“Eleven?” asked Juliet with the lift of a dubious eyebrow.
“Perhaps we could include cousins, Tristan,” said Amelia, who herself looked doubtful about the prospect of eight more pregnancies in her future.
“I’ll consider it.”
Amelia playfully swatted her husband’s arm. She didn’t used to be the sort of woman who playfully swatted men on the arm. And really, she still wasn’t—only Ripon could provoke her into such coquettish behavior.
“I believe your skills are still required on the backdrop, my sweet,” he continued.
*
As Ripon andAmelia stepped to their task, Archie slid into their place, taking his wife’s hand and delivering a quick kiss to the elegant curve of her neck. Valentina understood Society’s expectation that she would chastise her husband for such overt and mildly carnal displays of affection. But why should she when she loved every ounce of his ardor and exuberance—even when it strayed into scandalous territory?
“Time for the music to commence, my love,” he murmured into her ear.
*
Archie and Valentinahad been gone not three seconds when Rory arrived, holding a…
Juliet’s brow crinkled. “Is that a wind chime, husband?”
Rory waved his arm so the tubes would knock against each other. “You know, for ambience.”
Juliet flashed her cousin a knowing smirk. “Delilah, is this your none-too-subtle way of keeping Rory and me as far from the stage as possible?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” said Delilah. “Your writing skills are unparalleled, my lovely Juliet, but leave the acting to the professionals.”
“I believe the actress who plays Uathach is requesting a few changes to her lines,” Rory cut in.
“No changing the lines,” said Delilah. She possessed more than a smidge of her mother’s purist outlook.
Juliet couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, Delilah, words and language are ever evolving, and I’m no Shakespeare.”
“True, you’re not,” said Rory, utterly serious. “You’re Lady Juliet Macbeth.”
A frisson of warmth stole through Juliet. Her husband often incited that feeling inside her.
Still, she wanted to hear what the actress had to say, so she took her protective husband’s large, masculine hand in hers, and led him—and his wind chime—away.
*
Sebastian took hisplace beside Delilah, so they stood quiet in their space of two within the frenetic hustle and bustle of backstage before a performance. She felt a kick in her belly and placed his hand on the spot. Together, they waited for another kick in stillness and silence. Then it came, and they both smiled. “She will be like her mother, methinks,” he said.
“You cannot know we’re having a girl.” Delilah hoped her secret wish for her first child to be female didn’t show on her face—but she suspected it did. “I could be carrying your future heir.”
He shook his head. “You’ll have a girl first, my duchess.”
“Regardless,” she said, consulting her pocket watch yet again, “I’m fairly certain the ghost of Scáthach will haunt me for the remainder of my days for portraying her while heavily with child.”
“Scáthach had a daughter and was the mightiest warrior in Scotland.” Sebastian’s hand found the small of Delilah’s back and pulled her close. He jutted his chin toward the stage, which sat ready and waiting for the performance. “You’ll have the audience—and the ghost of Scáthach—sitting in the palm of your hand out there.”
Delilah stared up at this improbable husband of hers and experienced such a strong surge of tenderness that the breath caught in her chest. “Allthis”—she swept her arm around—“none of it is possible without you.”
A demurring smile curved his mouth, and he gave his head a small shake. “Delilah—”
He would make light of what she was about to say.
And she wasn’t about to let him.
