He was going to be a father again.
But this time, the mother of his child was not his wife.
No, indeed. The mother of his child was the wife of the father who had denied his very existence until several months ago.
What a terrible bloody web he had found himself tangled in. And yet, as Tilly snuggled against him, the rail car rocking on toward their destination, he could honestly say he would not change a single moment of what had happened between them.
He had gone from a man who no longer believed in happiness and love to a man who remembered what it felt like to laugh, to love, to smile. What he had found with Tilly was different than what he had known with Amelia. Tilly was…
Everything.
That was how he could describe her. She was the sunlight on a summer’s day. She was the blue, cloudless sky. She was the exhilaration of a cycle rolling along the gravel, the wind in his face. She was freedom and love, elegance and beauty, laughter and grace.
She was proof that there was good in this world, and he meant to keep that good, to keep her. The battle ahead of him would not be easy. But he was willing to face Longleigh, more than willing to laugh in the man’s face and tell him he had lost. He may have ruined Adrian’s mother, but Adrian was going to stop him from ever having the opportunity to hurt Tilly.
Vengeance and triumph. That was what he intended to secure.
Nothing and no one would keep him from raising this child as his. From taking this woman as his wife.
As the train rattled down the tracks, bringing them ever nearer to London, a new plan took seed in his mind. There was one man in London he could call friend. A powerful man. One who owed him a favor. An honorable man, too.
A duke, in fact.
Why he had not thought of the connection before, he could not say. But it seemed obvious to Adrian now that he would need all the help he could manage in freeing Tilly—and their babe—from Longleigh for good. At the first possible opportunity, he was going to seek out the Duke of Northwich.
Tilly stirred at his side then, stretching her arms and legs, her golden lashes fluttering open to reveal her striking emerald gaze. Even sleepy and rumpled from travel, she was beautiful.
The smile curving her lips sent a bolt of longing through him.
“Hullo,” she said.
“Hullo,” he returned.
God, he loved her. The ebbing rays of sunlight passed through the window and caught in her curls, making them gleam.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Nearly the entire journey.”
He could not resist kissing her nose. She had wrinkled it up as she posed the question.
“What a dreadful traveling companion I make. You must have been deadly bored. You ought to have told me to wake.” She caressed his cheek with a fondness that crept into his heart.
And there it remained, burrowed deep.
“You need your rest,” he told her. “Ladies who are in a delicate condition must be treated with care.”
Her brow furrowed. “Oh, Robin. For a moment, I had forgot. Shall I be a terrible mother, do you suppose?”
Robin.
There again, the hated name. There again, the lie. He should unburden himself to her now.
Before it is too late.
But when his lips opened to form the words, to begin his great confession, he found that he could not. Fear seized him, holding him in its mighty grip. He was not certain she would forgive him. Their love was too new, the knowledge of the child they shared too fragile and sudden. The time and place to reveal the truth was not on a train as they hurtled toward London, both of them uncertain and anxious over what the future held.
“You will be a wonderful mother,” he reassured her, catching her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.
