Griffin pressed his forehead to hers while his cock still throbbed within her. “I love you so damned much, Violet Strathmore. Thank Christ you tripped me with your knitting that day.”
“Crocheting,” she corrected, before drawing him to her for another kiss.
Epilogue
Six Months Later
In the kitchenof their townhouse, Violet watched Griffin put the finishing touches upon the tartlet he had made for her. This evening was one of the special nights when they dismissed the staff so they could have the run of the household all to themselves.
If their domestics thought it odd, they did not dare say a word. And in truth, they probably were relieved for the extra hours they could devote to something other than their ordinary duties.
It had rather become a tradition between the two of them. After the entire household had retired, and no one else was afoot, Violet could pretend, for a few charmed hours at least, that she and Griffin were the only two people who existed.
Griffin deposited a strawberry tartlet before her. It was oozing and red, and looked positively delicious atop a fine porcelain plate. He gave her a fork. “Your dessert, my lady.”
She took up the utensil and watched him as he seated himself opposite her with his own dessert-laden plate before him.
“Is this another recipe of your Mama’s?” she asked softly.
As their marriage had unfolded, he had slowly revealed more to her about his mother, the former cook turned duchess. Violet wished she had been able to meet such a strong, vibrant, and talented woman. A woman who had earned the heart of a duke, against all odds. She could not shake the feeling she and Griffin’s mother would have been great friends.
“It is,” he said, a note of pride in his voice.
She forked up a bite and sampled. Splendor hit her. The confection was sweet and flaky and rich on her tongue. “This is divine, Griffin.”
“Of course it is.” He took a bite of his own dessert and winked. “I made it, did I not?”
Yes, he had. And there was still something so thrilling about this big, beautiful, strong man cooking for her, that made her knees go weak and her heart beat fast. It also made her ache between her legs.
“Utterly divine,” she said again, licking a bite of sweet strawberry from the tines of her fork.
But her eyes were for him when she spoke, for the man she had married. The man who championed her above all others. The love of her life, the man who moved her in a way no other before him had, and in a way no other man ever could. He was the half to her whole. The other part of her.
“I am glad you deem it acceptable,” he said humbly, turning himself to the consumption of his own dessert.
“More than acceptable.” She paused, a restless flurry of butterflies suddenly taking up residence within her. “But there is something I must tell you, Griffin.”
He stilled, frowning at her. “What can it be, love?”
She drank in the sight of him for a beat. He was dark, rugged, devil-may-care beauty, all strength and muscle. Sometimes, it was difficult indeed to imagine he was hers, even though he was. Even though he had been for months now.
“Vi?” he prompted, worry creeping into his tone.
She inhaled, slowly and deeply, taking one long breath, before exhaling and blurting out a lone question. “How would you feel about a babe, Griffin?”
“A babe.” He frowned. “Whose babe?”
“Yours,” she answered, holding his gaze. She pressed her hand to the slight swell in her midriff, the only sign she was carrying their child. “Ours.”
“Truly?” His expression was filled with hope. Filled with love.
“Yes.” Relief, deep and true and sudden, swamped her then. They had only been married for a matter of months, and she had not been certain if he would welcome the news.
“A babe,” he repeated, his countenance softening, taking on a look of awe.
She rose and went to him then. Violet reached for his hand, pressing it to her belly. “Growing here, within me.”
“Our babe,” he said, his voice resonating with wonderment.
