down the servants’ stairs and into the house.
She left him standing on the pavement. Alone.
* * *
Amelie closed the door and ran up the servant’s staircase to her bedchamber, fighting tears.
There. She told him. She’d done her duty to him and assured him she would not use the child against him. No one would ever know it was Edmund’s child; no one but her. At least she could console herself that he would be free to live his life, to build his fortune, to have his adventure, like he’d spoken of at dinner with so much energy and passion. She would do nothing to stop him, nothing to spoil his happiness.
She tore off her cloak and flung herself on her bed.
If only he had not looked so handsome. If only he had yelled at her for being so foolish as to allow a baby to be conceived. If only he had not roused in her those wanton feelings. Goodness! Merely having his hands gripping her arms made her recall how those hands felt against her naked flesh. Even in her predicament, she’d yearned to couple with him again, to feel that intense ecstasy that he created in her.
Well-bred young ladies did not feel such things. Well-bred ladies did not get themselves with child. They married for social advantage for their families and procreated to beget heirs, not because they craved a man’s touch and the thrill he could create. This was her downfall, certainly. If she had not been so wanton, she would not be in this fix, but she was determined she would not ruin his life along with her own.
It was some consolation that she’d assured him of that fact.
* * *
Edmund returned to the Grosvenor Street town house at ten the next morning. As he announced himself to the footman attending the door, Glenville walked down the stairs.
‘Edmund!’ Glenville was, of course, surprised to see him. ‘You are back so soon. To what do we owe this pleasure?’
Edmund had come to call upon Amelie, but to say so now would only cause Glenville to ask questions. He might as well provide the answers first.
‘A moment of your time?’ he asked.
‘Certainly,’ Glenville said, still sounding puzzled. ‘Come to the library. Would you like some refreshment?’
‘No,’ Edmund handed his hat and gloves to the footman. ‘Just a word with you.’
Glenville gestured for Edmund to follow him. The library was behind the drawing room, in the back of the house. If the drawing room was designed to impress and entertain, the library was intended for comfort and solitude. It was lined with books and filled with comfortable chairs.
Glenville lowered himself into one of them. ‘Please have a seat.’
Edmund remained standing and debated how to start.
Might as well charge ahead. ‘I came to ask for something which, no doubt, you will be unprepared to hear.’
Glenville’s brows rose.
‘Actually, it is not something I think you can grant, but I owe you the courtesy of hearing it from me.’
‘And this is?’ Glenville asked.
‘I would like to pay my addresses to your sister.’
Glenville’s eyes widened. ‘Pay addresses?’
‘Court her,’ Edmund went on. ‘Marry her.’
Glenville shook his head in bewilderment. ‘But you do not know her!’
Edmund knew her better than Glenville could guess, but he could not explain. He’d promised to never speak of that night to anyone.
‘It is true we have not been in each other’s company—’ he began.
Glenville cut him off. ‘Not above twice! Once in Brussels and last night.’
Three times, actually. ‘I would still like to speak to her.’
Glenville stood again and walked over to a far corner of the room. He turned. ‘Do not get me wrong, Edmund. I think you are a fine man. I am proud to be connected to you by marriage, but I do not think this will work.’ He paused. ‘Your suit is—is just not...’ His voice faded.
‘Not acceptable because I am a bastard?’ Edmund finished for him.
Glenville lifted his hands. ‘That is of no consequence to me, but I cannot see my father giving his permission.’
‘I will have to speak to him, of course,’ Edmund said. ‘But first I would like to speak to your sister.’
Glenville frowned. ‘Are you thinking she will accept you, because her betrothal to Fowler fell apart? She is still young. My parents will expect other suitors.’
Better than he, a bastard with uncertain prospects, though perhaps not once the pregnancy was discovered. ‘I am well aware that she might deserve a better suitor than me.’
Glenville shook his head. ‘I still cannot wrap my mind around this. What makes you think she will accept you? She spoke hardly two words to you last night.’ He frowned and peered suspiciously at Edmund. ‘Are you experiencing financial difficulties? Because Tess and I would be glad to help you—’
Edmund straightened. ‘I am not
