“On that note, I’m quite sure,” Milo replied. “There was no mention of another child in my father’s will.”
I thought it shabby of Milo’s father to have completely disowned one of his sons, illegitimate or not, but I already knew that the deceased Mr. Ames had been neither a kind nor a sentimental man. I supposed it was no use casting further aspersions upon the dead.
“In any event, there’s no legal way for Darien to try to get anything.”
“I’m sure he realizes that,” I said. “Besides, you said he refused your money.”
“He did, but I still don’t trust him. There’s always the chance he refused what I offered in hopes of catching a bigger fish.”
“Perhaps that’s what all this mess with Imogen is,” I mused. “Maybe he thinks that if he creates enough scandal, you’ll pay him a large sum to distance himself from the family.”
Milo quirked a brow at me, and I realized the absurdity of this hypothesis. If Darien had paid any attention to the gossip columns, he would know that scandal was the last thing that would worry Milo.
I was a different matter. I had never enjoyed the way our names were bandied about in the press, and I liked it even less now that we were going to have a child. I didn’t want him or her to go to school one day and be reminded of his parents’ past misdeeds. Or of his uncle’s unsavory reputation.
“I’m going to take the evening train to London and stay at the flat tonight,” Milo said. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes, certainly. The sooner things are sorted out the better.” I sighed. “This is all so vexing.”
“Better than the alternative, I suppose?”
“The alternative?”
He smiled. “That I had secretly married someone else in Brighton.”
I gave a little laugh. It seemed silly now that I had even so much as considered the possibility. “Imogen was very convincing,” I said, only half teasing.
“You didn’t really believe her?”
My first instinct was to make a joke of the matter. That was always the most comfortable thing to do whenever we got too close to discussing our feelings. Perhaps it was a ridiculous way to go about a marriage. It had certainly given us more than our share of troubles in the past. Nevertheless, it was a difficult habit to break. This time, however, I thought I should tell him the truth.
“Perhaps some small part of me did wonder—only very briefly—if there might have been some sort of … dalliance with the young lady,” I admitted at last. “After all, she’s young and very pretty, and I’m … quite pregnant.”
He didn’t look affronted, as I thought he might. I supposed he knew better than I did what his reputation had been, even after we married.
He had begun to earn my trust over the past two years, but that didn’t entirely wipe away what had come before. We had never really discussed the rumors, the speculation of the gossip columns when he was photographed with other women. There had always been excuses, and I had tried to brush aside my doubts.
Perhaps it was just that I hadn’t wanted to know. I didn’t want to know now. He had been working to prove himself to me, and I didn’t want to go back to that time when my love for him had been marred with questions. I had believed in him in the face of Imogen’s story, and I knew that the tiniest of doubts that had surfaced had been nothing more than a shadow from a past we had overcome together.
He came to me, his hands taking mine.
“Amory.”
I looked up at him, met his gaze. It was usually difficult to tell what he was thinking, but there was something very transparent in his eyes at this moment.
“There is no one else,” he said. “And you’ve never been more beautiful than you are now.”
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.
The words were touching, but I was acutely aware of the extent of his flattery. “That’s sweet of you, Milo, but I’m not exactly ravishing in my current state.”
“I beg to differ.” His arms slid around me. “I quite like these extra curves. Perhaps we ought to keep you pregnant.”
“I thought I said for you to stop being vulgar, Milo,” I chided him with mock severity.
He leaned to kiss my neck. “Being vulgar is quite my favorite pastime.”
I laughed and moved my hands over his shoulders as his mouth found mine. The kiss deepened, and he pulled me closer, at least as close as he could with my large, round stomach between us.
There was a clearing of a throat in the doorway.
We looked up to see Grimes standing there, his face impassive. It seemed we were always being caught in moments like these, though it was usually poor Winnelda who was set to stammering and blushing. Grimes betrayed no such embarrassment. He merely stood stiffly with his eyes averted, waiting for us to behave ourselves.
“Yes, what is it?” Milo asked. He hadn’t released me, and I stepped out of his embrace to make Grimes more comfortable.
“Excuse me, sir. Miss Imogen has arrived,” Grimes said, an almost imperceptible change in his tone letting us know that he declined to refer to her as “Mrs. Ames.”
Grimes had always felt like an ally to me in Milo’s more disreputable days, and I knew that even though Milo had proven himself to me, it would take a bit of time for him to win over Grimes.
“Thank you, Grimes. You may send her in.”
“Very good, sir.”
He turned and left the room. I turned to smooth my hair and check my lipstick in the mirror. “Grimes must think you’re quite wanton for kissing me in my condition.”
“I’m sure prim and proper Grimes is well aware how it was you got in this condition.”
I might have laughed at this bit of indecorum, but there were footsteps outside the door, and then Imogen came slowly into the room. Her eyes moved quickly from me to Milo, and the smallest frown flickered across her face. Then her gaze came back to me, almost imploring.
I went over to her. “Do come in, Imogen,” I said gently. “This is my husband, Milo. As I’m sure you’ve realized, this isn’t the man that you met in Brighton.”
“No,” she said faintly, her eyes still searching his face, an understandable confusion on her features. “He looks so much like him, but … but he isn’t.”
“Why don’t you sit down, dear,” I suggested. I went to her and took her arm, leading her to a chair. She looked as though she was perilously close to tears, but she didn’t give in to them at once. I saw her look again at Milo, as though hoping that her gaze had deceived her.
“I’m sure this must all be very confusing,” I said. “But there’s an explanation for it. We’ve only just learned about it, and I thought it would be best if you came here rather than talking about it over the telephone.”
Milo, who had thus far said nothing, moved to the sideboard and poured a bit of brandy into a glass. He brought it over to Imogen and handed it to her. She was on the edge of refusal, but then she thought better of it and took the glass from his hand, taking a sip of the contents.
“Thank you,” she said, the color coming back to her cheeks.
“Now,” Milo said, seating himself on the sofa that was across from her. “It’s come to our attention that you’ve been involved with a man named Ames.”