Chapter 3
Sunshine danced across the rime-coated trees, surrounding Samantha in sparkling light.
The crunch of her feet against the frozen ground accompanied her as she strolled.
It was especially cold today with clear skies baring the world to the elements.
Plumes of white drifted upward each time she exhaled, and icy air burned the exposed skin on her face.
Her cheeks would be bright red when she returned indoors.
Soon.
For now, she meant to enjoy the freshness and what little exercise she could acquire without Adrian’s “spies” informing him of her actions. Though the servants who constantly watched her undoubtedly meant well, they made her feel like a child who couldn’t be trusted.
With a sigh, she started along the path that would take her toward the edge of the garden.
Spotting Isak, who was having an early outdoor lesson with his tutor, Samantha waved to the boy.
Bringing him here had worked wonders. With the grounds to explore, horses to ride, and the realization that there was a world beyond London, he’d transformed.
He was no longer the skeptical street-urchin she and Adrian had saved from the slums last year, but rather an inquisitive youth who sought knowledge.
Samantha recalled the cozy evenings they’d all spent together in front of the fire. Isak had been captivated by Adrian’s stories. And Adrian himself had proven he had a fatherly instinct, reassuring her that they would work well together as parents once the baby arrived.
But why couldn’t her husband accept that she didn’t need coddling? That she too wanted to keep both herself and the child she carried safe from harm? That she wouldn’t do anything foolish?
When she’d spoken with Doctor Wolf last, he’d told her she could keep riding until her last trimester, provided she felt capable and strong, and applied common sense. But would Adrian listen?
No. He’d made his opposition clear. Furious, she’d thwarted him and as a result, she’d had to face his censure. He’d been ill-tempered for a full week after, and when she’d gone to the stable, the grooms had denied her access. Adrian’s orders.
The only forgivable reason for this was the fear he’d revealed when they’d argued, that she would injure herself or worse.
She understood his concern, though she thought it irrational.
It was rooted in the loss he’d suffered as a boy when his mother had perished in childbirth.
He’d not rest easy until the child had been born without issue.
And because she loved him, she would respect his wishes, even if it kept her from the freedom she craved.
She reached the low stone wall at the edge of the garden and looked out across the Channel. Staring straight ahead, she could easily fool herself into thinking the water was calm, but when she dropped her gaze, the waves that broke against rocks below were anything but.
A gust of wind rushed past her face, and she hugged herself to ward off the increased chilliness found in this spot. Just a little while longer, she told herself, already dreading having to go back inside. The only thing that awaited her there was a great deal of sitting.
As someone who’d been accustomed to regular sparring and sprinting across London rooftops, she found her inactive state exasperated her to no end. It made her feel like a useless lump. And with Adrian off dealing with O’Leary’s threat, it seemed even more confining.
The only upside to his absence was the privacy it allowed her late at night after all the servants retired.
Alone in her bedchamber, she did what she could to rebuild the strength she’d lost since coming here, to reacquire her flexibility and her overall skill, with a series of carefully structured exercises.
Nothing reckless that put her child in danger, though Adrian would no doubt disagree if he had a say.
However, she meant to have her say too, and in her opinion, the greatest threat was not a fall from a horse or the risk of her losing her balance.
Considering who she was — who Adrian was — the greatest threat would be other people.
Which meant she had to stay on her guard, ready to fight off attackers, kill if need be.
Allowing her body to weaken while putting on weight would be a mistake.
A sudden movement against her abdomen stole her breath and jolted her out of her thoughts. She stiffened, unsure of the unfamiliar feeling. It happened again, more firmly this time, and Samantha bent over, one hand braced against the stone wall for support as concern rippled through her.
Was this normal? Was the baby all right?
She turned for the house. Maybe she needed rest. Perhaps she’d spent too long outside in the cold. Or was she simply in need of more food?
Uncertain, she made her way back slowly and entered through the kitchen.
A pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread drifted toward her and the warmth from the stove quickly eased the chill in her veins.
She greeted Cook and the maids who were present, then unraveled her scarf and shucked her coat, only to grimace when yet another uncomfortable movement pushed at her belly.
“Are you all right?” Cook asked, her hand at Samantha’s elbow, supporting her as she winced with discomfort.
“I don’t know,” Samantha gasped. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Would you like to sit for a bit?”
When Samantha nodded, Cook guided her to a chair while the rest of the maids began fussing. One grabbed Samantha’s coat, another her scarf, while a third brought a stool so she could prop up her feet. A blanket materialized too and was draped across her lap.
“Tell us what’s wrong,” Cook encouraged. “If need be, I’ll have Elks send for the doctor and the midwife.”
Samantha took a deep breath and described her symptoms while the servants paid close attention. When she finished, the maids grinned while Cook produced a calming smile.
“That’s the quickening,” Cook said. When Samantha only stared at her, she explained, “The babe has started moving. That’s the uncomfortable poking and prodding you’re feeling. It’ll only get more pronounced as he or she grows.”
Samantha looked at the four women huddled around her. “So I needn’t worry?”
“Heaven’s no,” Cook said with a light chuckle. “Now then, how about I fix you a cup of hot tea and a buttered slice of fresh bread to go with it?”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” Samantha leaned back in the chair and placed her hand over her belly. When she felt no additional movement, she decided her child must have found a comfortable position in which to rest.
Her heartbeats eased into a steady rhythm, allowing her to relax as well.
Until she read the paper the following morning and learned that the peace in London was over. There had been a new murder.
She made note of the pertinent details then blinked.
Two weeks had already come and gone since this brutal crime had happened.
The victim — a man named Stewart Warren – would be long buried by now.
According to this, the perpetrator had yet to be found.
No arrest had been made though Bow Street promised results.
She frowned at the words. Why hadn’t Adrian mentioned this when he’d last written? The most recent letter he’d sent had been postmarked five days ago. Nearly a week and a half after the murder occurred.
Annoyed, she tossed the paper aside and reached for more toast. This effort of his to shield and protect her from the world that existed beyond Deerhaven’s gates only made her worry.
For him. Because she knew he wouldn’t be able to let this go — to not get involved in solving the crime.
And with Finn O’Leary posing a far more personal threat, Adrian risked losing focus.
A distraction that could interfere with his attempts at thwarting the bastard.
Unless, of course, he didn’t know about the murder.
She stilled, the butter coating the knife a hair’s width from her toast. That would certainly explain why he hadn’t mentioned it to her. It would also mean that Kendrick had not said a word to him either.
Or…
Maybe Adrian had chosen to keep the murder investigation a secret so she wouldn’t worry about him hunting another madman. Of putting himself in additional danger. Of possibly getting hurt, or worse.
She took a sharp breath and shoved her plate aside, nearly overturning her tea in the process. This situation was untenable. She couldn’t stand it one second longer. Being apart from her husband felt unnatural. Especially under these circumstances where she could do nothing to help him.
All because he wanted to keep her safe.
But what about him?
A sudden movement within made her realize her baby was once again restless.
Almost as if he or she were trying to comment on what she was thinking.
She considered this — the discomfort and the concern she’d experienced yesterday — then directed her gaze toward the attending footman who stood by the door.
“Please send for Emma.”
He rang the bell pull, ensuring Samantha would not be left alone for even a second. A frustration that steeled her resolve.
As soon as Emma arrived, Samantha told her, “I’d like you to set aside whatever tasks you have planned for today and help me pack.”
* * *
Sebastian Cooper, Duke of Wrengate, woke, his sleep disturbed by a soft squeak.
His eyes cracked open, his gaze searching the dimly lit bedchamber for the source of the sound.
Still fully clothed and slightly sprawled in the chair that stood in one corner, he winced in response to the twinge in his neck.
He’d not slept well, or enough, but the rustling of fabric turned his attention toward the bed.
He straightened, ignoring the way the ache in his neck deepened in response to the movement. “What do you need?”