Scarlett turned her attention back to her mother. “Constance’s choices are her own, but you took advantage of her broken heart. You and I both know what he’ll do to her. You willingly sent a lamb to the slaughter, and I will do everything in my power to convince her not to go through with it.”
As shots across the bow went, that one was a direct hit.
“As far as I’m concerned, you made the choice for her when you refused him,” her mother replied unemotionally.
And that one was an entire bombing raid.
Scarlett’s sharp intake of breath was enough for him to know her mother’s words had found their mark.
“It was nice to meet you both, but we’re going to go now,” Jameson said, tipping his hat.
“If that’s a boy, he can be my heir,” Nigel blurted.
Every muscle in Jameson’s body tensed, preparing for the fight. “If our baby is a boy, he’s our son,” he said.
“He’s not your anything,” Scarlett said to her father through gritted teeth, her hand rising protectively over their child.
“If Constance doesn’t marry Wadsworth—as you are hell-bent on stopping it,” her father mused with a scheming gleam in his eyes, “and you have the only heir, the line is clear. If she does marry him, and they have children, that’s a different matter.”
“Unbelievable.” Scarlett shook her head. “I’ll sign over my claim right now. Here, in the middle of the street. I don’t want it.”
Nigel’s gaze flickered between Scarlett and him, then narrowed on Scarlett. “What are you going to do when your Yank gets himself killed?”
Scarlett’s spine stiffened.
Jameson couldn’t argue against the possibility. The life expectancy of a pilot wasn’t years, or even months. The odds weren’t exactly in his favor, especially at the rate the 71st was flying missions. Since getting issued Spitfires a few weeks ago, they were one of the top squadrons for enemy kills.
He was one battle away from making ace…or crashing.
“You’ll have a baby to support on a widow’s stipend, since I’m assuming you no longer wear the uniform or have income of your own.”
“She’ll be fine,” Jameson interjected. Changing his will already made sure Scarlett would inherit what land was his if he didn’t make it home, but he wasn’t telling her parents that.
“When that happens, you’ll come home.” Her father ignored Jameson entirely. “Think about it. You have no real skill. Can you honestly say you’d go to the factories? What would you do with your child?”
“Nigel,” Margaret chastised softly.
“You’ll come home. And not for you—you’d rather starve than give us the pleasure. But for your child?”
The color ran from Scarlett’s face.
“We’re leaving. Now.” Jameson turned his back on her parents, cutting directly in front of them instead of letting Scarlett’s hand go.
“She doesn’t even have a country!” Nigel called after them.
“She’ll be American soon enough!” Jameson said over his shoulder as they walked away.
Scarlett held her head high as Jameson stepped into the street, hailing a taxi. A black car pulled to the curb, and Jameson opened the door, ushering Scarlett in first. Rage raced through his veins, hot and thick.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“The U.S. Embassy,” Jameson replied.
“What?” Scarlett twisted in her seat as the cab lurched forward into traffic.
“You have to get a visa. You can’t stay here. Our baby can’t stay here.” He shook his head. “You told me they were cold and monstrous, but that was…” His jaw flexed. “I don’t have the words to describe what happened back there.”
“So you’re taking me to the embassy.” She lifted a brow.
“Yes!”
“Love, we don’t have our marriage records or any of my personal identification. They’re not just going to give me a visa because you say so,” she said, calmly stroking his hand.
“Shit!”
The driver glanced back at them but continued on.
“I know they’re…upsetting. But they don’t have any power over me anymore—over us. Jameson, look at me.”
“If something happens to me, I need to know that you can get to Colorado.” Just the thought of her going back to her family sent another hot pulse of anger through him. “We’re not poor—at least not in land—and I’ve already changed my will. If I die, you have options, but going back to those two isn’t one of them.”
“I know.” She nodded slowly. “I won’t. Nothing will happen to you—”
“You don’t know that.”
“—but if it does, I’ll never go back there. I promise.”
His eyes searched hers. “Promise me we’ll start the visa process.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“Promise. Me. If nothing else, you’d have it if I die.” He wasn’t giving on this one, wasn’t being the sensible, sensitive husband. She had to belong somewhere if he went down.
“Okay. Fine. We’ll start the process. But we can’t do anything about it today. We have to get an appointment—”
He kissed her hard and quick, not giving a shit that they were in public or potentially scandalizing the cab driver.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his forehead against hers.
“Can we go back to the hotel now?”
He gave the driver the destination change with a grin that didn’t fade as they made their way to the hotel. It didn’t even fade as they climbed the wide staircase up to their room or as he unlocked their door.
Even if he didn’t survive this war, she would—their child would.
…
“What is that?” Scarlett asked, gesturing to a large box on the desk as they walked into the room. She was completely, utterly drained, not only from walking miles while they shopped but from the encounter with her parents on the street.
“I bought you a present while you were sleeping this morning and arranged to have it delivered. Go on.” He motioned her toward the box.
“A present?” She put the bag with the baby clothes on their bed, then looked over her shoulder at him with skepticism. “What are you about?”