“I suggest you consider that question carefully, your grace, before you discard the only chance at happiness I believe you have.”
Drake stared at Smitty, the final words piercing his soul. Smitty was presenting him with a choice, but in reality, no choice existed. To keep Alex’s love he would have to risk everything, to offer her everything she deserved.
The choice had been made long ago.
Alex stared up at the portrait, seeing the coldly elegant beauty of the regal woman who returned her gaze through haughty, frigid green eyes.
Vanessa Barrett’s exotic, brittle looks had tantalized, seduced, enchanted countless men, most of all Drake’s father. She had used them all, taken what they had to offer, and given nothing in return. Even in a picture, Alex could sense her superficial beauty and her empty soul.
A sudden chill permeated the gallery, and Alex rubbed her arms with her hands, seeking warmth.
She stared defiantly at the portrait of Drake’s mother. “You left your mark,” she accused. “But I won’t let you win. Drake needs me, I know he does … and he loves me as well.” She placed her hand against her slightly rounded abdomen. “We are going to have a child, and we will raise it with love and commitment, neither of which you gave to your son. You hurt him, more than even he understands, but I won’t let him remain a prisoner to your destruction. He is mine now, and no matter how long it takes, he will recognize it. He will.”
The portrait did not answer, but continued to stare mockingly down at her. Nauseated, Alex turned away. Drake had been gone for three days—endless days of waiting and wondering. She knew he had been in torment; she had felt it throughout the storm of their physical union and afterward, when he had torn himself from her, as though he couldn’t bear to be one with her any longer, and staggered from the room without a word, leaving her alone … so alone.
And so afraid. For three nights she had been unable to sleep, tormented by images of Drake being brutally murdered at sea. Whoever was trying to kill Drake was still out there, plotting and planning. The thought terrified her, for she loved him with all her heart.
He had said that he loved her.
Granted, it had been at the height of passion, words that were wrenched from within him. But he had meant them. Of that she was certain. It explained his almost desperate departure from her bedchamber and his subsequent flight to sea. She prayed that time spent alone, away from the pressures at Allonshire, would open his heart to the truth and bring him safely back to her.
She caressed the small mound that was their unborn child. They had so much to look forward to, so much to share. If only Drake would let them.
The door opened, allowing a shaft of light to catch Alex at her musing.
“Alex? Are you in here?”
Alex smiled, going toward the door. “Yes, Sammy, I’m here.”
Samantha frowned. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you. You haven’t been yourself for days.”
“I miss Drake,” Alex replied, joining Samantha in the hallway.
Samantha sniffed in annoyance. “It was terribly impolite of him to go off like that without a word to anyone. Our guests were quite disgruntled, to say the least.”
“It was something he had to do,” was Alex’s quiet reply.
Samantha turned back to Alex. “Still, I know that you have not been feeling well. I wish he would … Alex?” The last was said in panic, as Alex swayed on her feet, clutching the heavy wooden table in the hallway for support.
“I’m all right,” she assured Samantha, blinking to clear her head.
“Let’s go sit down.” Samantha led Alex down the hall to the drawing room and closed the door behind them. Gently she eased Alex onto a settee, then sat beside her. “Shall I ring for something to eat?”
“No, please, nothing.” Alex’s stomach protested violently at the thought of food.
“Alex, what is it? And don’t tell me you miss Drake. That is not enough to make you ill or to make you as tense as you have been, walking around like a drawn bowstring, quivering at every sound. Please talk to me.”
Alex regarded Samantha’s concerned little face and relented. She did need to talk, and while Samantha was young, she was old enough to understand and perhaps to help.
With a furtive glance at the closed door, Alex began. “Sammy, everything I am going to tell you must remain in confidence. Is that understood?”
“Of course.”
Alex nodded, trusting Samantha implicitly. “There are two issues involved here, one very wonderful, the other very ugly. As far as my illness is concerned, there is a physical reason for it.” She paused, savoring her news. “Drake and I are going to have a baby.”
The words were barely out when Samantha flung her arms around Alex’s neck. “Oh, Alex, that is so exciting! A baby! I cannot believe it; my brother … a father. He must be elated! Tell me, h
ow did he take the news?”