Free Gayle Buck by The Demon Rake Page B

the St. Claire family if Charles died without an heir. In that event, as his widow you will inherit what is undoubtedly a mere pittance. But 1 credit you with a sharp wit. I assume that a brat of suitable age will be brought forward at the appropriate time to confound us all.”
    “Aubrey! How dare you treat that girl in such a base fashion,” exclaimed Lady Hortense, bright patches of color in her cheeks. She pulled at her thread which she had knotted in her agitation.
    Sir Aubrey spared her a glance. “Pray recall that I am a bastard, my lady. I may be excused much that is base.”
    Victoria regarded the old gentleman with mounting anger. She said coldly, “I consider your accusation a vile impertinence, sir!”
    Sir Aubrey chuckled, delighted that he had been able to rouse her temper. “Aye, play your cards close, my dear. I have no objection. But we shall see if I am not right.”
    Victoria was trembling. He sat opposite her with the ghost of a superior smile on his thin mouth. She wanted nothing better than to toss her glass of wine at his head, but she forced herself to concentrate on her cards instead. Carefully, deliberately, she laid down the pasteboards and looked across at him.
    Sir Aubrey glanced at her revealed hand and his brows rose. “Well done, Lady Victoria. You have beat me all hollow.”
    “Pray take care that you do not underestimate me again, Sir Aubrey,” said Victoria levelly.
    Sir Aubrey’s look was sharp. “I wonder if I have not?”
    “Oh bravo, my dear,” said Lady Hortense softly.
    The sound of voices raised in the hall brought all three to their feet. “If I am not mistaken, the rescue party has returned,” said Sir Aubrey as he went to the sitting-room door. Victoria followed close behind him. Lady Hortense flung down her embroidery and clutched Victoria’s arm.
    Lord Damion entered the hall carrying a woman in his arms. Her head was cradled against his broad shoulder and her heavy raven tresses, loose from their pins, cascaded over his sleeve. Lord Damion was giving terse instructions to the butler, who nodded his understanding.
    Behind him stood his cousin. Evelyn protectively supported a drooping young woman whose face was deathly pale. His eyes were shadowed with worry and he snapped at no one in particular, “Where is Mrs. Lummington?”
    Lord Damion turned to him. “I’ve had her sent for, Eve. She will come directly.”
    Sir Aubrey advanced on them, leaning on his cane. “I perceive that the ladies are the worse for their experience.”
    “Dorothea is having pains before her time, sir. Mrs. Giddings has but fainted,” said Lord Damion. There was a note of impatience in his voice as he glanced down at his fair burden.
    The woman in his arms stirred and sighed. Slowly she opened her startlingly violet eyes. “Oh, my—my lord!’ she said in pretty confusion.
    “Can you stand?” asked Lord Damion.
    “I believe so,” she said, though there was a note of doubt in her voice. Lord Damion set her carefully on her feet. She swayed against him and he lent her the support of his arm.
    Evelyn looked down at his wife’s utterly white face. “St Claire, we need a doctor.” There was tension in his voice. “Dorothea—”
    “I had Chatworth sent for an hour or more ago,” said Sir Aubrey. “The manservant ought to return with him before much longer.”
    Evelyn looked at his father frowningly, hardly seeing him. “Much obliged, sir.” His wife stifled a moan and turned her face into his sleeve. “Where the devil is Mrs. Lummington?” asked Evelyn angrily.
    Victoria went to him. “Mrs. Lummington is undoubtedly preparing a room for your wife, who shall be more comfortable once she is settled in bed. Pray allow me to accompany you and Mrs. St. Claire upstairs now, sir. I am no stranger to childbearing women and I may be of assistance.” Evelyn nodded curtly and picked up his wife in his arms.
    He and Victoria started up the stairs, closely followed by Lady Hortense.