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Shoving those thoughts down inside me, I take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The Count stiffens, not quite able to hide his surprise. His legs uncross, a foot hitting the ground with a thud. He leans forward, opening his mouth, then pauses. His glass of amber alcohol touches his lips, and he takes a deep gulp.
Silence stretches longer. I look away.
My cheeks redden, and I try to push aside the shame. I shouldn’t be ashamed. This is the twenty-first century, and I’m a grown woman. People get pregnant all the time. If my family’s situation was any different, I would feel nothing but joy. I’m sure of it.
Count Gregory watches me, leaning forward. His face is impassive. The way his lips pinch makes me think he’s angry, but he hides it well. His eyes darken, dropping down the length of my body.
Finally, he speaks. “Who…” A sharp intake of breath. Understanding washes over his features. Then, a cruel, victorious smile. “Blythe.”
I gulp. “The father isn’t important,” I say, using all my years of training to keep my face flat and my voice strong. “I merely wanted to tell you before we take this any further. Maggie is still—”
“I don’t want Maggie,” the Count says, waving a hand.
I frown.
His smile widens. Dipping his chin down toward me, the Count lets out a low chuckle. His eyes flash, and a sense of dread twists my stomach. The Count puts his crystal tumbler down on a side table, wiping his hands on a thick white napkin. He nods. “I’ll raise the child as my own. We can marry soon to avoid questions. Christmas Eve? I’ve always liked the thought of a Christmas wedding.”
“I don’t—” I stop, not even sure what I was going to say.
Christmas Eve is only a few days away. He wants to marry me within days.
My mask falls, and I frown. “You still want me?”
“My darling Ada,” he croons, standing up and reaching for my hand. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
When my palm slips against his, nausea makes my head spin. This isn’t what I expected. I thought he’d be angry. I thought maybe he’d take Maggie instead. I thought I might be shamed, cast out of polite society.
But the Count…he still wants to marry me? He’ll accept this child? This isn’t some sick ruse?
Confusion freezes my limbs, and I let the Count wrap his arms around my waist. He drops a cold kiss on my cheek, then grabs my chin in his hand. I wince. He’s gripping my face so tight it’ll leave a mark, his other hand clamped around my back.
When his lips dip down to mine, I pinch them closed and try to push away. He lets his lips cover mine, the stench of mothballs making me want to retch. His lips are cold and hard against mine. I struggle, letting out a whimper.
The Count releases me, laughing. Laughing. At me. At my struggle. At my predicament. At my complete and utter powerlessness. “I’ll make arrangements. We’ll marry on Christmas Eve.” He throws me a cruel look. “That should save the tatters of your reputation.”
And with that, Count Gregory turns and walks out, and my world shatters.
20
Ada
White dress. Veil. Makeup. Hair.
I look like a bride.
I feel like dirt.
Kiera fluffs the hem of my dress, smiling up at me from the floor. “You look beautiful, Ada. I can’t believe you’re getting married. Only a month ago, you were going to the Christmas ball!”
I smooth my hands over the lacy dress, sucking a breath in through my teeth. “I know. I can’t believe it, either.”
“And on Christmas Eve, too! It would be romantic if—” She stops herself, biting her lip. “I mean, it is romantic.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “You mean it would be romantic if I were marrying anyone else?”
She stands up, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I didn’t say that.”
