Regretting The Wife He Threw Away

"I know," Mary murmured, her hand resting protectively on her belly. "But... what if, after he's born, he isn't recognized as Ferdinand's child?"

Not Ferdinand's child?

Briony's gaze sharpened, trying to read Mary's intent. "What are you saying?"

Mary met her eyes steadily. "Briony, I've been having nightmares lately." She changed the subject so abruptly that Briony's brows knitted in concern.

"I keep dreaming I'll die in childbirth," Mary whispered, “and Ferdinand dies too." Briony pressed her lips together, silent for a moment.

She remembered when she was pregnant with the twins-how nightmares plagued her, too. The dark visions always seemed to foreshadow something awful. Later, when she delivered early and nearly bled out, the bloody chaos was eerily similar to what she'd seen in her dreams.

Maybe it was a mother's sixth sense.

Was Mary's nightmare another warning? A mother's gut instinct?

If Ferdinand died, would that mean Stewart's people had finally succeeded? That would be a good thing... for everyone else.

But what about Mary? So blameless in all of this.

Briony didn't want Mary's fate to mirror her dreams. Mary had only loved the wrong man; she wasn't lost beyond hope. And the child she was carrying-the child was entirely innocent.

Mary nor her baby

Briony said gently, striving to comfort her. "Pregnancy makes dreams more vivid, especially if you're stressed. Try not to read too much into

with bittersweet understanding. "Briony, you do

cared. They were both women who'd survived unhappy

yourself in him. Still, you and your baby are innocent. Ferdinand's sins are his alone. If you ever get the chance, I hope you'll find the strength to leave him, take your child, and start

nodded, her eyes glistening with something unspoken. "Briony, I'll do what you

aback. She'd expected resistance, a need for more persuasion

was a

was willing to walk away from Ferdinand, maybe there was still hope for

left now was to wait for

to drift off when the bedroom

strode in, his suit jacket slung over one arm. His white dress shirt hung open at the collar, the tie loosened and the top buttons undone, exposing

down on the edge of

smell of whiskey

she could react, his hot palm pressed against the back of her

what are you