Rumours in the Regency Ballroom: Scandalising the Ton / Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

“I am very cognisant of the hour and of what has not taken place here this night.” Adrian put pressure on the door. “I presume she is not sleeping. Tell Lady Wexin I wish to see her.”

The butler still hesitated.

Adrian lowered his voice. “Listen, man. The reporters are gone. No one will know I’ve come. I beg you, announce me to Lady Wexin.”

The butler opened the door and allowed Adrian entry.

Lydia sat in the rocking chair she’d had Dixon purchase for her. She’d hoped to be rocking her baby by this time.

It would be lovely if she could indulge in a fit of tears, yell and scream and pull at her hair, but instead there was only this cold stark terror inside her. By dawn, the world would know she’d become pregnant by another man, a man she’d lain with when her husband, vile man that he was, had been dead only a matter of weeks.

She would have to leave London. Go somewhere where no one knew her, where she could raise her child away from the newspapers and gossip-mongers. Her sister would surely not wish to see her; her parents, if they ever returned, would shun her as well.

How did one sell a house and its contents? Could she afford all the servants? Some would not wish to remain with her, she was certain.

“My lady, do you wish to get ready for bed?”

Mary sounded almost afraid to speak to her. Poor Mary. She had been so faithful, so good about not asking questions. Mary had been the only person who had known for certain this baby was not Wexin’s. Now everyone knew.

“In a little while, Mary.” Lydia tried to appear composed.

A knock sounded on her bedchamber door. Mary walked over and opened it a crack. “It is Mr Dixon.”

Dixon stepped in, looking distressed. “My lady, there is a gentleman to see you.”

Someone sent to verify that she had not given birth, she supposed. “Send him away.”

“It is Lord Cavanley.” Dixon wrung his hands.

Adrian stepped into the room.

“See here—” began Dixon.

Adrian ignored him and walked straight over to her. “Let us speak alone.”

Lydia’s heart pounded. She glanced from Mary to Dixon, both open-mouthed with shock. “It is all right,” she said to them. “I will see him alone.”

Dixon needed to take Mary by the arm to escort her out.

When the door closed, Lydia looked up at Adrian, so handsome in the lamplight. She continued to rock back and forth in her chair. “What do you want, Adrian?” she asked.

“Truth.” His gaze slipped from her face to the round mound of her abdomen. “Is the baby mine?”

She turned her head away. “I suppose you have surmised that I am not carrying Wexin’s child.”

“I never thought you were.” His voice was deep and angry. “Is the baby mine?”

Lydia glanced into his eyes, which were filled with pain. “Do you, like the newspapers, think it might be the child of a gypsy or a manservant?”

His gaze remained steady. “Answer my question.”

She bowed her head. “The baby is yours, Adrian.”

His anger, his pain, his very presence here confused her. She had already released him from any responsibility. Why had he come?

He stepped back. “Why, Lydia? Why keep this from me?”

The cold terror inside her was cracking like thin ice under his gaze. She did not wish to break apart in front of this man, who would be kind to her, as he had been before. His kindness was what had led her to seduce him, but that had been her doing, not his.

“I did not want you to know,” she managed to respond.

“You did not wish me to know.” He looked so wounded.

She could almost hear the crack-crack-crack of her control. Hot tears stung her eyes and her throat felt tight. She could not speak and so forced a shrug in response.

He swung away for a moment before turning back with a piercing gaze. “I offered you marriage, Lydia. I offered to acknowledge my paternity—”

She waved a dismissive hand and struggled to her feet. “You did your duty.”

He came closer to her. “Yes, my duty, but you preferred my child to have a murderer’s name.”

Her cheeks stung as if he’d struck her. He spoke the truth and hearing it made her ashamed. “I—I did not wish to be married, Adrian.” Her voice sounded too fragile, too vulnerable.

“Cut line, Lydia.” His eyes flashed. “You did not wish to be married to me.”

“I did not want to be married to anyone,” she shot back. He twisted away, making a sound of disgust.

She stepped towards him, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “Adrian, understand me. I thought I had a perfect marriage once. It was all lies, vile, evil lies. Do you really think I would trust any man after that?”

He straightened. “I am not Wexin.”

She dropped her hand and wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes. Yes. You are not Wexin, but you are—”

He swung around. “A libertine?”

Lydia turned away, but he circled her so she was forced to look at him.

“You have made it very clear what you think of me, Lydia, and you made your choice, preferring my son or daughter be thought the progeny of a murderer rather than a libertine, but that matters little now, does it not?”

She tried to meet his eyes, but could not bear to see her shame reflected there. “I had a chance to be free of a man’s control and I took it.”

“You gambled with my son or daughter.”

She inhaled a quick breath. She’d gambled and lost.

He took her chin in his fingers and lifted her face so she could not avoid looking at him. His touch, even in this circumstance, even in her condition, gave her a physical awareness of him.

“You cannot pretend my child is Wexin’s now. What were you planning to do?” A muscle in his cheek flexed and he bent closer to her.