One Night With You (The Derrings #3)(42)

Desmond's head swung in her direction. "Leave us, Iris."

"But Fath—"

"Now!" he thundered.

Jane jumped where she stood, her hands tightening their hold on each other. Bryony turned and fled the room with a noisy sob.

Desmond's lips curled back against his uneven teeth as he spat, "So the little whore returns." She flinched. Berthe had wasted little time in voicing her suspicions.

"Take a seat." Desmond motioned to the sofa Chloris occupied. "We have much to discuss." Jane looked warily at the sofa, not keen at placing herself beside Chloris.

"Come, Jane. Don't be skittish. Clearly you possess a more adventurous spirit." His heated gaze raked her. "Had I only known," he murmured.

Heat crept up Jane's face at the unsubtle remark.

Chloris stiffened, the severe lines of her face pulling tight.

"Is it true?" Chloris demanded. "You're with child?"

"I believe so. Yes."

Desmond cursed and swung around, stalking out to the terrace.

"Well," Chloris began, her voice eerily tranquil. "It's of no surprise you've brought scandal on our heads yet again."

" I've never brought scandal on this family," Jane denied, not about to let that remark pass. Marcus had been the one to cavort with everything in skirts. A sour taste rilled her mouth. To the very end.

Chloris smiled nastily. "Yes, well, if you had been a suitable wife, Marcus would not have had to look elsewhere."

Desmond stormed back inside. "Who?" he demanded, his voice scraping over her like a rusty blade.

Sighing, Chloris smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. "Does it matter, Desmond? I think the question at hand is what are we going to do now."

Desmond's black stare engulfed Jane, and she strongly suspected he had not heard a word his wife said.

"Who?" he bit out, back to that again.

"I think we should send Jane to the country." Chloris stared intently at her husband, her brow wrinkling into its many folds. "No one will think anything of it. She is in mourning after all."

"And when the babe comes?" Desmond spoke at last, acknowledging his wife without looking at her. "What then?"

Jane looked back and forth at Desmond and Chloris, stunned that they would discuss her fate and that of her own unborn child as if she were not in the room, as if she had no voice, no opinion.

"We can send the babe to a home for foundlings. No one need ever know." Cold ice shot down her spine, making her shiver. Jane rose to her feet, clutching the arm of the sofa in a death grip. "No," she pronounced. "I am not giving my child away." Fury radiated through her, chasing away the cold and filling her with revitalizing heat. There had been little time to ponder her feelings about the child she carried. She had only begun to grapple with the reality of it. Until now. Until the mention of giving the baby away. This was her child. Hers and Seth's. No one would take this child from her. Not while there was breath in her body to stop them.

"No?" Chloris echoed, the blunt features of her face tightening with disbelief. She looked to her husband as if seeking confirmation of Jane's refusal.

"Who is he?" Desmond shouted, his face varying shades of red and purple as he stalked to her.

"Who?" His hands clamped down on her arms. "I will have his name." He shook her as if he could rattle the truth from her.

"Desmond," Chloris hissed in an exasperated voice, and something else. Something Desmond did not pay the least bit of mind to as he continued to manhandle her, a vein bulging in his forehead.

"Let me go," she ground out.

His fingers dug deeper, hurting her. "I'll have his name." The pain of his grip fed her, poured liquid fire into her parched soul and sent a shot of courage to her system. Noses almost touching, she hissed into his face, "Never." His pupils dilated, his black, soulless gaze drilling into her until she felt certain he wanted to strike her. Her throat thickened, but she forced her chin higher, finished with submitting.

"Unhand her."

Jane's gaze swung in the direction of the door, gasping at the sight of Seth framed in the threshold. Her heart leapt in her chest and the thickness in her throat intensified, choking her. Larger than life, he loomed over the room, seeming to suck all energy into himself. Desmond released her, and she staggered back, dropping onto the sofa, her legs as steady as jam. Seth watched her, his square jaw clenched tight, his gaze unreadable, the scar down his cheek all the more vivid against his flushed face. Never had he looked more menacing. Or beautiful.

"If you're so desperate to know," Seth drawled, nonchalant as he tugged free his gloves and shoved them into his coat pocket, "I'll be happy to tell you." Jane shook her head, her lips parting on a silent breath.

"The Earl of St. Claire," Barclay chimed, suddenly arriving, looking frazzled and annoyed all at once as he tried to wedge past Seth. "Your pardon, Mr. Billings. He insisted on introducing himself."

Desmond's black gaze never left Seth as he addressed the butler. "Leave us." Barclay departed. The door clicked shut, the noise discordant in the sudden still of the room. No one uttered a sound.

Desmond and Seth stared in silence at one another. A muscle in Seth's jaw jumped madly, just as madly as Jane's heart thumping within her too-tight chest.