Page 18 of To Dance with a Devil

She pressed a finger to his lips and smiled again, her eyes very bright. When she spoke, her voice quavered. “Don’t make me cry,” she begged him, moving her hand away to stroke his face.

He stared at her, torn, not knowing what to do or say except “I’ll miss you.” He had to tell her that much. It was nothing less than the truth.

A fat tear rolled down her cheek and his heart hurt.

“Now look what you’ve done, you wretch,” she complained, dashing the tear away, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I will,” he insisted, feeling very much like weeping himself, which was ridiculous. He never cried, not even when he’d believed himself heartbroken because a love affair had ended badly.

“Stop,” she wailed, and leaned in, pressing her mouth hard against his.

Heat bloomed in an instant and his arms went around her, pulling her to him, deepening the kiss as his body reacted at once.

This time, however, she broke the kiss and stared up at him. He knew they couldn’t. It was over. If she wouldn’t marry him, it had to be.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and holding her to him just a little longer. There was a sweet, sad ache in his chest, and it was hard to breathe.

Bonnie shifted in his arms and hugged him tight, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

“Goodbye, Jerome,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget you. Not as long as I live.”

She moved to get up and this time he let her. “There’s only one candle,” she said, giving him a sceptical look as she picked it up and the flame wavered, casting mad shadows around her.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Not the first time I’ve walked the place in the dark. I’ll find my way.”

Bonnie nodded then and stood looking at him for a moment more. “Be happy,” she said, softly, and then she walked away.

It was a long time later before he stirred himself to move, and when he did, it was with no idea of what he would do next. Go back to town, he supposed, pick up his life where it had left off before Bonnie had crashed into it. He smiled to himself, knowing that this summer would forever be engraved in his memory as one of heat and sunshine, and more laughter than he’d ever known.

“Be happy, Bonnie, my girl,” he whispered to the darkness, before finding his way back to his room.

Chapter 7

Oh, Jerome,

I’m in such a fix. Whatever shall I do?

― Excerpt of an entry from Bonnie Campbell to her diary.

22nd October 1814. Upper Walpole Street, London.

It was three weeks since she’d seen Jerome. Three weeks since she’d bade him goodbye and told him to be happy. Three weeks since her monthly courses had failed to make their appearance.

During that time, there had been plenty of mention of Mr Jerome Cadogan in the scandal sheets. It seemed he was back with his friends and, though there was no terrible behaviour to report, he’d been seen in the company of one Lady Helena Adolphus often enough for it to have been remarked upon. Good, Bonnie told herself. That was good. She’d set him free as she’d promised she would, and he would marry Lady Helena and make his mama proud and live happily ever after… and… and….

Bonnie buried her face in her pillow and sobbed, though she despised herself for doing it. It wouldn’t change a thing. She was ruined, and now Morven would be ever more determined to get Anderson to marry her to save her from shame. Not that she had any intention of doing so, but she knew how difficult it was to stand up to the earl. He was a formidable man, and he played dirty. It would be hard enough to keep quiet about who the father was, but she knew he’d try to persuade her the babe needed a name. How could she deny it? She didn’t want to condemn the child to being a bastard, but she didn’t want to marry anyone but Jerome and she’d not trap him into it in such a way. She only hoped that Anderson had more pride than to take on another man’s bastard. She supposed it depended on just how badly he needed her dowry. If he refused to marry her, though, Morven would support her. He’d send her off somewhere quiet and let her raise her child in peace. He’d not like it, but he’d do it.

Despite everything, Bonnie could not regret the babe that they’d made between them. She would forever have a part of Jerome now, and that meant the world to her. She’d always loved children and had hoped for a big family. As a girl, she’d dreamed of a husband who adored her, and a gaggle of children for them both to love and fret over. She was so tired of being alone, but she’d come to realise being alone was not as bad as being among people who did not want you around. She knew she was not a perfect young lady by any stretch of the imagination and, whilst she might doubt her own worth, she still knew she deserved better than that.

At least she would have a son or daughter to love, and to love her. She would be such a good mother, she would try so hard and do her very best, and the child would love her and want her around. Wouldn’t they?

She’d have to tell Jerome, she supposed. It wasn’t fair for him never to know he had a child with her, but not yet. If she told him now, he’d feel honour bound to do the right thing, and she doubted she’d be able to persuade him otherwise again. She doubted she’d be able to hold to her principles in truth, when the idea of facing the future alone was so very daunting. How easy it would be to run back to him, confess everything, and let him take care of her. It seemed such an inviting idea until she considered how he might feel a year or two from now… when he was well and truly trapped. He’d loved her company because she was fun and went off on mad adventures with him, but when they were married with children that would be at an end, and he’d see that he’d made a mistake. It was hard enough to make a marriage work when both parties wanted it and there was love involved. Without it, things could go very bad very fast. She couldn’t bear for him to look at her with resentment or regret, nor live with the recriminations that his mother would be bound to heap on her, whether or not she spoke them aloud.

No. She’d tell him one day. In the future. When she was settled, perhaps.

Wiping her eyes, Bonnie scolded herself for being such a wet blanket and sat up in bed. At once she was assailed by nausea and groaned. She’d not actually been sick yet, which was a blessing, but she felt utterly wretched and had completely lost her appetite. It seemed a very odd and unfair thing that she should be with child and losing weight for the first time in her life, but there was no denying it.

A knock at the door preceded her maid, who bustled in and set a cup of tea and a biscuit on the bedside table.