No Choice but Surrender (36 page)

He walked closer, and she stepped back until she felt the scorch of the fire at back. His hand, sure and strong, reached for her belly, but she brushed it away. She tried to hide behind the towel, but he grabbed it from her and tossed it across the room. Gasping in shock, she glared at him and watched him rest his hand on her naked abdomen.

"It's true," he whispered to her, and suddenly she too was caught up in the unbearable realization. She had refused to come to terms with what was happening to her body until now. But now she knew it was obvious. Although her belly still looked young and sleek, a slight curve to it now was making her laces harder and harder to tie up each morning. Her breasts had become tender and fuller.

And she knew Avenel missed not a detail. The changes were just that much more dramatic because he had not seen her for so many weeks. Although she had been able to hide the small changes from the servants who saw her every day, looking up at his face now, she knew she wasn't hiding it any longer.

For a long moment every possible emotion seemed to cross his hard, angular face. There was a brief flash of guilt, followed by amazement and then by doubting fury. But when he spoke his voice was calm and reflective. "You, of course, claim I am the father."

"I claim no such thing." She tried to grab her cloak, which was flung over the back of the Windsor, but he kept her from it, easily holding her by the waist.

"Ah, I see." Avenel narrowed his eyes; his face revealed nothing. "Well then, were you raped, or were you forced into this state by your need for coin?"

"Rape?
Surely it was not so after such great efforts of seduction," she said to him bitterly.

Feeling her jab, his jaw began to twitch with anger. "I hope at least you were well paid. In bed, love, you're worth your weight in gold."

"Paid well? Look at me! You can see how well I was paid, you bloody—" she cried in anger.

"Shall I kill him for you then?
This mysterious lover of yours?"
He pulled her against him. "Or do you have a fondness for the grunting ox that did this to you?"

"You are the grunting ox that did this to me!" Seeing smug satisfaction in his eyes after she had confessed, she then hissed, "But believe me, I have only hatred for the father."

"You have good reason to, wildflower." His hand once again touched the swelling curve of her belly. "But I'm not such a fool as to believe your words, when your eyes look at me with an emotion very different from hatred."

"Leave me alone, Avenel. You have no need for me or a child in your angry existence."

He laughed out loud. "No need for you?" Moving back, he suddenly kicked at the pine bench so forcefully that it collapsed in a dusty heap on the stone floor. Then, looking only slightly relieved by its destruction, he circled her as if he simply could not make up his mind what to do. "I've had every need for you! Oliver Morrow has seen to that!"

"Avenel"—she kept her voice calm in the wake of his fury —"in truth, Mrs. Whitsome and I talked about leaving Bath for her widow's cottage in the country. I thought she could teach me how to make lace so we might open a shop." She stopped and swallowed the lump that was forming, in her throat. "I have neither the need nor the desire to make demands on the child's father."

Avenel was quiet for so long that Brienne was beginning to wonder if he had heard her. When she could take it no longer, she picked up her cloak and hid her nakedness.

"Don't you know how rich I am?" he asked. "Don't you know what comfort you would live in as the mother of my child?"

"I will not be a prisoner of yours ever again."

"You would not deprive our child of its true father."

"Then the child is . . ."
Not yours!
she
wanted to cry out,
but when she met his searching gaze, she found she could not speak the lie. "Damn you! You cannot have me!"

"I will. I did," he stated, his face full of vengeance. Grabbing her up, he said, "Have you any idea what this child means to me? Twenty years and more, Brienne, there have been no children. I tell you there have been no children! And I have not lived the life of a saint!"

"Those scars you carry were not a hindrance when you took me to your bed. Now you see they are not a hindrance to any part of your manhood. Through me, justice has been served. You have discovered that the wounds my father dealt you were not as deep as you thought." She pulled at his iron grasp.

"Justice will be served when I have the earl's daughter and his grandchild back at the Park."

"Never," she vowed, freeing herself. "Now I must speak with Mrs. Whitsome so that we can leave today."

"You are not leaving." The words were low and ominous.

"You must prove yourself on another woman, Avenel.
For I am leaving."
She turned to the door. Her eyes almost showed her tears.

"A baby!
Good God!" Cumberland's eyes nearly burst from their sockets. He was in the study drinking a warmed brandy when Avenel found him. He put down his glass in the stunned silence. "Is it possible? Could it be yours, Slane?"

"If it is possible, then it must be mine." He leaned both hands on the scagliola tabletop and hung his head, looking very much like an expectant father.

"This is the greatest of blessings! Your father must be laughing from the heavens!" Cumberland raised his glass excitedly. But then, seeing the scowl that it brought to Avenel's face, he lowered it at once. "Slane, don't tell me you aren't delirious with happiness, because I know better."

"And if she's lying?"

"About being pregnant? Don't be absurd! How could she? You saw it yourself!"

"Not about the baby.
About the father."
Avenel scowled again blackly. "The child must be mine. But, my God! I thought I'd have a child before now. And I've never produced one!"

"Brienne wouldn't lie." Cumberland pondered it further. "No, the girl wouldn't. She's just not the devious kind."

"Not devious! She knocks me over the head, she runs away from Osterley in the dead of the night, and despite our efforts she has evaded us for weeks! Don't tell me that the girl isn't devious!"

"She had her reasons for leaving, and well we all know them, especially now." Cumberland gave him an accusing look, and all Avenel could do under his perusal was run an agitated hand over his unshaven jaw. "She was
virgo
intacta
when you—?"

"Of course!"

"Then there is no dispute. I have spoken to the housekeeper, and she gave me the exact date when Brienne arrived. The girl walked, and it would have taken every five of the missing days just to get here."

"But in the meantime?"

"Meantime?
Jibberish.
She isn't the sort, and you well know it." Cumberland eyed him closely. "I see the gleam in your eye, Slane. You know it's your child."

"And Oliver Morrow's grandchild."

Cumberland
got up and patted him on the back in an age- old congratulatory gesture. "Forget that, Slane. It's not important now." He took a deep breath. "So what shall we name him, eh?" He winked. "But perhaps we should be thinking about marriage before names. When will the wedding take place?"

" 'Tis
not in the near future, I assure you." Avenel banged a fist on the scagliola.

"You are going to renege? Don't you remember the vow you made? Let me see, we were in Baltimore, were we not?"

"Yes, yes," Avenel answered hastily.

"And you were a cocky jackanapes back then, if my mind isn't failing me.
And pretty damned drunk at the time, too.

You'd been whoring along the wharves all day, and I remember you said you'd marry any girl who got pregnant with your
^-
child, even if she was a tart, walking the streets. That's what you said, Slane, word for word—you said even if she was a tart."

"That does not apply here."

"Brienne's no tart, to be sure. But nonetheless, it still applies. And better than we had ever dreamed! Brienne Morrow will be the perfect mistress for Osterley. But more important, she will be the perfect wife for you."

"She is the worst choice imaginable!"

"All that matters is that you love her. I know I am not to speak of it, but it cannot be helped just this once. We've spent weeks looking for the girl with a vengeance I have rarely seen in you. Admit it—you can't live without her, and if that isn't love, what is?"

"I can't marry Brienne. You know that."

"You would have your only child born a bastard?"

"Better a bastard than not born at all!" Avenel cried.

"Come now, Slane, his own grandchild? Surely the earl wouldn't harm his own grandchild," Cumberland said with doubt in his voice.

"And if it isn't his grandchild? What do we really know of Brienne's parentage? He is the only one who knows for sure. I'll never take that chance. We must lie low. There cannot be any posting of banns for a marriage. The fewer that know of Brienne's relationship with me, the safer
she
and the child will be."

"And the housekeeper here?
She must have a strong guess as to the babe's paternity. What to do about her?"
 
"We shall take her with us back to Osterley."

"I suppose it's the best thing. But what's to become of us, Slane?
Especially now that our numbers are increasing?"
He added this last pan as an afterthought.

"I don't know. But whatever does become of us"—he looked at his companion, his eyes glittering with bloodlust—"it will happen at Osterly.
 
Of that I assure you."

"Genny, you promise not to breathe a word to anyone?" Brienne nervously folded the vellum note and handed it to the little maid.

"No, miss. I'll deliver it right now to The White Hart. I'll present it to Mr. Harcourt myself."

"Thank you." Brienne gave a wry smile. "I just hope Mr. Harcourt can get here first thing in the morning. I cannot stay any longer than that."

"Yes, miss." Genny looked sad, and then promptly left with the note.

A little while later Brienne heard Avenel at her door. He stood in the open threshold; Brienne watched him anxiously as she sat before the fire combing dry her long mane. She was in the lady's bedroom now, Mrs. Whitsome having shown her to it promptly after finding out who the master was. The two serving maids had set up a bath, and with great awkwardness she had accepted it, if only to finally remove the wax that still clung to her hair and skin. It-was an impossible situation for her now, one that seemed inexplicable to Mrs. Whitsome. The housekeeper had ordered about the two little maids, keeping an eye on Brienne but behaving more formally toward her
than she had before. Avenel's arrival had changed their relationship, and Brienne resented it.

"Come along, wildflower. Let's take a short walk, shall we?" Avenel said.

"Darkness has fallen. It does not seem a pleasant time for a walk." Brienne turned from him and faced the fire. It was almost miraculous, but already some of her clothes had arrived from the Park. Now she was dressed in a sack-back gown that, being pleated in the back, had been simple to let out in the bodice. There was a light green satin quilted petticoat to go underneath the rustling rose taffeta, and with two penny-size lead weights under each sleeve, the gown hung perfectly in every way. Feeling unusually pretty, Brienne continued to untangle her hair. She sat quietly on the soft rug and tried her best to ignore her keeper, telling herself the arrangement would only last until Ralph arrived.

"Pleasant or not, we must talk. Come along." Avenel entered her room and grabbed a fur-lined cloak that had been tossed onto the painted four
poster
. He held it up to her and before she knew it, her hair had been tucked into its collar and he was being led down the stairs.

Cumberland
greeted her in the hall with a kiss and a hug, but Brienne's greeting was a bit more reserved. She loved Cumberland, yet she couldn't quite remove him from the situation. To her, Cumberland was still part traitor, and she couldn't resolve her warring emotions about him.

"Rose has missed you, child," Cumberland said.

"I have missed her, too," Brienne whispered glumly. "She and Vivie—are they both well?"

"Rose has been fine. It seems marriage agrees with her, however, Vivie, with that French temperament of hers, has been utterly unmanageable since the day
you . . .
ah, shall e say, disappeared. Have you been faring well, child? I must say you look extraordinarily lovely. Your color is quite high."

"I have been fine." Before she could say another word, Brienne felt Avenel's touch at her elbow, and she was bundled it into the night air.

The Crescent took on an ethereal quality in the foggy night. Candles twinkled from windows; their light brushed the cobblestones and softened all the hard edges of the building, despite her problems, Brienne was taken in by the beauty and grandeur. Stopping before the wrought-iron gate to the lawn, they both stood listening to the ramble of a distant hack and the soft whispers of passing cloaked pedestrians. Brienne felt Avenel's arms slowly go around her, and together they listened to the tinkling of sheep's bells lost in the mist. "I missed you, wildflower. Can you believe me?" Avenel laid her hood down and nuzzled her hair. With his strong arms around her, she felt so secure that she had to bite her tongue not to agree with him. "I'm sure you found companionship in my absence."

 
"Not so. No one has quite your touch, little one."

She laughed bitterly. "Nor my addled brain, I'm afraid." she tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast. "I'm not going to stay with you. I am not going back to Osterley." 'And where will you go, if not with me? Where else will I find safety from your father? Here?" 'No, I don't want to stay here. Apparently even Bath is
not :
place for me. I saw him here, Avenel. I saw my father here Bath." A tingle of fear ran down her spine at the memory of Oliver Morrow in the harnessmaker's stall. 'I know. He was here looking to get Number One back, e got trackers following him, Brienne. I know where Oliver Morrow goes and what he does almost every minute of the day." He gently shook her shoulders. "Can't you understand how I must have felt when I found out you were here right under his nose? You ran from me only to almost end up in the enemy's arms."

'My father didn't see me. And I'll not take the chance of meting up with him again," she stated resolutely.

"So you'll go back to Osterley?" Avenel sounded pleased.

"No, I'm going to the widow's cottage with Mrs. Whitsome the country. There I won't be bothered by you or the earl."

"Mrs. Whitsome has already agreed to go to the Park."

"You're lying. She would never abandon me," Brienne replied indignantly.

"She never would, 'tis true. But because you are going back to the Park, she has graciously offered her services as housekeeper there."

"I'm not going. I have a right to my own life. And that does not include being your prisoner and your pawn."

When Brienne pulled away from him, she saw a brilliant flash across the frozen night sky. It was like nothing she had ever seen before; a great star with a long white tail was making its way through the heavens. Frightened, she stepped back into Avenel's embrace, but as soon as the phenomenon disappeared, she felt foolish and struggled once again for her release.

"A bad sign," she heard Avenel whisper to her.
" Twas
Christmas when a star such as that appeared in the
Maryland
sky, the year of our Lord 1758. That was what made my father want to return to England. Two weeks later he died from pains in his heart." He held her so tight, she was almost afraid she would break in his arms. "You must come back to the Park. You carry my child, and you need protection. Do you understand me?"

She understood his words, but what he implied was hard for her to accept. Refusing to think of the maid, Annie, Brienne spoke in irritation and denial.
"You Americans!
Are you always so superstitious? Surely a fallen star does not warrant such concern!"

"Do you understand me?"

"No! Damn you! I don't understand anything! I don't understand the monster who claims me as his child. I don't understand you and your claims to Osterley. I want to be alone. I want to go back to Wales. This is my baby, not anyone's but my own. And he shall not be raised in captivity!" She choked back a sob.

Seeing her distress, Avenel softened a bit "Shh. I don't want to fight you, wildflower. I've spent weeks looking through every town in Wales just to find you. But you've got
to see my position. The babe is my flesh and blood. He must be raised at Osterley."

"You speak as though the child had value to you besides as a tool to get back at my father."

"I don't intend to abandon the babe after the earl has met his maker," Avenel shot back at her.

"No? But then what use is the child to you after that?"

"I claim the child, Brienne. And a child of mine will not be raised anywhere but in its rightful home."

"You have no claim to this child, Avenel. It was begotten out of trickery. And because of that, I would rather the child had no father than know of the circumstances of its conception."

"Tell me those circumstances! Tell me how awful it was for you that night in my bedchamber!" he almost shouted at her.

"It was awful!" she cried. "I went to your bed for one reason only. But I was tricked! In the morning I found out my part in your dastardly scheme. I found out what a fool I had been." A slow, hot tear fell on her cold cheek. Not wanting him to see the depth of her emotion, she backed away from him.

"You've never been a fool, Brienne. But to fight me now would be foolish. You're going back with me to Osterley."

"No! No! I'll be leaving you! My child will be told he was born out of love, even if I must lie for an entire lifetime!" She ran from him, hating herself for allowing her cold heart to melt even a little bit in his presence.

"Brienne!"
He caught up with her, but not before she'd slipped on the slick cobblestones and tumbled onto the wet road.
"My God!"
She heard Avenel's horrified gasp and saw Cumberland running toward them from the stoop at Number One.

"Are you all right?" Avenel asked urgently.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Brienne answered, feeling foolish. She looked down and saw that the entire front of her gown had been soiled by the fall.

"If you ever do something that utterly stupid again, I'll lock
you up and throw away the key!"
Angrily, Avenel got her to her feet.

Hurt by his harsh words, Brienne brushed away his assistance and refused to see the worry in his eyes. "Tell me this." She turned to him and vented all the anger in her breast. "Am I the object of your concern, or is it your precious new captive, the earl's grandchild?" Getting no response from Avenel other than a cold, shocked silence, Brienne was hurt further. Her tears turned to sobs, and she ran up the steps to Number One, not paying heed to the shouting behind her. Speeding past Cumberland, she entered the front door and mounted the steps to her bedchamber, grateful that for once Avenel hadn't followed her.

But before long he walked into her room, still looking angry.
"Get out of those wet clothes. I've sent for your dinner."

"I don't want any," Brienne snapped while trying not to shiver. Her dress was thoroughly soaked down the front, but she was not about to remove it at his orders.

"Fine."
He pulled at her wet laces.

"What are you doing?" She tried to move away from him, but it was useless. As always, he took command, and this irritated her no end.

"Treating you like the child you want to be." He made to remove her dress.

"I'll do this!" she protested, pulling back from him. But still he kept his hands on her, ignoring her wishes. Angrily watching him pull down her soaked bodice, she asked, "Why did you have to find me? Why did it matter so much to you?" How she wanted answers to these questions! He was mystifying, traveling all the way to Bath just to recapture her. Hadn't he gotten his revenge on them all that last night at the Park? Didn't he have bigger battles to wage than the one with her? Glaring at him, she waited for his reply.

Yet he hadn't seemed to hear her. He'd undressed her down to her shift, which was wet and nearly transparent. Only after his fingers accidently brushed over her breast and his hand began to shake did he finally step back and allow her to finish.

"Put this on." He tossed her a purple velvet dressing gown.

Catching it, she waited for him to avert his eyes. When he failed to do so, she turned around, pulled the white cotton shift over her head, and hastily donned the robe. When she turned around to face him again, she realized she had not been modest enough. For she saw in his eyes the familiar gleam of naked, unfulfilled desire.

Silence filled the room, and Brienne stiffly settled herself in a chair. Dwelling morbidly on the future, she hardly took notice of her meal when it arrived. The little maid, Genny, who had taken Brienne's note to Ralph Harcourt, served them both from a huge silver tray. The young servant made no reference to their earlier encounter, and Brienne watched her leave thankfully, trying not to think about what she would say to Ralph so that he would take her away from The Crescent.

Along with dinner Genny had also brought a glass of brandy for Avenel. He sat leisurely in an armchair, drinking his brandy and frowning. The fragrant steam that rose before her from the roast lamb and hot fig pudding made Brienne realize how hungry she was. Using her meal as an excuse not to acknowledge Avenel's presence, she ate her dinner. Only when she had completely finished did she notice that Avenel had stopped frowning.

"Leave that. You're not a serving wench." He scowled when he saw her pick up her tray.

"It's awkward now. Don't you see that?" Her eyes flashed angrily as she put down the tray. After resettling herself in her chair, she watched the fire and soon grew sleepy.

"Do you remember the night we spent at the cottage, wildflower?" Speaking to her softly, he, too, stared at the fire's mesmerizing flames. The sadness in his voice brought a lump to Brienne's throat, but she reminded herself that it was she who loved him and not
he
who loved her.

"No," she lied.

"I recall that I awoke that night and didn't know who you were. With that beautiful face, I thought you were a peasant girl brought in for my salvation. But when I awoke from the fever back at Osterley and knew who I'd really been envisioning, I was so sorry that you weren't that other girl, the girl with no past." He looked at her intently. "Why do you think that was?"