Free The Improper Wife by Diane Perkins Page A

member of one’s family was the worst pain in creation. How could this man say such a thing? She was prepared to do anything for her son. Lie. Cheat. Steal, if it came to that. Anything to keep him alive. She was willing to dupe this family and make use of their home, food, and status to keep her baby safe until she could contrive a more honest life. She would not lose Sean like she’d lost everyone else.
    She stood. “I am appalled at you, sir. He is your
son.
” Her voice rose. “I would risk all for my son. I would bleed if he bled. If I lost him I would lose all. Do you have so many sons that you can afford to lose this one?”
    She heard a collective gasp from the others and saw that tears rolled down Lady Palmely’s face. Oh, dear, she ought not to have referred to losing sons. She’d not meant to hurt that poor woman. Lord Summerton’s lips became even thinner. He stared at his empty plate.
    The tableau was reflected in a gilt-edged mirror that hung on the far wall. As Maggie walked out of the room the reflection resembled a somber family portrait, one that she was leaving. She hurried to the curved stairway, and ran past the Grecian temples and gardens to seek solace in holding her son. As she neared the room she heard him cry, calling her to his side.
    As evening descended Maggie held her baby, rocking slowly to and fro in the rocking chair someone had been thoughtful enough to provide. She gazed out the window onto the gardens below, where the waning rose-colored sunset made the blossoms glow.
    The grounds of Summerton were as beautiful as the house, as grand a residence as she’d ever seen. Still, all seemed in repose, lacking whatever spark brought a place to life. Had Lord Summerton sucked all the life out of the house and grounds, even out of his daughter-in-law? Maggie had no wish to suffer the same fate.
    She let her gaze wander over the pathways of the garden, let herself imagine strolling there, pulling a stray weed, cutting flowers for the hall table. Flowers were absent in the rooms of Summerton Hall, perhaps one of the reasons it seemed a dead place. Beautiful, but unloved.
    The door to the room swung open and closed as swiftly. The little boy Maggie had seen when she arrived, Lady Palmely’s son, rushed in, skidding to a halt when he saw her sitting by the window. From the hallway, a high-pitched voice called, “Master Rodney? Master Rodney?”
    The boy stood stock-still, staring at Maggie with wide, wary eyes.
    “Are you hiding?” She gave him a friendly smile.
    He nodded, but did not return her smile.
    “Why?” she asked.
    “I do not want to go to bed,” he replied, his expression still solemn. Do not any of these Graysons smile?
    A memory of the captain’s smile struck her, rakish, ironic, but like the others of his family, not happy.
    Someone knocked on her door. The little boy clapped his hand over his mouth. Before Maggie could speak, he bolted to the door that connected the room with another bedchamber, opened it, and disappeared.
    There was another knock. Expecting the nanny, Maggie said, “Come in.”
    Lord Summerton entered, shuffling with his cane.
    Maggie’s arms tensed and the baby stirred in response. Her heart accelerated.
    “I found you.” He leaned on his cane with both his hands. His tone was nearly as hostile as at dinner.
    Maggie did not answer him, but raised one eyebrow.
    “You will stay here,” he growled.
    Was that a demand, or a question? She could not tell.
    Maggie rocked and the baby settled against her chest again. “I cannot ascertain, sir, if you wish me to stay or to leave.”
    He blinked in surprise, almost losing his grip on the cane. “Didn’t you hear me, girl? I said you will stay.”
    She did not expect this. “You wish me to stay?”
    “Of course. Stay. I don’t know what ramshackle game my son plays.” His voice rose and he pointed the cane at the baby. “Is that his son?”
    Maggie glanced down at Sean, sleeping so innocently against