Sword to the Heart (Bantam Series No. 13) by Barbara Cartland Page B

had turned to look at him, a mocking expression in her eyes, and he had felt as if a cold hand touched his heart.
    “Can it be—p-possible?” he stammered. “No, it cannot be, and yet—are you having a—b ... baby?”
    “But of course!” she replied. “Why else should I have married you?”
    For a moment he could not understand what she was saying; then in a voice shaking as if someone had dealt him a body blow, he managed to ejaculate:
    “Whose is it?”
    She had shrugged her white shoulders.
    “I have no idea,” she replied.
    Then before he could speak to her again, she had left the Salon, and gone up to her bed-room.
    Lord Colwall had ordered a curricle to be brought to the front door, and while he waited for it he hated his wife with such ferocity that to prevent himself from murdering her, he knew he must put the greatest distance possible between them.
    Taking only a groom with him, he drove towards London to get away from her, to escape from those mocking eyes, those jeering lips.
    Fool! Fool that he had been! Dolt! Slaphead, not to have realised from the very beginning why she had been in such haste to be married!
    Why had he never asked himself the reason why she should have suddenly succumbed to his love-making when he had least expected it.
    Then, when he was some twenty miles from the Castle, Lord Colwall decided that having been a fool, he was behaving like one yet again. Why should he leave his house because his wife was unfaithful? Why should he leave her in possession of the Castle?
    He would go back and turn her out. She could return to her family.
    The arguments that must ensue as to whether he would accept the child as his own could be conducted between their lawyers decently and with formality.
    Lord Colwall turned his horses round. They were tired from the speed at which they had been driven, and it took him some time to return.
    It was nearly midnight when he arrived back at the Castle, but he was determined that he would see Claris and inform her that he would not keep her under his roof and she was to leave for her father’s house at daybreak.
    He walked into the Hall and saw the expression of surprise on the faces of the two footmen on duty. There was a cloak and hat lying on one of the chairs.
    “Where is Her Ladyship?” he asked.
    There was a moment’s uncomfortableness before the flunkey replied somewhat hesitatingly:
    “I believe—Her Ladyship is—upstairs, M’Lord.”
    He went up the stone staircase like a man possessed and burst open the door of the bed-chamber.
    His wife was in bed, but she was not alone!
    For a moment there was sheer unbridled murder in Lord Colwall’s eyes. Then he seized the man who lay beside Lady Claris and dragged him from the bed onto the floor.
    He was naked and when Lord Colwall recognised him as an older man of no social importance, someone whom he would hardly have considered worth a glance, he had laughed scornfully.
    “I would not soil my hands by fighting you,” he said. “But I intend to kick you out of my house.”
    He dragged the man just as he was down the stairs. The two servants were standing spell-bound in the Hall.
    “Open the door,” Lord Colwall commanded.
    As they hastened to obey, there was a sudden cry from the staircase above.
    Lady Claris was standing there. She had flung a diaphanous wrapper over her nightgown, her dark hair streaming over her shoulders.
    “Stop, Ranulf!” she cried. “You cannot do this! You cannot behave in such a manner! It will cause a scandal, as you well know.”
    “You should have thought of that earlier!” Lord Colwall answered.
    The man, whom he was holding tightly by his arms, made no appeal. He was obviously struck dumb by what was occurring.
    “Ranulf! I command you to let Charles dress and leave decently.”
    “There is nothing decent about him or you!” Lord Colwall replied harshly.
    He dragged the man towards the doorway and Lady Claris screamed furiously:
    “Damn you! Will you