No, it can't be! she cried silently. Rafe!

Without conscience awareness, she pushed open the coach door and started down. Stumbling as her feet hit the ground, she steadied herself against the vehicle.

Then she saw movement, catching a glimpse of Rafe's hands as he pushed Middleton up and off him, the blade buried to its hilt in the viscount's chest. Gleaming wetly, blood was smeared over both men, Rafe's hands and clothes soaked red.

Hurrying forward, she fell to her knees beside him. "Are you hurt? Did he cut you?" Frantic at the sight of so much blood, she ran her hands over him, searching for wounds.

Rafe shook his head, panting for breath. "No, I'm fine."

A deep groan rose into the air, making her jump. Glancing over, she met Middleton's eyes, the blue irises cloudy with shock and pain. Shifting his gaze, the viscount fixed a hate-filled look on his half brother. "May I see you in hell, Pendragon!"

A last harsh breath rattled from his lungs, a crimson line of blood trickling from his mouth as his body went limp in death.

Wrapping her arms around Rafe, Julianna closed her eyes and burrowed close. A shiver raced through her, together with a sense of relief that the ordeal was finally at an end. Rafe's arms came around her, holding her close as he rocked her against him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Did he hurt you? Your wrists-I couldn't say anything before, but-"

"I did that to myself when I was trying to escape. Otherwise, I'm fine, just scared, I-Oh! Owwwww."

Pain jabbed through her middle as if she'd been pierced with a blade, the agony bending her forward even though she was huddled within Rafe's arms.

"What? What is it?" he questioned, alarm plain in his voice.

Unable to speak, she could do nothing but wait and hope the misery would pass.

"Is she all right?" Ethan stepped forward, leaning over in concern.

"I don't know."

"Maybe it's the child. Is she in labor?"

"Labor!" Rafe repeated. "But she's not due for another three weeks."

"Babies rarely care about schedules. They come when they want."

As she listened, the pain began to ease, muscles she hadn't even realized were clenched relaxing as the spasm subsided.

"Julianna? Talk to me. Is it the baby?" Rafe's eyes were deeply green and filled with a kind of anxiety he'd never displayed before, not even when he'd been battling the viscount.

She nodded. "I think Lord Vessey may be correct. This isn't the first pain I've had today."

Rafe released her long enough to climb to his feet. Reaching down, he gently lifted her up to stand beside him. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Let's get you into the coach." He turned toward the marquis. "Ethan, do you think you can deal with St. George's body? If not, we'll have to leave him here and return later."

"I should be able to get him up on one of the horses. Don't worry about me. Go on."

"Julianna and I will see you at the cottage, then."

"Oh, no, you won't," she stated. "I am not going back there."

Rafe's brows furrowed. "What's that?"

"I spent three miserable days in that cold, awful place and I'm not spending another moment. I most certainly am not giving birth there."

"I can understand you not wanting to return to the cottage, but you can't give birth here." He set a fist on one hip in thought. "I'd take you to the inn where Hannibal is waiting, but it's rough and isn't much better than the cottage. Ethan, what about Andarlly?"

"Certainly you are more than welcome to go to my estate. No one is expecting us and the house won't be prepared, but my housekeeper is a good woman; she'll know what to do. The trip shouldn't be much above an hour from here, assuming Lady Pendragon can make the journey."

Rafe bent his head toward Julianna. "What do you think, Julianna? Do you think you can wait that long?"

"Chances are good I'll be fine. It'll probably be hours yet before I deliver, and Ethan's home sounds wonderful."

"Then let us pray you don't give birth in the coach," he murmured. Sliding an arm beneath her knees and back, he swept her off her feet. As gently as he could, he settled her inside the coach. "Yell out, if you need me."

She gave him a small smile and a nod, watching as he shut the door.

A new pain lashed her as he vaulted into the driver's seat and set the horses in motion. Biting her lip, she rubbed a hand over her belly and urged the baby to wait.

Chapter Twenty-six.

YOU ARE GOING to wear a hole in the carpet if you don't cease that infernal pacing."

Rafe ignored Ethan's comment as he continued to stride up and down the marquis's sitting-room floor, exactly as he'd been doing off and on for the past fourteen hours. Dread tightened like a fist inside his gut.

She's been up there too long, he thought, and still the baby isn't born.

When Julianna had said it would be some while before she gave birth, she had not been exaggerating. But what at first had seemed only natural was now beginning to take on worrisome proportions.

The midwife, who had been called to attend his wife, had come down a few hours ago to inform him that Julianna's labor was progressing, albeit slowly.

"Some babies," she'd told him in an echo of Ethan's earlier remark, "like to take their own sweet time before making an appearance into the world. Nothing yet to trouble over," she'd reassured.

But that had been four hours ago. Hadn't he the right to be just a bit troubled now?

A rippling wail rang out from upstairs, sending a fresh shiver of apprehension down his spine. Julianna's cries of pain had reverberated throughout the house for hours now-all during the endless afternoon and evening and on through an interminable night. The first rays of daylight were just beginning to peek through the windows, sunshine rising to replace light from the candles that were even now guttering out, burned down to nubs.

She moaned again, the sound loud enough to drift down the stairs.

Dear Lord, how much more can she endure?

Dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair, Rafe stepped out into the hall and cast his eyes up the staircase toward her bedroom. "Perhaps I should go to her?"

"And do what?" Ethan asked from his seat on the sofa. "The women have things well in hand without any interference from you or me. Come, why don't you have a bite of this breakfast Cook made us before it goes cold."

"I'm not hungry."

Ethan gave a snort of disbelief. "You haven't eaten a decent meal in days, nor have you slept more than a handful of hours since well before we left London. The strain is beginning to show. Frankly, you look like the very devil."

Rafe supposed he did look rather worse for the strain-his cheeks rough with stubble, his hair standing on end, his cravat gone, flung aside hours earlier along with his bloodstained coat. But what did it matter how he looked? Whether or not he'd eaten or slept? His wife was lying upstairs, in torment as she tried to bring their child into the world.

What will I do if she dies? How will I ever go on without her?

Of course he knew he mustn't think like that, but still, what a tragic irony if he had saved her from St. George only to have her die in childbirth!

And I've never even told her I love her.

He wanted to rush upstairs and say the words, tell her how much she meant to him before it was too late, but he held himself back.

She will be fine. She has to be fine.

Turning, he found Ethan at his elbow. "If you won't eat, then at least have some tea." He held out a cup.

Reluctantly, Rafe took it and forced himself to down a swallow, then another before crossing to take a seat. Silently, he set the beverage aside.

"Hannibal arrived not long ago," Ethan said. "He had my note and came directly. Since we brought Middleton's body with us, I had to send word to the local magistrate. Cobb is a decent sort, and given that the viscount's death is a clear-cut case of self-defense, there'll be no difficulties from him."

"Nor in London, I assume," Rafe said, linking his fingers together, then letting them hang between his knees. "No doubt there will be questions, but considering everything that has transpired, I suspect most everyone will be relieved by the outcome. Gentlemen never like a trial against their own."

"No, not even for a lord as obviously guilty as Middleton."

A new round of wailing sounded from above, all thoughts of the viscount abruptly wiped from Rafe's mind.

Is it my imagination, or are her cries growing weaker?

Springing once more to his feet, he resumed his pacing.

Seconds later, a shrill, heart-wrenching scream pierced the air.

God in heaven, she is dying!

Knowing he had to go to her, he rushed out of the room and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Flinging open the door to her temporary bedchamber, he charged inside.

Four women turned to look at him, including Julianna, who lay in the center of the bed, her nightgown folded up over her mounded stomach, leaving the lower half of her body exposed. Her dark hair was plastered against her head, damp with perspiration, her pregnant frame contorted in obvious pain and distress.

From her position at the foot of the bed, the midwife pinned him with a reproachful look. "My lord, what is the meaning of this interruption? You cannot be here. I must ask you to leave."

Ignoring the older woman, he strode forward, his gaze locked on Julianna. "I heard you scream. I came to see if you are all right."

Julianna gave another sharp cry, arching upward as she strained and panted against the pain. He watched the muscles in her spread thighs and calves flex, her belly rippling visibly as the contraction took her in its unforgiving grip. Tensing, he felt her misery as if it were squeezing deep in his vitals as well as hers.

"Lady Pendragon is giving birth and must not be disturbed." The midwife motioned with an impatient hand, silently ordering her assistant and a young housemaid to eject him from the room.

Rafe planted his feet, holding firm against the women's not-so-gentle shoves. "She's been giving birth for hours now. I've been downstairs listening to her. I'm not leaving until I know she's not in danger."

"She's in no more danger than any other woman bringing a life into the world. The baby is coming. I must insist you remove yourself from this room."

"What do you mean the baby's coming?" An arc of surprise flashed through him as her meaning sank in. "You mean now?"

"Yes. I mean right now."

Another contraction arrived, traveling fast on the heels of the last. Julianna screamed and rose up for a moment on her elbows before falling wearily back against the sheets.

Realizing his presence might be causing more harm than good, he allowed the women to shove him backward a step or two.

Julianna rolled her head toward him and stretched out an arm, her dark eyes luminous and beseeching. "No, Rafe, don't go."

Her plea stopped him.

Without hesitation, he shook off the women's hold and hurried to her side. Dropping to his knees, he grasped her delicate palm in his own, then stroked a comforting hand over her head. Fingers trembling faintly, he smoothed damp tendrils of hair off her hot forehead and cheeks.

"I'm here, sweeting. I'm here," he murmured, gazing into her eyes.

"It's hurts so badly." She inhaled sharply as another contraction hit, teeth clenched as she did her best to hold on through the agony that threatened to strip away the last of her tenuous strength.

Slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, he did what he could to support her, her body quivering from the exertion. Seeing her this way, in such misery, tore him apart.

How he wished he could bear her pain himself. He would gladly trade places with her, if it were possible. But this was a woman's burden, a torment only she could endure. All he could do now was stay by her side as she'd asked, and see her through it.

"My lord, I really must insist you go," the midwife ordered. "This is no place for a man."

"Place or no, man or no, I am staying."

He focused again on Julianna.

"I'm scared," she confessed, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I can't do this. I can't."

"Of course you can," he said in a stern voice. "Any woman courageous enough to do the things you've done can do this. You're my brave girl. You can do anything. Now squeeze my hand and squeeze it hard, hard as you like, when the next pain comes. I'm with you, sweeting. I won't let you go."

Moments later, she did as he'd told her, gripping his hand so tightly he feared she was cracking a couple of bones inside. He dismissed the pain, knowing his damaged hand was nothing compared to what she was suffering.

"I see the head," the midwife called. "Just a couple more pushes and the baby will be out. Don't bear down until you feel the next pain come on you, my lady."

"Nearly there, darling. Nearly there," Rafe encouraged.

Julianna screamed through the next pair of contractions, clinging to him like a lifeline. He felt her entire body shake as she forced the baby from her body in a slick rush of agony.

When it was done, she crumpled against him, weeping weakly from the strain.