Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(28)

Her brown eyes locked with his. “You've already left me a parting gift,” she said without blinking. Her voice contained an edge of irony that he didn't understand. Slowly her hand crept to her slightly rounded stomach, and slid over the smooth surface in a meaningful caress.

Uncomprehending, Damon watched the movement of her white fingers. His mind would not accept what she was trying to tell him.

“What should I ask for?” Pauline murmured idly, keeping her hand clamped protectively over her abdomen. “A little extra money, I suppose, and then I should promise not to trouble you about my condition after that. That's the usual arrangement, isn't it? Men in your position have illegitimate children all the time, and they feel no obligation to the mothers of their bastard offspring. But I know you, darling. You're not like most men.”

“We took precautions—” he said hoarsely.

“Sometimes precautions fail.”

“I want you to see a doctor.”

“I already have. You're welcome to meet him, of course, and have him confirm the news.” She paused and added with a sudden flash of vulnerability, “You may disbelieve me, or claim that the baby isn't yours, but at least I've told you the truth.”

If it was a bluff, it was a masterful one. Pauline spoke without blinking, without the telltale flush or heightened pulse of a woman who was lying. She was supremely calm and clearheaded.

A child…his, and Pauline's. Every part of him rebelled against the idea. For his entire adult life, he had never overindulged himself where women were concerned. He had chosen his partners carefully, and to his knowledge he hadn't sired bastards by any of them. Pauline was right; men seldom felt they owed anything to their pregnant mistresses except financial support for the children. This didn't have to be a trap…but for him it was. He felt cold all over. He turned away from the bedside so that Pauline couldn't watch the sickening realization sweep over his face.

He couldn't abandon her now, no matter what he felt for her personally. He was linked to her forever through this child. Pauline knew him well enough to understand that he couldn't live with himself if he didn't take care of her and the baby. From now on his life would be entwined with theirs.

He knew that Pauline wanted to become his wife, she expected it of him…and he would have expected it of himself, if not for one obstacle. A bitter smile twisted his lips, and he heard himself say aloud, “I can't marry you.”

“I understand your reluctance, darling. However, there are some facts to consider. You have need of an heir, or your brother will have the title after you. And there is the welfare of the child—”

“I'm already married.” It was the first time Damon had ever admitted it to anyone except his brother. He closed his hands into fists, while impotent rage swept over him. Damn his father to hell for bringing him to this!

Silence descended over the scene, so absolute that he finally turned to look at Pauline. She was gray-faced, whether from shock or fury he couldn't tell.

“What?” she wheezed. “The rumors are true? I never would have believed it—not of a man like you—”

“It happened a long time ago. I was a boy of seven. My father arranged it.”

“If this is a trick—”

“It's the truth.”

The gray left Pauline's complexion, replaced by a rush of crimson. “My God…why has it been such a bloody secret? And where have you kept your w-wife all this time?”

“I haven't seen her since the day we were married. The families agreed that we would be raised separately, and ‘introduced’ when we were of suitable age.” Damon took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. “But that never came to pass. I don't know how the facts of the matter were told to her. My father chose to emphasize how fortunate I was, being tied to a wealthy family and never having to go through the trouble of choosing a wife for myself. I hated him for what he had done, no matter what his reasons were. I resisted my family's attempts to bring the two of us together, and Julia—”

“Julia,” Pauline repeated blankly.

“—she appeared to be equally reluctant to meet me. By the time I had finally decided to take the matter in hand and confront her, she had disappeared. That was three years ago. I still haven't been able to find her.”

“What do you mean, disappeared? Doesn't anyone know where she is? Her family?”

“If any of her friends or relations know, they're not going to admit anything. I've hired detectives who have searched all through Europe without finding a trace of her.”

“But why would she vanish like that? Something must have happened to her.” A hopeful note entered her voice. “Perhaps she's dead! Yes, that or disfigured by an accident…or perhaps she's taken her vows and is hiding in a convent—”

“All of those possibilities have been considered—but there's no evidence to support any of them.”

“If she were alive, she would come forward to take her place as the next Duchess of Leeds.”

Damon shrugged. “It's possible that the idea of me as a husband doesn't appeal to her,” he said dryly.

There was a visible struggle on Pauline's face, anger and desire making small blue veins prominent on her temples and throat. “What will you do about Mrs. Wentworth?” she asked in a voice that shook. “Or must you have an entire collection of women at your disposal?”