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Freddie’s gaze was even more liquid than normal and he was certain that was due to tears. He’d made her cry. What a bastard he was.
‘Come,’ he said, gentling his voice and taking his anger in a vice-like grip. ‘Let’s go inside. The light is too bright, and you need to sit down somewhere comfortable.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said thickly. ‘You don’t need to—’
‘It was not a request, Freddie.’ He released her and turned, then slid his hand beneath her elbow and held her firmly. ‘Come with me.’
She stumbled a little as he walked them both along the path past the stables, all her muscles stiff beneath his hand at first. Then she relaxed and matched his stride. Her face remained white, though. As if he was marching her to her doom.
They walked back through the gardens unspeaking, and then into the welcoming dimness of the castle. His office would have been a more appropriate place for this conversation, but it felt overly formal, and this situation had nothing to do with formality, so he headed straight to his private sitting room.
It was on the ground floor, with a walled garden just outside and he preferred it since the room caught no direct sunlight. The walls were panelled in oak, the floor covered in a thick, dark carpet. There was a fireplace, and some battered yet comfortable armchairs and a sofa drawn up in front of it. Shelves stood against the walls, full of books he couldn’t read. He’d thought once or twice about getting rid of them, but that would have meant admitting his failures mattered and so he’d left them there.
Propelling Freddie over to the sofa, he sat her down on it, then called one of his house staff for some tea. Then he stood for a moment, staring at her as a thick silence fell.
She was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, looking down at her hands clasped tightly together.
He didn’t want to have this conversation, not when his temper was hanging by a thread and she was obviously upset. Yet it had to be done and the sooner the better.
‘You’d better tell me, Freddie,’ he said into the silence. ‘What exactly were you planning to do with my child?’
CHAPTER FIVE
WINIFREDFELTSICK, fear collecting cold and sharp as ice in her gut. Shock was still pulsing through every muscle, and her fingers and toes were starting to go numb. She’d thought she might faint out there by the stables, with Augustine standing there like a beautiful, judgemental god, full of righteous fury.
She’d known what he was going to say before the words had even come out of his mouth; there had been a cold flame in his eyes, anger in his taut posture.
She’d been right. He’d guessed it had been her in his bed and he’d guessed correctly.
It had still been a shock though, and the way he’d hammered at her with those relentless, angry questions. Making it difficult to think through the haze of fear and guilt and shame. She’d wanted to burst into tears. She’d wanted to scream back at him. But as she knew all too well, doing either of those things never helped, so she hadn’t.
The worst thing was she could understand his anger. She also knew that he struggled to keep his emotions in check, especially when he was tired or in pain. He sometimes said things he didn’t mean during those times and normally she brushed them off, so she’d tried not to let him get to her then.
She’d held it together and answered his questions, and she’d thought she’d been doing so well...
Until he’d asked her how she was planning on ‘handling’ the child.Theirchild.
She’d felt that tearing pain again inside her in that moment, the pain she’d been telling herself she didn’t feel for the past couple of months. That she was fine with the thought of someone else caring for and bringing up her child.
But of course she wasn’t fine with it. Yet she had no choice. She was a killer, a murderer. A worse criminal than even her mother. She wasn’t a good person, and she knew that down deep inside. So, it was better if someone else should bring her child up. Someone who could give them a good life, someone who didn’t have the kind of stain on her soul that she did.
Except, this wasn’t just her baby. It was Augustine’s too. And with him staring at her like that, with judgement and accusation in his eyes, she hadn’t been able to find the words to tell him.
I was going to have our baby adopted by a loving family who would care for it the way I couldn’t. That’s how I was going to handle it.
She hadn’t been able to say that to him. She still couldn’t.
Yet now he was standing in front of her, wanting an answer, looming over her, so tall and broad and powerful, and even in jeans and a T-shirt, he looked every inch a king, perfectly in command of himself.
That wasn’t the worst part, though. The worst part was how her skin had felt scalded where he’d gripped her arm, and she could still feel the press of his fingers there, like hot coals against her flesh.
She didn’t want to tell him. How could she? He’d be so angry and he was already angry enough. She didn’t want to make it worse for him. She’d only wanted to protect him and protect their child.
Coward. You’re a coward and you always have been.
A shudder worked its way down her spine, the truth like poison in her heart. Of course she was a coward. Fear was why she’d left home all those years ago and not just her home, but her country too. And she was still afraid, even now.
‘Well?’ he demanded in his rich, melted-honey voice. ‘You owe me an explanation, Freddie.’
