Page 56 of Unmasked by the Marquess
He had been so reasonable, so very calm, during this conversation. But he felt his control slipping out of his grasp and being replaced by a seething, simmering rage. “There would be plenty sordid about it, believe me. My father—”
“HelovedMrs. Allenby.”
He gritted his teeth. “Hear me now, Charity.” He didn’t know why he resorted to her proper name, but it felt stiff and dishonest on his tongue. “I will not make a Mrs. Allenby out of you, and I will not follow my father’s example.”
“So proud, so fastidious,” she said mockingly.
“I will not sire any bastards on you.”
She sucked in a breath. “Watch yourself, Alistair. I’m likely a bastard.”
“Which is precisely why I should have thought you’d know better than to let your own child suffer that fate. Any child of mine will be born with my name and protection, and that’s final.”
“That didn’t bother you when we were fucking in your bedchamber or against the wall of my study, did it now?”
“I was careful,” he ground out. “But do you think we’d always be so lucky? Children would be inevitable.” A thought occurred to him. He stepped towards her, reaching out. “Are you saying that you think you might be—”
“God, no. Don’t you think I would have told you at the outset?” She seemed appalled, offended. Then, more gently, “No, there’s no question of that.”
The mad twinge of disappointment he experienced was a reminder of why they couldn’t continue like this. Eventually he’d be buried deep inside her and the prospect of a child wouldn’t seem like such a bad idea. And then there would be another generation of de Lacey bastards.
“Then what, pray tell, would you have us do?” The words sounded as bitter as he felt.
Her chin was raised and her jaw was set but her eyes were watery. “I wish I knew. I don’t see a way for us to carry on.”
“I won’t accept it.”
“You can’t have everything your own way, Alistair.”
“Like hell I can’t. What I want—marriage, respectability for ourselves and our children, a fair distribution of your late husband’s property—isright.What you’re suggesting is utterly unreasonable.”
“Did it occur to you, even once, that your notions of respectability and justice don’t mean a thing to me? Those ideas have never done me any good, so why should I care? Can you even contemplate what it’s like to be a person your rules work against, Alistair?”
He opened his mouth to protest but she had already turned away.
Chapter Eighteen
She came to him that night. Alistair looked up from the second-rate supper he was sharing with Gilbert in the Duck and Dragon’s private parlor, and saw her enter.
She was once again wearing the men’s clothing he had given her, along with a wool cap that looked like she had stolen it from someone who could ill afford to lose a cap. She must have sneaked out of the farmhouse on some pretext. As he listened, she told the innkeeper some taradiddle about needing to deliver an urgent message to his lordship in the parlor.
There were so many layers of dishonesty in this performance that it was almost impossible to discern the kernel of truth nestled at its core. Surely he ought to disapprove of such rampant falsehood. Surely the fact that he didn’t disapprove was a very bad sign indeed.
Hell, he wasn’t even embarrassed that Gilbert was there to witness how eagerly he shot to his feet when he saw Robin at the door.
“Good evening, Miss—ah, I mean Mr. Selby,” Gilbert said, and went back to eating his soup.
Alistair wordlessly pulled out an empty chair next to his own.
She didn’t sit, though. She only pulled off her ratty wool cap and shook out her hair. “I needed to see you.”
And that was the kernel of truth. That was why none of the deceit mattered to him in the least—she had done what was necessary to put herself in the same room as him. And if that need to be together wasn’t honest, he didn’t know what was.
“Upstairs?” he asked, his mouth going dry.
Gilbert had to know what was going on, but he went on eating his soup, pretending to be deaf and dumb.
She gave him a quick, businesslike nod. He led the way to his bedchamber, trying to maintain a sedate pace while hearing Robin’s light step on the bare wood of the stairs behind him.
