Page 52 of Dark Christmas

Chapter 26

Amelia

Isit in my chambers, torn, my thoughts swirling like a storm I can’t control.

The vomiting, the queasiness, it can only mean one thing—I’m pregnant. How did I end up here? Never in a million years did I imagine getting pregnant, especially by a man like him. Yet here I am, carrying the duke’s child.

My hand drifts to my stomach, and I can feel the weight of it all settling in. And as if being pregnant wasn’t enough, he’s away at war, fighting Lord Alistair Blackwood, his greatest rival. Blackwood’s been a thorn in his side for years, and now it’s erupted into a full-blown war.

What am I to do? I’m stuck here alone in this vast, empty estate, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I feel lost, completely adrift in this new reality.

And to make things worse, I think I might be in love. No, that can’t be right. I can’t love him. He’s a killer, a monster who commands fear and respect in equal measure.

He’s the last person I would fall for.

But I can’t deny it—the way my heart races when he’s near, the way I feel both safe and completely undone in his presence.

I walk to the window, staring out over the moonlit landscape. The world outside may look peaceful, but there’s a battle raging inside me.

What do I do? What can I do? He owns my heart and now, my future.

I make a decision—I’m going to tell him, lay it all out. Maybe the duke will prove to be the rogue I suspect he is, the kind of man who wants nothing to do with a bastard child. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll do the right thing.

Images of a royal marriage flash through my mind, unbidden but persistent. I hate that I’m fantasizing about a life with him. But I can’t help myself.

I imagine our wedding night, the way he’d look at me when we’re finally alone. His hands on my skin, his mouth whispering promises he’s never made to anyone else. I picture him over me, in front of a roaring fireplace, his body pressing against mine, his manhood pushing inside, claiming me as his wife in every sense of the word.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. This isn’t the time for idle fantasies.

I sit down at my desk, pulling out a quill and a sheet of parchment. I’ll write to him. Tell him about the child. I’ll have the letter sent to the front lines, where he’s undoubtedly in the middle of battle.

I stare at the parchment in front of me, quill poised in my trembling hand. My heart pounds as I dip it into the ink, thefirst words spilling onto the page.

My heart pounds as I begin writing. What will he do when he finds out? Only time will tell. But one thing is certain—there’s no turning back now.

Duke,

I write to you with news I never expected to share. I am with child, your child. The very thought of it frightens me, but there is something else I must confess. I love you. I love you more than I can understand or explain. And though my love story did not begin as I had imagined it would, my feelings for you are exactly what I always dreamed love to be.

Tears blur my vision, falling onto the paper as I write. My hand is shaking but I press on, the words coming from the deepest part of me.

You are out there, fighting battles I cannot imagine, and I won’t distract you with long letters or ask for anything more than what you can give. But know this: There is a woman back home who loves you, who carries your child, and who prays for your safe return every day.

With trembling fingers, I fold the letter, sealing it with wax. As the seal hardens, I let out a shaky breath. He will soon know the truth.

Letter in hand, I step out of my room. The days of being confined to my quarters ended when things between the duke and me became what they are now. I roam the halls freely, but tonight, my heart is heavy as I make my way down the dimly lit corridor. Candlelight flickers along the stone walls, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly.

I clutch the letter tightly, heading toward the master of the house, Lord Wainright, who will make sure it’s sent to the front lines in the morning. From there, I’ll have nothing to do but wait. Waiting has never been my strong suit, but I’ll have to make do.

As I descend the massive spiral stone staircase, the murmur of voices reaches my ears. They’re coming from the main parlor. I hesitate before moving closer, drawn by the low, serious tone. Pressing my ear to the door, I catch snippets of the conversation—the duke is mentioned.

My heart races. Something is wrong.

Without thinking, I push the heavy door open, interrupting the discussion. The fire in the hearth crackles, illuminating the faces of those inside. Lord Wainright stands at the head of the room, along with a trio of soldiers. Leading them is General Castor, one of the duke’s most trusted men.

Their faces are grave. The air is thick with tension.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.