The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

He took a long drink of hot black coffee and stared out of the morning-room windows onto the gray winter day. If only it wouldn’t rain, today of all days. There was much to be done. There was a light tap on the door, and Mrs. Cradshaw eased through the doorway.

“A good morning to you, my lord,” she said, all bright cheeriness. He watched her gently lay several covered dishes on the sideboard.

“Such quantities of food would certainly make Sir Percy’s eyes light up, Emma,” he remarked, as he buttered a slice of hot toast.

She chuckled. “I daresay it would, my lord. Do you know that Cook has never enjoyed herself more? Despite the presence of the Frenchman, of course.” She hovered near the table, as if she were unwilling to leave the room. Julien granted her the privilege of an old retainer and did not dismiss her, sensing that she wished to speak to him of other matters.

“The countess will be down presently,” he said. Although she hadn’t stayed with him, she wasn’t a coward, and he didn’t believe it in her character to purposely avoid his company. Well, perhaps he wasn’t completely certain about that.

“Oh, that’s natural, my lord, that she be a trifle late in the mornings.”

Julien momentarily forgot the slice of crisp bacon on his fork and looked intently at Mrs. Cradshaw. She looked back at him comfortably and smiled, saying, “But another two or three weeks and her ladyship will be enjoying an early breakfast again with you.” Her look was placid, then she beamed at him like a damned mother who knew something he didn’t know.

He forced a smile. She’d been fussing over him since yesterday, he thought, and that sentimental look— Dear God, she knew last evening.

He didn’t know how he got the words out, but he did. “I suppose you have been giving her ladyship all sorts of good advice and time-honored remedies.”

“Oh, yes, indeed, my lord. I’m so happy she’s told you. Made me promise, her ladyship did, not to say a word to you, wanted to tell you herself. Such wonderful news it is, my lord. Fancy, opening up the nursery again.”

He cursed himself silently for a blind idiot. That was why she’d come to him last night. Her motive wasn’t to finally enjoy her husband because she wanted him, oh, no. He could imagine the hours she’d spent arriving at such a desperate and daring solution. But he realized he couldn’t allow her to discover just yet that he too knew. He cleared his brow and his throat. “Emma, the countess doesn’t need your assistance. Indeed, I expect her momentarily. I would much prefer that you meet with Nurse and inspect the nursery.” He spoke firmly, and she at once responded to the authority in his voice.

She brightened. “What a wonderful idea. Old Nanny is getting on in years now— so long it’s been since you needed her— but her brain’s sharp as a floor tack. Ah, she’ll be so excited, my lord, so pleased.” And she was gone even before he could nod dismissal.

He rose slowly and walked to the windows. Poor Kate. How could she have been so naive as to believe she could deceive him into believing the child was his? Did she not even realize that a man could tell whether or not a woman was a virgin? Evidently not, but why and how should she know?

He turned abruptly as the door to the morning room opened and his wife walked in as slowly as a person being forced to the gallows. With a palpable effort he said calmly, “Good morning, my dear. Do come and have your breakfast. Cook must have threatened the chickens, for there are mountains of eggs. As for the pigs, I dread to contemplate their fate. The bacon is crisp, as you like it.”

He realized he was rambling on, but he wished to give her no clues as to his own thoughts, and to lessen her nervous embarrassment at seeing him.

Her eyes didn’t quite meet his, and she mumbled an unintelligible greeting as she slipped into a chair.