Page 116 of The Viscount and the Vixen
Calmly he pushed back his chair and stood. “We’re not going for a walk. We’re getting you upstairs. Then we’re sending for the physician and Locke.”
“It’s too soon for the babe to come.” She hated lying to him, especially as it wasn’t too soon. If anything it was a bit later than she’d expected, but she didn’t want him questioning the paternity of this child. Oh, God, now that the moment was upon her, the guilt she’d so effectively buried surfaced.Please, please, please be a girl.
“Perhaps I’m mistaken,” he said, “but let’s take precautions just in case I know what I’m talking about.”
Offering his arm, he escorted her indoors, where he shouted at one footman to fetch Locksley and another to fetch the village physician. He called out for Cullie and Mrs.Barnaby. Suddenly she was very much aware of the sound of rushing feet as people hurried to do his bidding.
Halfway up the stairs, she had to stop as pain again ratcheted through her. She clung to the railing and his arm, hoping she wasn’t bruising him. The pain went longer and was sharper than the one that came before. When it finally dissipated, she offered him a fragile smile. “I believe you might be right.”
“I’m right about most things.”
An odd moment to realize where Locksley had gotten his arrogance. She might have laughed if she didn’t want to get to her bedchamber as quickly as possible.
He continued to lend her support as she made her way to the landing and carried on down the hallway. In her bedchamber, he led her over to a chair, helped her sit.
“Your maid should be here at any moment.” He turned to go, stopped, walked over to her dressing table, and skimmed his fingers along one of its intricately carved edges. “You have Linnie’s vanity.”
“It was at the furniture maker’s. Locksley didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I used to love to watch her get ready.” He faced her. “I’m glad it’s being used.”
“It’s the most beautiful piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.”
“When the time comes, pass it on to your eldest daughter from her grandfather. I want her to know how precious she is to me.”
She might be bringing her eldest daughter into this world at any moment, a girl who would not be carrying his blood. She’d thought a daughter would ease her guilt, but it seemed there would always be an aspect to what she’d done that would trouble her.
Cullie rushed in. “Oh, m’lady. This isn’t good. It’s too soon.”
“Don’t be worrying your mistress with dire words such as that,” Marsden said. “Babies come when they’re meant to come.”
Bending over he kissed Portia’s forehead. “I shall be downstairs, awaiting the news.”
He shuffled out. Cullie closed the door and returned to her side. “We need to get you out of your clothes.”
Portia could only nod and pray that Marsden would never learn the truth regarding her child. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing his disappointment.
Locke paced in front of the large windows in the music room. He’d chosen this room because it was Portia’s favorite and he felt closest to her here. By the time he’d gotten back from the mines, she was well into her labor, and the physician wouldn’t allow him into the room to see her, claiming his presence would upset her and delay the child’s arrival. But it was now long past midnight and another one of his wife’s screams rent through the stillness and the quiet.
“Damn it! How long does this take?”
“She’s going to die,” his father murmured quietly.
The words couldn’t have hit Locke harder if they’d been delivered with a sledgehammer. He spun around to glare at his father, who sat in his favorite chair, looking older and frailer than he had in months. “Why do you say that?”
His father lifted tired eyes to Locke. “Your mother screamed like that. The physician assured me nothing was out of the ordinary, but still your mother perished. I never felt so powerless in my entire life.”
“Portia is young and strong—”
“So was your mother.”
“Portia will not dare leave this child—”
“Your mother had no desire to leave you, but when death is hovering in the shadows, it will not be denied.”
“To hell with that nonsense.” Death would not have its way this time. Locke was striding from the room before he even realized he had a destination, barely remembered charging up the stairs, or bursting into his bedchamber. Every memory of every moment spent in here with Portia rushed through his mind like a kaleidoscope continually being turned so light could illuminate the pieces in a variety of ways, and he saw her in all those different facets. Haughty, bold, gentle, kind. He heard her laughter, her music, her voice whispering in his ear.
He saw her now, exhausted, damp with sweat, her eyes glazed over but the spark not diminished, never diminished. She would fight until the end to protect this child. She would do whatever necessary to protect anyone she loved, this child, him, his father. But who protected her?
