Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(36)

To his surprise, Adelaide did not return to her chair. Instead, she sank to her knees on the floor, her skirt billowing around her. She released James, and he squatted next to her.

“I’ve brought something for you, dearest. Would you like to see it?” she asked.

When he clapped his hands and laughed, she reached into her case and pulled out four wooden blocks, one by one. Each one was painted with a different scene, two pastoral and two from London.

“See the daffodils, James?” She handed the boy the first block. “It reminds me of my home in Northumberland. Every spring the daffodils would bloom, and Alice would gather great armfuls and fill our house with them.”

James gurgled intelligibly.

“This one is the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens. I hear they are splendid. Perhaps someday we shall see them together.” She handed him the second block.

James clapped it together with the first block. He enjoyed the noise so much that he promptly did it again.

“And here we have Windsor Castle, where the king lived until he went mad. Now he lives at Kew Palace, but isn’t the castle pretty, James?”

James apparently agreed that the castle was pretty, for he dropped the first two blocks in favor of the third, which he shoved into his mouth. Adelaide laughed.

“Why are you telling him these things?” Nick asked her. “He can’t understand a word of it.”

“How else is he supposed to learn to speak if no one speaks to him?” she said. She leaned closer to the baby and said in a loud whisper, “Pay him no mind, James. He is a very silly man.”

James smacked her cheek with his palm. She caught it and kissed it. Lord, how she looked at the child, with her whole heart shining in her eyes. She was clearly smitten with Miss Sherwood’s son. Almost as if—

“How old is the child?” he asked abruptly.

“Not quite a year,” Miss Sherwood said.

He must have been born just when Adelaide had arrived in Epsom, after the loss of her own son. Little wonder, then, that she had grown attached to the lad. James was only two months or so younger than their own son would have been.

Had he lived.

Suddenly, there was not enough air in the room. His chest seized and ached as though gripped by an iron fist.

“Mr. Eastwood?”

Nick tried to focus. Miss Sherwood was watching him with concern.

“I’m afraid I have been very rude, Mr. Eastwood. You came by carriage, did you not? Will you please inform your driver there is water and hay in the stable that he might make use of.”

“Thank you, yes, I’ll do that,” Nick gasped. He stumbled to his feet.

Once outside, he took several calming breaths. It was easier out here, without the walls pressing in on him. The awful ache in his chest eased somewhat.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of Adelaide playing with a son that was not theirs.

Theirs.

What the devil was wrong with him?

He found Thorne and relayed Miss Sherwood’s message. But he did not return to the house. Instead, he found himself walking the length of the cow pasture. He needed to think.

He had known she’d suffered. But her suffering, he had believed, was the result of bad luck on his part, and a series of unfortunate decisions for which she could blame no one but herself. She ought to have returned home rather than running away to Epsom.

Before today, her pain had not weighed overmuch on his conscience. Yes, he truly regretted the missing letter, but such was the fickleness of life. He hadn’t been to blame for that, or for the death of the child.

He had even thought, in a dark corner of his mind, that it had all been for the best. For if the babe had survived, what kind of life would Adelaide have had? Where would she have gone? How would she have supported their son until Nick returned? Of course, he had not expected to return at all, which was what had prompted his abrupt departure in the first place. What if the babe had survived, but he had not? What would have become of them?

Yes, he had believed the ill fate fortunate, considering the alternatives.

But now?

Oh, God, now.

He had never meant to hurt her. True, he had realized from the very moment they met that she was not his usual sort of dalliance. She was a viscount’s daughter, sweet and virginal, nothing like the experienced widows and barmaids he usually kept himself to. He had been so careful with Adelaide, but he had known the risk, and had not been averse to marrying her.

Should the need arise.

He shuddered, remembering the callous note he had left her, with directions to contact him should the need arise. He had made it clear that unless she was with child, there would be no such need.

As though she had meant no more to him than a barmaid.

He had left similar notes on similar bed stands—with the intention of offering money rather than marriage, of course. He had not loved those other women, and they had not loved him. They certainly would not have expected marriage, but would have been grateful for any funds he offered them. In his preoccupation with his next mission, it had not occurred to him that it might be otherwise for Adelaide.

Very otherwise.

For she had believed herself in love with him. She had trusted him, giving herself to a man she’d believed returned her feelings.

And, oh, he had behaved abominably. He ought to have married her then, before he returned to war, so she would never have needed to write that damned letter in the first place. She would have been safe at her father’s house until Nick returned for her. Perhaps if she had, the babe would have survived. If Nick never came back, her reputation would have remained unblemished.