She stiffened. “Do not toy with me, Alessandro. I cannot bear it.”
“I would never toy with you.” He drew back enough to gaze down into her upturned face. “I love you, Catriona. I was a blind fool for not realizing it sooner. You brought my heart back to life. You have filled my darkness with your light. I love the way you tease me, the way you laugh, the way you kiss. The way you care for Olivia, the way you are as stubborn as an ox, the way you rose to the task of restoring Marchmont alongside me. Cristo, I even love the way you snore. So, you see? I cannot bear to be without you. Not for another hour, not for another minute, not for another second.”
Tears shimmered in the blue-violet depths of her eyes. “Oh, Alessandro.”
He caressed her cheek. “The night we married,querida, you said I was to be your darling, and yet you have never called me by that name.” He paused. “I do not deserve it, I know. But in time, I will prove myself to you. Grant me the chance to be that to you. To be your man. Your darling.”
“I was horridly sotted on brandy that night,” she said softly.
“Sí,” he agreed, grinning down at her as he recalled precisely how sotted she had become. “I love your hiccups, too,mi amor.”
She bit her lower lip. “Did you truly liken me to an ox?”
“Only the stubborn streak in you,” he said, “and I am grateful for it. You have been good for me. Good to me. A lesser woman than you would have given up on me long before now. I only pray I did not come to my senses too late, that you can forgive me.”
She covered her hand with his, smiling up at him even as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I do not need time to know my heart, for it is already yours. It has been for some time now. I love you, Alessandro Forsythe.”
“Dios,” he said, relief washing over him, along with love. So much of it. “How I love you,mi amor. Thank you for the gift of your love, which I do not—”
“Hush.” She pressed a finger to his lips, stilling further words. “Youdodeserve me, just as you deserve love and happiness. Now kiss me, my darling.”
Smiling, he did just that.
Epilogue
Vicente Francisco AlessandroForsythe, Viscount Stewart, future tenth Earl of Rayne, had only been in the world for a few days, and already, his mother and father were hopelessly in love with him.
Catriona rested her head upon her husband’s shoulder as they sat together in her bed, no less than a dozen pillows plumped up at their backs. She had just finished feeding her son, and Alessandro had been impatiently awaiting his turn to hold Vicente, who seemed to sleep best in his father’s arms.
Love swelled in her as she watched father and son. Vicente’s eyes were closed, his perfect little lips parted as he slumbered peacefully. Gently, she caressed the tuft of dark, silky hair atop his head, so like his father’s.
“It hardly seems fair that he prefers you to me,” she complained. “After I carried him in my body all these months and grew to the size of a cow.”
“You never resembled a cow in the slightest,querida. You were beautiful carrying my babe, just as beautiful as you are now. And he does not prefer me.”
She watched as he caressed Vicente’s cheek. “You are a charmer. But it is all very well. I know he prefers his papa, and I have accepted it.”
“He does not.” Alessandro glanced up at her with a rakish grin. “He loves us both equally. It is merely he knows his papa has a soothing voice for lullabies. He prefers them in Spanish, you know.”
She smiled back at him. “Of course he does. He is your image, Alessandro.”
“He isperfecto.” Her husband dropped a tender kiss on her cheek. “Just like his mama.”
“I am far from perfect.” She leaned into him, following up with a peck on his sinful mouth. It was too soon for them to be intimate again following their son’s birth, but that did not mean she did not want her husband just as much as ever. More so, in fact. “But I thank you for loving me anyway.”
“No, thank you,” he said, his gaze burning into hers, “for loving me. I do not know why such a black-hearted sinner has been blessed with so much, but I am a greedy man, and I will take it all. You, Olivia, and Vicente are my world.”
“As you are ours,” she told him.
Much had happened over the last few months. Bramwell had finally been brought to justice. Many of the stolen paintings had been recovered—most importantly, the portrait of Alessandro’s mother, which now hung proudly in the gallery once more. Alessandro’s architect had rebuilt the east wing. The estate was once more robust and profitable. Olivia was officially under Alessandro’s legal guardianship.
And even Spain was free of Napoleon’s tyrannical rule. Word had reached England not long ago of the Treaty of Valençay, releasing King Ferdinand from captivity. It was, in all, a dawn of new beginnings, the commencement of a bright future.
A knock sounded at the chamber door.
“Mama?”
Catriona recognized the sound of Olivia’s voice. Though it had taken a great deal of time for her to completely gain the girl’s trust, she had finally won her over.
