Her laugh was a little strained. But at least she was laughing. “I’m not. I’m ungainly and cumbersome. But I have felt well. I haven’t got morning sickness, although I crave biscuits at all hours. And I need more sleep than usual.”
“I wished I could be by your side all the time,” he crooned in her ear. “I would feed you biscuits, rub your feet, and lay you down to take naps in the afternoon.”
“Hmmm... that sounds lovely.”
He had been gathering her gown in his hands, lifting it until he uncovered her legs. When his fingers touched the bare skin of her thighs, she jumped.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I just want to see your belly. Nothing else, I promise. I-I need to see the place where my child is growing.” He rasped the last sentence, pushing it out of a throat constricted with emotion.
She gasped. “Don’t say that! Nobody must know.”
He knew. And the knowledge was a dagger in his heart. Now she had twisted it.
“I’m aware of that, Hannah. You have my word I won’t claim this child as mine in public. But here it’s only us. When we are alone, there shall be no pretense.”
Leaning back in his arms, she met his gaze. And whatever she saw in his eyes convinced her, for she nodded and lifted her dress with her own hands. Giving him permission to see, touch. Experience it.
He went down on one knee. This brought his face level with her belly, covered only by her sheer chemise. Slowly, so that she would have time to object if she so chose, he lifted the chemise until her belly was bared. And his breath caught.
He let his hands roam over the rounded contours, committing to memory their shape. Feeling the creamy skin stretched smooth. His throat was heavy with emotion as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her belly. And his eyes widened in wonder as a bump appeared and then a ripple disturbed the smooth surface.
“Oh! Did you feel that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes! Was that...?”
“That was the baby moving.”
He tried to follow the ripple with his hands. “It is as if I can touch him.”
“How do you know the baby is a he?” she teased.
He smiled. “I don’t. Nor do I care. But you need a boy to inherit. And I always want to give you what you need. So I hope.”
Her smile contained the sweetness of a renaissance madonna. “You do. From the moment I met you, you have always given me exactly what I need. For what it’s worth, I think it’s a boy. And he is reaching out to you, as if he senses you. I’ve felt a few bumps before, but never this intense.”
His eyes were getting moist, so he lowered them, pressed his face against her belly, kissed it. When he felt confident his voice would come out steady, he murmured, “Hullo, baby. I’m yourpapa. And I love you very much.” Another push, a big one. An acknowledgement? Hannah winced and put a hand to her belly.
He looked up, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. That was a powerful kick.”
“Careful with your mummy, sweetheart,” he crooned to the belly. “You must be very gentle with her. Will you do that? Will you take care of your mummy for me?”
As if the baby understood him, it quieted. After depositing another kiss on her belly, he stood up and helped her to rearrange her clothing. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her with all the yearning, the tenderness, the desperate love trapped inside him.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me. For letting me feel him.”
“Of course,” she rasped, and he noticed her eyes were full of tears. Of joy or sorrow? Or maybe, just like his, a mixture of both.
“Come, let me pamper you a bit,” he said, tugging her towards the daybed.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, but her trusting smile was a balm to his ragged heart.
“Just a foot massage. And maybe I can coax you to rest for a bit.”
“I can’t. The guests...”
