Page 42 of Taming the Heiress
"I would be honored to be your wife,but,"she ground out."But,I fear it is not possible. Did you read the entire letter?"
"Come now. I know feminine wiles when I see them."
"I refused you then," she said. "And I refuse you now. I am sorry if you choose to be a little blind to that. I must ask you, please, not to tell others that we are engaged. It is not true."
"Not true yet," he said blithely.
"Not true and never will be true," she said.
"Not true yet," he said stubbornly. "Tell me something, my dear. That little boy over there..." He turned to look at Iain, who had piled up a little hill of sand and was kicking it into fine sprays. "Is he your son?"
She stared at him, all the blood leaving her face, leaving her cold. "My... what?"
"Your son," he said. "He looks like you. And I know you have a child."
"What?... Who told you such a thing?"
"Come walk with me." He tucked her hand in his elbow again. Stunned, she walked beside him, her heart slamming in fear.
"I met a man a few years ago," he said. "A very pleasant fellow, especially when he was in his cups. He is a doctor, and he told me, over some very fine whisky, that he had attended Lady Strathlin when she first inherited her fortune? A very nice fellow," he said, smiling. "But he had run into some problems with his finances, poor man. He said the lady fell ill, and he had attended her several times. Do you know what he told me, Margaret?" He stopped again and turned to look down at her, her hand imprisoned in his arm. She could feel the hard, stringy muscle beneath his coat.
"Wha—what did he say?" But she knew. She remembered the doctor that Angela Shaw had insisted on calling to visit her more than once when her stomach did not agree with her and she had felt faint almost daily for a while, in the first few months of the pregnancy she was trying valiantly to hide.
This doctor, an older man with greasy hair and a mild manner, had told her that she was suffering from a female condition that he could not name for modesty's sake. He had declared her overwrought by her new position and responsibilities. Advising her to take a long holiday among close family, perhaps for several months, until spring at least, he had looked at her pointedly before leaving.
She had known what he meant and what he knew. And she realized that some way or another, Sir Frederick had managed to coax the truth out of that doctor.
She faced him. "What did he say?" she repeated. "Tell me."
"He said that Lady Strathlin would have a child by now, a healthy child by all the looks of it, and would have had that child in the spring following the year she inherited her grandfather's fortune. In other words, when she accepted the role of the Baroness Strathlin, the lady was already with child. And never married, of course." He gazed down at her.
The pounding in her head was so fierce that she thought she might faint. She watched Iain play on the beach, watched, far in the distance, the harbor where a few men stood in a cluster and talked. She saw Dougal Stewart's head and shoulders above those he stood with, and she wanted to run to the safety and security of his arms.
But he was too far away to hear, too far away to help. And he must never learn about this conversation—never.
"Well, my dear?" he murmured. "You cannot deny it."
"That man was a drunken fool."
"And that spring," he said, his voice smooth and his grip so tight on her hand in the crook of his elbow that her fingers hurt, "a little boy was born and welcomed into the MacNeill family, fostered with a cousin of yours. This child's parentage is somewhat obscure, from what my sources say. But every year, several times a year, Margaret, you come back to Caransay and spend a great deal of time with that child. I believe you have arranged for his education with your former governess. You have not done that for any other child on this island, as far as I am aware. The harbormaster in Tobermory is a cheerful companion over beer and loves to gossip like a woman," he added. He stood watching Iain, his expression benign.
She wanted to slap him, shriek at him, shake him until the evil in him showed. But he only smiled in a smug and unbending way, waiting.
"He looks very much like you," he said. "So blond, with a winning smile. But I think his hose is not yours, nor is his chin yours. That must belong to his... father." He glanced down at her. "This news would be of great interest in certain circles, don't you agree, Margaret?"
"Who—you would not tell—" Oh, God, she had admitted it.
"Of course I would not tell. A man never betrays his wife in such a reprehensible fashion. Her secrets are his."
"Wife," she repeated dully.
"Now, he may wish to betray a mere friend, a woman who falsely represents herself as having good moral character and has inherited a position of some merit. It would be a service to others, I think, if her story were known to the public."
"What do you want, Frederick?" she said, resigned.
He bowed, kissed her hand again. "Autumn weddings are so very lovely, my dear baroness," he said, his use of her title faintly mocking. "Kiss me, Margaret." He leaned down.
Meg tipped her face up, but as he lowered his mouth to hers, she turned her face to the side in revulsion.
