Nicholas rolled over in the bed he'd slept in at the club. His head was pounding. After he and Charles had quit their card game early this morning, he'd proceeded to drink himself into a stupor. He'd allowed his friend to assume he and Victoria had had a lover's quarrel, while coming to the realization that he was an ass. Nicholas groaned out loud. It had been years since he'd drunk himself into oblivion, and his body was protesting the abusive drinking of the night before.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Drowning his sorrows in whiskey had done nothing to ease his miserable state. He'd fathered a child, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Dropping his head into his hands, he groaned again. What was he going to do if the child turned out to be like Edmund? Who would care for the child after he and Victoria were gone? There was no one else to take over the family title.

The sudden image of Victoria's face from last night returned to haunt him. Guilt spread through him as he remembered their conversation. There had been no doubt of her desperation and misery. He'd heard it in her voice, and he'd failed her. Instead of reassuring her, he'd gone off to lick his wounds, leaving her alone without even thinking about how his words might have made her feel. He loved her, and his response to her news had made it sound as though he blamed her for what had happened. The fault lay with him. He was a bastard. He needed to go home and apologize.

Victoria had clearly been dealing with this for several months. Looking back, he could see the toll it had been taking on her. The moments when he'd seen her staring off into space with a look of despair, her tiredness, the lackluster look in her eyes at different points in time. God help him, but he was responsible for her pain.

He'd made it clear he never wanted children, and knowing how he'd felt it had been impossible for her to tell him the truth sooner. He still wouldn't know if he'd not pushed her last night. Nicholas sighed. He didn't just need to apologize to her, he needed to grovel. His wife was the most wonderful thing in his life, and without her, he was nothing. At this point he was facing another uphill battle to win her forgiveness. But he'd done it before, and he'd do it again. Nicholas intended to be there for her and the child, no matter what the circumstances.

Rising to his feet, he swayed slightly where he stood. Bloody hell, his head hurt. With a grimace, he dressed and left the club. The hack that drove him home seemed to hit every pot hole in the street. By the time the small carriage pulled up in front of the town house, his head resounded with a repetitive beating drum. Inside the house, he headed slowly for the stairs intent on speaking to Victoria right away. From the library, Edmund came charging out and tackled him to the hard marble floor.

"What did you do to her, Nicholas?" his brother shouted as Nicholas was forced to deflect his brother's blows as he attempted to wrestle Edmund to the ground. "Why did you make her leave? You go find her and bring her back."

"Damn it to hell, Edmund," he snapped as he managed to pin his brother to the floor. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Victoria," his brother said angrily. "You sent her away."

"I didn't send Victoria away," Nicholas rasped as his heart sank like a stone in a pond, and he allowed Edmund to sit up. "Where is she, Edmund? Tell me where Victoria is."

"I don't know." Edmund, his face wet with tears, sat on the floor staring at Nicholas.

"What do you mean, you don't know," Nicholas said hoarsely. "Roberts. Jamieson."

His voice was a loud roar in the foyer, as he helped his brother to his feet. Jamieson was the first to arrive, and the butler's expression was grave and uneasy.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Jamieson said in an awkward tone. "It's Lady Guildford. She's gone."

"What do you mean she's gone?" Fear sliced through him like a knife. Had someone kidnapped her? "When?"

"Sometime after breakfast."

"And no one saw her leave?" he snarled.

"No, my lord." Jamieson shook his head with regret. "Molly brought her toast for breakfast, and her ladyship sent her away with orders she didn't want to be disturbed. When Molly returned for the tray, she discovered her ladyship was gone, and the smallest of her ladyship's traveling cases is missing and a few of her dresses."

"Sweet Jesus," Nicholas whispered as he stared at the floor. He'd done this. He'd driven her from the house. He pulled his pocket watch out of his vest. It was three o'clock. God help him, he'd slept more than half the day away thanks to his drinking binge last night. Victoria had at least a six-hour head start. She could be anywhere. From the staircase, Roberts called out to him and waved a letter in his hand as the valet ran down the stairs.

"My lord, I found this on the fireplace mantle in your room," his valet said as he crossed the floor and handed Nicholas the white envelope. With Edmund and the other men watching in solemn silence, Nicholas ripped open the flap and pulled the note out.

Nicholas, It seems you are right after all, I'm just like Vickie. I know you'll never be able to forgive me, but I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I never meant to betray you by hiding my pregnancy. I knew you would be upset. I wanted to tell you the truth. I just didn't know how. I'm sure you'll find that hard to believe, and I'm pretty sure you'll think I've been lying to you since that day in Goodmans cottage.

You might even wonder if the baby is yours. I don't expect you to believe me, but I am carrying your child. I never meant to hurt you, and I know the best way to solve the problem is for me to go home. I don't want my presence to be a constant reminder of how I betrayed you with my lie. I think you'll be much better off without me here. I love you, no matter what time period I live in. I'm sorry.

Victoria P. S. Please give my love to Edmund. I didn't have the strength to say goodbye to him.

Home. He stared at the word for a moment as his body grew cold. Did she intend to bring another fainting spell on herself so she could go to the one place he couldn't follow her? No, he couldn't believe that of her, but the mere thought of it terrified him.

"My lord," Roberts spoke up quietly. "Her ladyship took the pound notes from your wardrobe."

"Bloody hell," he rasped and closed his eyes.

She'd left without saying where she was going and for all he knew whoever had been sending the threatening notes could have been watching her and might have followed her. Where would she go? Brentwood Park. Perhaps that was the home she was referring to. He could only pray he was right. Fear galvanized him into motion.

"It's more than possible the countess has gone back to Brentwood Park. Jamieson, on the off chance she hasn't left London, send someone to Lord and Lady Starling's residence to see if her ladyship went there. I'll go to my sister's." He turned his head to meet his valet's concerned gaze. "Roberts, pack my things. I'm going to go after her ladyship."

"I'm going with you." Edmund glared at him, and Nicholas nodded his head in agreement. He looked back at his valet.

"See to it, Roberts." He looked at his brother who was still glaring at him. "Go with him, Edmund, and be ready to go when I return from Abigail's."

"Yes, my lord," Roberts said then quickly made his way back upstairs.

Nicholas turned away from his brother and picked up his coat that he'd flung carelessly over the entryway table. Shoving his arms into the sleeves, he made his way out the front door and hailed a hackney cab. Time was of the essence. It was Sunday and the last train for Guildford left in a little more than an hour. Flinging himself into the cab's seat, a huge knot rose in Nicholas' throat. God help him, he had to find her. If he lost Victoria, he would lose a piece of his soul.

Chapter 32.

The deed is done, madam. Regrets do not allow one to turn back the clock. The words thundered through Victoria's mind, as she stared down at the toast and cocoa Molly had left her a short while ago. She'd barely slept, because Nicholas' words had haunted her all night. She had expected him to be upset. However, she'd not expected his rejection to be so harsh, any more than she'd been prepared for the way it had devastated her. His bitter voice had cut her like a jagged knife. It was almost as if he blamed her for the pregnancy.

The fact she'd withheld the truth from him had made matters far worse. In essence she had lied to him just like Vickie always had. She'd betrayed him by keeping the truth from him. The baby might have been a reality he would have adjusted to, but her betrayal was something she doubted he'd ever forgive. Like Vickie, she'd married him without telling him the truth. She was no better than her predecessor.

She remembered the anger and contempt he'd displayed the first time they'd met at the Goodmans' cottage. To face that cold, blistering anger again would be unbearable. When she'd first arrived at Brentwood Park, she'd thought coming to London would help her find a way back to the present. But she'd been here for more than two months. If nothing had happened by now, it was unlikely to happen at all. Was the portal back to her time in the woods where Thomas Goodman had found her? Whether it was or not, she wouldn't try to find a way back, no matter how painful it would be to remain here.

She had the baby to think about now. But she did want to go home. Home to Brentwood Park. It was a simple solution to the whole problem. At least she would be out of Nicholas's hair. He wouldn't have to come back to Guildford House every day to find her growing bigger with a child he didn't want. The only thing she needed was money.

Intent only on escape, she hurried into Nicholas' room to search for whatever cash she could find. It took her several moments before she found a small box filled with pound notes in his wardrobe. She had no idea how much she'd need, so she took all of it. She returned to her room to pack a few items into a small travel bag Molly had placed in the bottom of her chifferobe.

She made sure to pack her journals, and at the last minute realized she needed to leave a note for Nicholas. The last thing she wanted was to give Reardon more ammunition if everyone believed the Countess of Guildford had disappeared for a second time. She sat down at her small desk and stared at the blank piece of paper. What could she say to him? Apologizing for her betrayal seemed so trivial a response for her crime.

With a quiet sigh, she quickly penned a note to him then returned to his room to place the envelope on the mantle. As she turned to leave, her gaze fell on his bed. For the past several weeks she'd fallen asleep every night and awakened each morning in Nicholas' arms. Last night was the first time they'd been apart since their wedding. Her chest tightened with pain. She'd been happy before they'd been married at St. Paul's Cathedral, but the days afterward had filled her with a joy she'd never dreamed of. Now the dream was shattered.

She'd known from the moment she'd learned she was pregnant that Nicholas would not want the child, although she'd hoped he would change his mind when he learned the truth. But his response to the news last night only emphasized his feelings about the matter wouldn't change. With a soft sob, she went back to her room to retrieve her small bag and left the house. Maybe she should have waited for Nicholas to come back home. No, the fact that he'd spent the night elsewhere was enough to tell her that he wanted nothing to do with her.

An invisible spear pierced her heart as she realized how much she missed him already, and she'd barely left the house. She hailed a cab as she'd seen Nicholas do, and instructed the driver to take her to the London Waterloo station where they'd arrived in London. With each passing block that the hackney cab took her away from Guildford House, the more her heart ached. When the hackney rolled to a halt in front of the railway station a cacophony of sounds filtered out into the street. She handed the driver her fare than entered the station.

The chaos greeting her was an assault on her senses. She flinched at the noise and made her way to the ticket window. The clerk behind the barred window informed her the next train to Guildford was about to leave the station, but if she hurried she could catch it. Following the man's directions, she reached the platform just as the conductor made the last call for boarding. For the next three and a half hours, Victoria stared at the train window, her body numb.

When she'd disembarked from the train in Guildford, she suddenly realized she had no transportation to Brentwood Park other than her own two feet. She stood outside the train station debating what to do for several minutes. They'd taken the carriage from the house when they'd traveled to London in December, and she was sure that it was at least five miles to the house. It was a Sunday afternoon, and there were few people out and about as most people were enjoying an afternoon of rest.

Despite her exhaustion, Victoria set out on foot. At least she knew the way, and the thought of Mrs. Babcocke's beef stew helped her maintain a steady pace despite the road conditions. Muddy and filled with slush, the ruts forced her to walk in the snow alongside the well-traveled roadway. The wet snow seeped into her shoes, numbing her toes. It had been years since she'd been this cold.

After more than an hour, her perseverance rewarded her with the sight of Brentwood Park in the distance. Renewed with energy at the knowledge she was almost home, Victoria quickened her pace. In less than an hour, she entered the house. Most of the staff had accompanied them to London, but Mrs. Babcocke and a few other servants had remained behind. She set her travel bag down near the stairs then walked to the rear of the house.

Victoria heard laughter coming from the kitchen, and as she stepped into the doorway the cook, scullery maid, and a footman looked at her in amazement. Mentally and physically exhausted, Victoria choked back tears, unwilling to let them see how upset she was.

"Good evening." She forced a smile to her lips all too aware of how strained it must appear to the servants. "Mrs. Babcocke, I was hoping you might have some of your beef stew on the stove. I'm very cold, and I know a warm fire and your stew will warm me up really quick."

"Good heavens, my lady, you look like death warmed over." Mrs. Babcocke bustled to her feet. "We weren't expecting you and his lordship for several weeks yet. How did you get home?"

"I walked from the train station," Victoria said quietly. "If you could have someone build a fire in my room I'd appreciate it, and if you don't have any stew then a bowl of hot soup would be nice."

"You walked," the cook exclaimed in horror. "Dear Lord. Is his Lordship with you?"

"No, Lord Guildford is still in London," she said with a shake of her head. "I decided to come home by myself."

Just the mention of Nicholas made Victoria's heart ache, and she wearily turned away to make her way back to the main hall. Her travel bag in hand, she climbed the stairs and made her way down the hall to her room. The footman from the kitchen had taken the back stairs and was already in the process of building her a fire. It quickly became a roaring blaze, and after asking if she needed anything else, he left the room.

Eager to get out of her wet clothes, Victoria undressed as quickly as possible. She pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her then curled up in front of the fire. She was too numb and tired to think. Mrs. Babcocke came up with a hot bowl of stew and freshly baked bread. The woman had tried to fuss over her, but Victoria had gently made it clear she wanted to be left alone. The hearty stew made her realize how hungry she really was. Other than a piece of toast, the meal Mrs. Babcocke had prepared for her was the only thing she'd eaten all day. But the hot stew did little to raise her spirits.

Cold and weary, she tightened the blanket around her and leaned her head against the soft padding of the wing-backed chair. Why on earth had she been brought to this time period? Was it the universe's idea of a big joke? Something to see how much pain she could endure? She'd always thought of herself as a strong person, but for the first time in her life she felt as if a MACK truck had run her over-twice, leaving her without the energy to get up.

Victoria closed her eyes. How was she going to live without Nicholas? She would be miserable until July when the baby arrived. Then she'd have someone to love. Even if he refused to have anything to do with the baby, she would never willingly abandon her child. She tried to visualize what Nicholas' son would look like-and she was certain the baby was a boy. He would have dark hair and green eyes like his father, but the baby would have Edmund's sweet smile. With a sigh, she let her mind wander, until she dozed off. A long while later she jerked awake at a soft sound.

The fire was burning low in the grate, and she saw one of the logs had fallen off to the hearth. Victoria uncurled herself from the chair then used the poker to roll the log back onto the flames. The chill in the air made her reach for the blanket again. As she wrapped it around her shoulders, she sensed someone watching her.

A shiver skimmed across her skin, and she whirled around to see Nicholas standing in the bedroom's open doorway. Her heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? Hadn't she made it clear she'd left so he wouldn't have to see her anymore? So she wouldn't be a reminder of a child he didn't want? Her heart leapt into her throat as he closed the door and moved toward her.

Nicholas frowned as he studied Victoria's face. She looked exhausted. No. Deeply hurt, and he knew it was his fault. He stopped in front of her, and caught her chin in his fingers, but she jerked free of his grasp then stepped out of his reach. Her reaction sliced through his heart like a sharp razor intent on cutting it out of his chest. He cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Babcocke said you walked from the train station to Brentwood Park this afternoon," he said in a tight voice.

Edmund had been right to try and thrash him. If it hadn't been for him she never would have wanted to leave London to begin with. At first he didn't think she was going to respond, but she finally nodded.

"It's a Sunday. There weren't a lot of people around, at least no one with a vehicle I could ask for a ride." She rolled her shoulders in a small shrug. "Why are you here, Nicholas?"

"Because my wife ran away."

"I didn't run away," she said quietly but with a bit of that fiery spirit in her that he loved so much. "I came home."

"Home?" Puzzled, he stared at her in bewilderment. "You mean home to Brentwood Park?"

"Yes, where else would I..." she met his gaze with a mixture of disappointment and something else he couldn't decipher. "I wouldn't deliberately try to bring on one of my headaches. I would never harm my child."

"Our child," he enunciated firmly. The moment he spoke, her soft features became cold and unyielding.

"No, Lord Guildford. You've made it quite clear you don't want this baby," she said with an icy calm that illustrated how deeply his desertion last night had hurt her. Frustration made him clench his jaw as he met her cool, disdainful gaze.

"Do you want me to lie and say I wanted children when they might be like my brother?" he snarled. The moment she flinched, Nicholas exhaled a loud whoosh of air from his lungs. Shoving his hand through his hair, he turned away from her. "When you said you were with child, all I could think about was that I would be to blame if our child was like Edmund. But it wasn't the fact that you were carrying our child that horrified me. It was the thought that I would be like my father."

"You'll never be like your father," she exclaimed sharply as she rushed forward and tugged on his arm to make him face her. "If you were like him would you have gone to Italy and brought Edmund home to live with you? Are you going to stand here and tell me you don't love your brother and would do whatever it takes to protect him?"

"No, I would give my life for Edmund." Nicholas shook his head as her words sank into his brain as he saw the fierce expression on her face. She glared up at him.

"Then there's no way in hell you'll be like your father where our baby is concerned."

The conviction on her face made his heart tighten in his chest, and he marveled at the love he saw shining in her eyes. Regret rolled through him as he cupped her face with his hands and placed a tender kiss on her brow.

"I was a coward for deserting you last night, sweet witch," he whispered.

"I'm just as much to blame," she said in a choked voice as she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. "I knew you would think I was like Vickie and her lies all over again. I betrayed you by not telling you the truth from the start."

"You are nothing like, Vickie," he growled fiercely as he forced her to look up at him. "And you didn't betray me. I would still have had doubts even if you'd told me right away."

"Then you believe me when I say you're not like your father and never will be?"

"Yes," he said as a small smile tilted the corners of his mouth. He'd never had a more beautiful or passionate champion to defend him.

"I have a confession to make," she murmured as she nibbled at her bottom lip. "I did think about bringing on one of my headaches, but the moment I considered it, I knew I'd never be able to do it. I want this baby, Nicholas."

"As do I," he said softly as he realized it was the truth.

Whatever happened, he would love the child, because the babe would be the culmination of their love for each other. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he heard her yawn.

"I know you're tired, my love, but you have another champion who wishes to see you before you retire for the night."

"Edmund?" she asked with a smile. "Where is he?"

"In the hall," he said with a smile. "I knew better than to send him to bed, I imagine he would have punched me again."

"He hit you?" Her eyes widened as she stared at him in astonishment as she left his embrace and moved to the wardrobe to retrieve her robe.

"He landed a couple of sound blows to my jaw when I came home from the club today. He was furious with me for having driven you away," he said with a hint affectionate amusement. "I'm certain he'll not be able to rest until he knows you're all right, and God knows he won't believe me."

"Then I won't disappoint him." Victoria's smile was filled with warmth and love as she looked over her shoulder at him. His heart had never been so full as it was at this moment. His wife loved him in spite of his faults. No other man in the world could have been as lucky as he was.

Chapter 33.

Victoria grimaced as the baby moved inside her belly to a position that was obviously more comfortable for him. The only problem was it made her extremely uncomfortable. She stared down at the page in her journal and the last few paragraphs. She smiled despite her uncomfortable state.

I wish this baby would hurry up and get here. The weather has been boiling hot. Who knew England could be this miserable in summer. I thought it would be cool. It might be all these layers of clothing, and the pregnancy isn't helping either. Dr. Bertram says it won't be long now, but I'm not sure I trust him. Men don't have a clue about what it's like to be pregnant. Even Nicholas, as much as I love him, can be a bit of an ass sometimes about how uncomfortable I am.

Edmund is the only one who seems to get the fact that I'm really uncomfortable. He's such a sweet man, and I love him dearly. I think about the time before I came to Brentwood Park less and less. It seems more like a dream. Perhaps Nicholas is right. It might be a fabrication my mind created while I was missing for three weeks. I can only assume the blow to my head changed my behavior for the better. No, I don't really believe that. None of it makes sense, but I can't believe my life in the future wasn't real. At least everyone here doesn't have to deal with the real countess any more. The woman was a major bitch and made everyone's life miserable. It does worry me some that Nicholas hasn't mentioned that bastard Reardon for the last several months. Every time I ask him about the man he simply says there isn't any news.