Reckless by Anne Stuart

there would have been nothing she could do.
    So Lina had told no one. And one summer her courses were late. Days passed, when her body had been as regular as clockwork no matter what indignities Henry had subjected her to, no matter how brutal his assaults. She lied, of course, to keep Henry from her, anything to have an extra day or two of reprieve.
    A week passed, with Henry growing more and more impatient. By the time two weeks had gone by, her breasts were full and tender, her stomach was queasy, and she knew, she simply knew, the old man’s foul ruttings had finally taken root.
    She’d thought she’d be disgusted, hating what hadbegun in her belly. She was wrong. The thought of a baby changed everything. He would leave her alone now, and she would grow large and placid, and by the time she gave birth to his son he would have turned elsewhere for pleasure. He would leave her and her son alone, and sooner or later he would die. He was old and fat, and when he hit her his face would grow purple with rage and excitement, and exhaustion.
    She waited too long. Her fault, her fault. She’d wanted to cherish her secret for just a little while longer before she had to bring him into it.
    She remembered that day far too well. He’d appeared in her dressing room, sending the servants away.
    â€œYour maid tells me you’ve been lying about your monthly courses,” he said, his voice deceptively quiet. “Haven’t you?”
    She flushed. “Yes,” she admitted. “In fact, I—” That was as far as she’d gotten. His fist had connected with her face, splitting her lip, and after that there had been no chance of speech.
    She made the mistake of crying out, enraging him further. The small blessing was that this time he didn’t rape her. He simply beat her, with his fists, kicking her with his booted feet when she fell to the floor.
    She curled in on herself, trying to shield her body from his blows, but she’d already felt the fierce tearing in her belly, the wetness of blood gushing betweenher legs. He’d destroyed the one thing he’d wanted most in the world.
    He finally stopped. She moaned, and clutched her belly. She could hear him gasping for breath, and she struggled to sit up, knowing the danger any sign of life might bring.
    It took her three tries. She could barely see out of her swollen eyes, and the pain in her belly was a ripping, vicious one, but she managed to see Henry half lying on her bed, his legs twitching as he made hoarse, gasping noises. For one moment she thought his sexual excitement had been unbearable and he was using his fist to bring on his own climax—she’d heard those gasping, grunting noises far too many times.
    She managed to pull herself to her feet, using a nearby chair for support. She would need a doctor, she thought, dizzy. Would he allow her one?
    She could see Henry on the bed, gasping for air like a landed fish. His handsome, florid face was a deep purple, and she realized with almost detached interest that he’d finally gone too far. He was having a fit of apoplexy.
    She struggled toward the bed, using various pieces of furniture to support herself, until she reached his side. He managed to focus on her for a moment.
    â€œGet…a doctor,” he wheezed.
    She could feel blood dripping down her legs, into her slippers. She looked down at him. “You sent theservants away, Henry,” she said with deceptive gentleness. “They won’t hear me if I call for help. You’re dying. No one could help you anyway. But I want you to know one thing before you go to the hell you so richly deserve.” She moved closer. “I was finally pregnant, and you kicked me in the stomach, Henry. You killed your unborn child. Your heir.”
    His eyes bulged out, and she could see he understood her. She was unable to walk, so she pulled herself onto the large bed, far enough away that he couldn’t touch