"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

When she hung up a little later, she had an appointment in thirty minutes.

Except how was she going to get out there? She couldnтАЩt dematerializeтАФtoo anxious, and anyway, pregnant females were discouraged from that. And she didnтАЩt feel as though she could drive herself. QhuinnтАЩs lessons had been comprehensive, but she couldnтАЩt imagine, in her condition, getting on a highway and trying to keep up with the flow of human traffic.

Fritz Perlmutter was the only answer.

Going to the closet, she retrieved a soft chemise, twisted it into a thick rope, and secured it between her legs with the help of several pairs of underwear. The solution to her bleeding issue was incredibly bulky and made it hard to walk, but that was the least of her problems.

A phone call to the kitchen secured the butler to drive her.

Now she just had to get down the stairs, out the vestibule, and into that long saloon car in one pieceтАФand without running into any of the males of the household.

Just as she was about to leave her room, she caught her reflection in the mirrors upon the wall. Her white robe and her formal hairstyle announced her rank of Chosen as nothing else could: Nobody beside the Scribe VirginтАЩs sacred females in the species dressed like this.

Even if she appeared under the assumed name she had provided to the receptionist, all would guess her other-worldly affiliation.

Throwing off her robing, she attempted to draw on a pair of yoga pants, but the wadding she had applied to herself made that an impossibility. And the jeans she and Qhuinn had bought together wouldnтАЩt work, either.

Withdrawing the chemise, she used paper towels from the bath to deal with her problem and managed to get the denim on. A heavy sweater provided bulk and warmth, and a quick brush out and tieback of her hair made her lookтАжalmost normal.

Leaving her room, she held hard to the cellular device that Qhuinn had given her. She thought only briefly about calling him, but in truth, what was there to say? He had no more control over this process than she didтАФ

Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe, she was losing their young.

The thought occurred to her just as she came to the apex of the grand staircase: She was losing their young. At this very moment. Here outside of the kingтАЩs study.

All at once the ceiling crashed down on her head and the walls of the grand, spacious foyer squeezed in so tight she could not draw a breath.

тАЬYour grace?тАЭ

Shaking herself, she looked down the red carpet runner. Fritz was standing at the foot of the stairs, dressed in his standard livery, his old, lovely face clothed in concern.

тАЬYour grace, shall we go now?тАЭ he said.

As she nodded and cautiously started downward, she couldnтАЩt believe it had all been for naught, all those hours of straining with QhuinnтАжthe frozen aftermath where she hadnтАЩt dared to moveтАжthe wondering and the worrying and the quiet, treacherous hope.

The fact that she had given the gift of her virginity away for naught.

Qhuinn was going to be in such pain, and the failure she was bringing upon him added immeasurably to her own suffering. He had sacrificed his own body in the course of her needing, his desire for a young of blood tie prompting him to do something he would not otherwise have chosen to.

That biology had its own agenda did not ease her.

The lossтАжstill felt like her fault.



Hair of the dog that bit you.

Saxton believed that was the crude and yet rather apt saying.