Irish Rogue

Fortune aids the brave. --TERENCE St. John's Churchyard April 1820 The earth seemed to crumble beneath Anne's feet. She staggered back, unconsciously protecting with a gloved hand the new life inside her. She stared at her betrothed in disbelief, as stunned as if he'd struck her with a clenched fist. "You said you loved me," she stammered as the solid chill of a marble tombstone halted her retreat. "You promised to marry me...." His cool tone smothered her remaining hopes. "You are such an innocent. You should thank me, you know. Not many women have the benefit of expertise such as mine in their first alliance." Rain dripped from the overhanging trees, soaking Anne's cloak and hair. The night was raw and damp. Puddles of water seeped up through her kidskin boots, but her mouth felt almost too dry to answer. "You call yourself a gentleman," she whispered. "I believed you. I brought my things because you told me that we were going to New Jersey to be wed." Her throat constricted with emotion. "I'm carrying your child, Stephen. Doesn't that mean anything? What am I supposed to do?" In the dark, Stephen was little more than a shadowy outline of a broad-brimmed hat and greatcoat against the deeper blackness of the wooded churchyard. His mocking voice seemed to come from a distance to echo off the mossy stones and swirl around her. "Are you certain that it's mine?" "You can ask me that? After I defied my father to come here? After all your vows of love and--" "Spare me your pitiful whining. You were willing enough to be bedded. Mayhap you found someone else to keep you warm after I left Maryland." Anger replaced terror and Anne stiffened. "We've made a child between us. Can you turn your back on that?" He shrugged. "That's your problem. Get rid of it, or have your father buy you a red-cheeked farmer boy too stupid to realize that his fields have already been plowed and planted." "If I were a man, I would call you out on a field of honor and--" Stephen chuckled. "If you were a man, you'd not be in this unfortunate condition, and I'd never have been attracted to your charms." "My father will come for you." "If you're stupid enough to let that happen. He might try. But I'm an excellent shot. I killed a man in Bristol in a duel over a woman. That's why my family sent me to America. Naturally, his wife's reputation was ruined. So send Papa after me with hounds in full cry, but he could end up in a grave. As for you, Anne, let us agree that a gentleman can be forgiven many slips, a lady none." Anne had never hated anyone before, never wanted to hit and keep hitting until she drew blood--not until this moment. "Why? Why me?" "Don't be a fool. I thought you gullible but never stupid." "My father's money?" "Of course. I have needs that require somewhat more than my family allowance provides for." A vile taste flooded Anne's mouth. "You admit that you're nothing but a fortune hunter?" He laughed. "Don't take it so to heart. You've a pretty figure and a talent for pleasing a man. I would have married you if I hadn't met a better prospect. But it would have been a mistake for both of us. I'm really not cut out to be a Maryland farmer. Philadelphia is more my style. My plump Quaker heiress is too well bred to object to my personal life, and her father is much wealthier than yours." "Burn in hell, Stephen Preston!" Sickened, ashamed, Anne turned and fled down the crumbling brick walkway out of the walled cemetery to a waiting carriage. A wavering circle of lantern light illuminated her sister Mary's pale face. "Anne! Is that you? Hurry. Get in, out of the wFrench, Judith E. is the author of 'Irish Rogue' with ISBN 9780345437594 and ISBN 0345437594.