Love Unbound

Love Unbound Trade Wind Book Six Rebecca Aubrey Feisty Otter Publications Copyright © 2023 Rebecca Aubrey All rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.ISBN-13: 9781234567890ISBN-10: 1477123456Proofread by Emily EK MurdochCover by Love BooksLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2018675309Printed in the United States of America Contents Title Page Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One A Sincere Thank You! Author Note About The Author Books In This Series Chapter One June 1852 London Today is the day, thought Clara Robertson, staring down at herself in the bath. No longer could she hide her not-so-secret secret news. For the last few weeks, Molly had refrained from tipping rose essence into Clara’s bathwater. Of course her maid of many years would have guessed Clara couldn’t tolerate her usual beloved scent. Though they had not spoken about it this time, there would have been any number of signs she was with child, and the woman knew her routine more intimately than anyone. As James knows your body better than anyone, she thought, stepping from the tub with Molly’s help. She and her husband had been lovers for more than three years, including over two years of marriage. While the maid readied a clean shift, Clara held the drying linen so it draped over her front, shielding from view her new shape and the changes to her breasts. Oh, how she both dreaded and looked forward to her condition being out in the open! After changing into a royal-blue velvet walking gown, she smiled softly while Molly hummed and dressed her dark hair. But the maid’s eyes continually moved to the mirror to check on her, and every so often, she paused between pinning Clara’s tresses to adjust the angle of the perfume and lotion bottles lined up on the dressing table. Clara sighed silently, more confident than ever that it was more than time to discuss the pregnancy openly. If only I’d told James already, I could speak of it to Molly. “You have time before you’re due to meet the Marchioness, my lady. Shall I ring for some toast? You ate so little this morning.” Clara shuddered and shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll read until it’s time to depart.” “Yes, my lady.” Sensing her maid’s distress, she looked up in the mirror in time to catch the woman tapping her own hand three times, an unmistakable sign of angst. How can I reassure her all will be well when I don’t know it myself? Swallowing, she shifted in her chair to face Molly, her decision made. “Please send word to the countinghouse. I would like to speak with James at his earliest convenience.” Terror contorted the woman’s already tense face. “No, nothing’s amiss, Molly, I assure you! It’s only that…it’s time I speak to my husband.” Straightening taller, Molly nodded and tried to smile. “I’ll send word straight away.” “Wait!” James, too, had borne great torment with the loss of the last three pregnancies. She couldn’t put him through the worry of a cryptic request to return, not even for a short while. “I’ll go myself. Better to interrupt him than give him a fright.” The maid’s lips twitched. “If it’s for you, my lady, Mr. Robertson won’t complain about any interruptions, that’s most certain.” “I suppose you’re right. He finds my company…passable.” They laughed together, and Clara was grateful for her maid’s good humor. She knew the woman was trying her best, but part of Clara’s own difficulties managing the worries about her condition came from witnessing Molly’s. And James’s. Her expression sobered as she thought of how quietly supportive he had been of late. Nothing short of doting. Yet she had seen the apprehension in his hazel eyes, felt the protectiveness in his gestures. By the time she made her way down the massive white marble staircase, their butler materialized, standing in the center of the atrium. “Shall I have the carriage readied, my lady?” “No, my schedule hasn’t changed, thank you, Pulley. I’m going next door and shall return within the hour.” “Yes, my lady,” he said smoothly. He preceded her to the foyer to open the front door, and she stepped outside, grateful when the door closed behind her. Finally. A moment alone. Under the protection of the portico, she paused and leaned against a white-stuccoed column, taking in a deep breath. In light of her condition, she was only lightly corseted, allowing her to breathe properly for once. A tremulous smile touched her lips as Clara took in the bright-green leaves on the lush trees and bushes across the street. Their Belgravia mansion sat on the corner of Chester Square, where life was burgeoning in the rectangular garden—and for the time being, within her. Her pace around the corner started out unhurried but slowed even further as she walked alongside the waist-high, black wrought-iron fence. The building housed both their residence and James’s countinghouse, the latter being accessible only from a side entrance. She stopped and gripped the ornamental gate, gazing up at their home. How long had it been since she could stand to look at the fourth story, even from the outside? “You’ve seen the number of chambers in my house. We’ll fill every one.” Tears burned her eyes as she recalled James’s fervent words before their marriage. He had meant them reassuringly, when she had found herself in the family way before they were even wed and she hadn’t been certain of