Scooping her into his arms, he ran toward the far end of the garden, then set her down. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than she dropped to her knees and began to retch.
Erik knelt beside her, one hand supporting her, silently offered her his handkerchief when she was through. “Are you all right?”
“I think I’m dying.”
He laughed softly. “Not quite. You will most likely feel better now. Not used to spirits, are you?”
Kristine shook her head, then groaned. “No.”
“One shouldn’t overindulge on an empty stomach,” he said sympathetically. “Come, let us go home.”
She was unusually quiet in the carriage on the way home.
“Is something wrong?” Erik asked.
“I made a fool of myself,” she replied, not looking at him. “I made you leave the party early.”
He laughed softly as he drew her into his arms. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all that matters.”
“You are so good to me, Erik.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Why are you so good to me?”
He gazed down at her, at her lips, pink and slightly parted, at the long dark lashes that lay against her cheeks. Why, indeed, he mused as he gave her shoulders a squeeze. Why, indeed.
“Will you make love to me when we get home?”
“You should get some sleep.”
“I am not tired.” She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. “Come, my lord, you must do your husbandly duty.”
He told himself it was the champagne talking, but he didn’t care. She wanted him, and that was all that mattered.
“Yes,” he said gently, “my duty.”
Chapter Ten
Kristine felt slightly nauseous the morning after the ball. She attributed it to a very late night and all the champagne she had consumed. By noon, she felt better. By evening, she had forgotten all about it, so she was surprised to find herself ill again the following morning, as well, and every morning for the next two weeks.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she groaned as she rinsed her mouth with warm water.
Lilia and Leyla smiled at each other as they changed the soiled linen on her bed.
“You don’t suppose I’m coming down with something, do you?” Kristine asked.
Leyla’s smile widened as she placed her hand over Kristine’s belly, then pretended she was cradling a baby in her arms.
Kristine stared at the woman a moment, and then her mouth dropped open. “A baby? You think I’m with child?”
Leyla and Lilia looked at each other and nodded. Cocking her head to one side, Leyla pressed lightly on Kristine’s breast.
Kristine frowned. Her breasts had been tender for the last few days.
Lilia and Leyla looked at each other and smiled.
“A baby,” Kristine murmured. “Oh, my.” A slow smile spread across her face as she contemplated telling Erik he was going to be a father. It was what he wanted, the reason he had married her in the first place. He had told her so himself. I want nothing from you, he had said, the words cold and blunt and implacable. Nothing but a child.
She felt the smile die on her lips. Would he stop coming nightly to her bed now that the deed had been accomplished and she was carrying his child? Though she was certain it was unseemly, she treasured their lovemaking, had grown accustomed to falling asleep in his arms. And though he was gone in the morning when she awoke, his scent permeated her bedclothes, her pillow, her skin.
She wasn’t ready to give all that up, not yet. “Promise me,” she said, looking from one woman to the other, “promise you won’t tell anyone.”
Leyla and Lilia exchanged glances.
“Promise me,” Kristine insisted. “This is my news, and I wish to tell my lord husband in my own time, in my own way.”
The two silent women both nodded. They helped her dress, then left the room.
“A baby,” Kristine murmured.
Taking her diary from the drawer, she sat down and picked up her quill.
It has been so long since I’ve written, I don’t know where to start. I feel, at last, as though I am truly married. Erik still refuses to spend the night in my bed, but I feel that he has come to care for me, at least a little. As for me, I think I could love him if he would let me. We spend a part of each day together, but it is the quiet evenings we share that bind us together.
Leyla and Lilia made it known to me this morning that they think I am with child. The thought had not occurred to me, but I know now that it is true, that Erik’s child is growing within my womb. I am to be a mother. It is almost beyond comprehension, a miracle. I wonder, will it be a boy or a girl, though I care not, so long as it is strong and healthy and whole. . . .
With a sigh, she put her pen aside, her happiness marred by doubts. What if Erik was horribly misshapen beneath the mask? What if he had been born that way, if the same deformity should be passed on to their child? But surely, if that were true, he would not be seeking an heir.
Keeping her secret was harder than she had expected. A dozen times a day the words rose in her throat. At night, in his arms, after they had made love, the words begged to be said and yet she kept them locked inside. She could not put aside her fear that, once he knew his seed was growing within her, he would no longer have need of her.
They went riding every morning. She knew she would soon have to stop, for safety’s sake. A fall could be dangerous for her child. But not on this beautiful day. It was the first of July and the sky was a clear azure blue. As always, she lost herself in the joy of riding, in the beauty of the landscape. The grass spread before them like a carpet of lush green velvet. Flowers dotted the countryside, as bright as gems scattered by a careless hand.
They paused after an hour or so to rest the horses. It was then, as she watched Erik dismount and walk toward her, that she noticed the stiffness in his movements.
“Are you in pain, my lord?” she asked as he lifted her from Misty’s back.
“It’s nothing.” He set her on her feet. Gathering the horses’ reins, he led them to a small pool and let them drink.
Kristine frowned as she watched him walk away. He was limping. She was sure of it.
Plucking a bright yellow dandelion, she twirled it between her thumb and forefinger, her gaze focused on Erik’s back. The sun glinted in the blackness of his hair. She watched the muscles ripple beneath the fine wool of his shirt, and her fingers ached to touch him.