Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

“Big of you.”

She ignored that. Right now she needed to concentrate on getting the words out, before she lost her nerve. “I promised you an heir.”

Impatience darkened his face. “Not very likely when we’re leading separate lives, is it?”

Stupidly she felt herself blush. “The Beeches isn’t far outside Winchester. It’s not an impossible distance from London.”

“You’re offering to let me keep my marital privileges?” His eyes flared, although she saw he remained suspicious of this sudden concession. “Damned sporting of you, Jane. In that case, stay here. That would make more sense.”

Jane shook her head. “No.” She straightened her shoulders and braced for more anger. “I mean…I mean that I’ll stay in Hampshire and lie with you once a month, until you plant a child in my womb.”

“I see.” The corrosive cynicism returned to his expression. “And if the baby’s a girl?”

What if it was always girls? What if there was no child at all? She shoved away her fears that this plan was bound to fail. “Then the arrangement continues until I have a son.”

He clearly also thought it was bound to fail. “This is

madness.”

“Perhaps.” It was the best she could do, while keeping any chance of staying sane. She cheated Hugh of a wife. She couldn’t deprive him of the heir he desperately wanted, too.

His eyebrows arched in haughty disdain. “What about all that tomfoolery about loathing my company?”

She shuddered. This was the worst of it. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to explain her intentions in so many words. “I’m not planning a…seduction, Hugh. Your visits will be purely utilitarian.”

Jane saw the precise moment he understood. His eyes went glassy and dead, and he wrenched back as if she disgusted him.

It might be better if she did, she thought bleakly.

“I…see.”

She knew he did. And he’d never forgive her.

Hugh went on with corrosive bitterness. “You’re back to offering me what you offered me on our wedding night. No pleasure, no real connection, just a quick swiving to get the job done.”

She hid a wince at his frankness. “Yes.”

“I didn’t accept this then. What the devil makes you think I’ll accept it now?”

“Because it’s the only offer I’m making,” she said flatly, desperately wishing this was over.

His lips curled in an unamused smile that made her shudder. “You’ve been busy working everything out. I’m impressed.”

She flinched under his biting tone. “I believe it’s for the best.”

“That’s apparent.” Although it was still morning, he strode to the sideboard and poured a large brandy. Only the faint clink of the decanter on the glass hinted that his hands trembled.

“I hope one day you’ll understand,” she said weakly.

His glare conveyed the contempt that sniveling remark deserved. He raised his glass in her direction. “To you, my dear wife, and to future understanding.”

Tears ranged so close to the surface that her eyes burned, although she saw far too clearly how profoundly she’d wounded him. She’d never imagined he cared this much.

Oh, Jane guessed that his pride would smart when she left him. But something about his desolation as he swallowed the brandy in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the mahogany hinted that his pain stabbed deeper than masculine ego. She ventured toward him, although what comfort could she offer, other than giving up her plan to escape this impossible situation?

With a bow cold enough to make her shiver, he retreated out of reach. “I wish you a safe journey to Hampshire, madam, and I’ll hold myself at your disposal for when you require my services.”

She’d never thought kind, generous Hugh Rutherford could sound like that, as though he intended every word to pierce her skin. She swallowed an agonized whimper and backed toward the door.