She did as he asked, crossing the carriage and settling herself in his lap. It was no easy feat given the cumbersome drapery of her gown, the padding of her bustle, and the stiffness of her corset. To say nothing of the cramped confines of the carriage as it lumbered over the bumpy London streets in the night. However, she managed to kneel atop him, her skirts fanned around them, the split in her drawers blissfully aligned with the straining cockstand hidden in his trousers.
“I am here,” she said, breathless in spite of herself as her intimate flesh glided over his rigid length. “I am here with you, and I am yours.”
He hummed his approval, one hand stroking up and down her spine as the other cupped her face. “Stay with me here. I hate when you go to that dark place. I hate the hurt and pain you were dealt.”
He was not alone. She hated when she went there, too. But her scars would always remain.
“You have helped me to heal,” she told him, meaning those words. “Your love has helped me to be whole again. Without you, I do not know how I could carry on.”
Roland had helped her through her lowest days. He had loved her through everything, although she had once refused to believe in him. Although she had once been persuaded he was not the man he had presented himself to be. He loved her anyway.
“Nonsense.” He kissed her nose, her cheek. “You would carry on perfectly well without me. Look at the manner in which you saved yourself from that madwoman. I thought to rescue you, but you rescued yourself.”
It had been desperation which had led to her actions against Croydon that day. Desperation and perhaps foolishness as well. But somehow, she had managed to survive unscathed.
She kissed the corner of Roland’s lips. “There is something I must tell you,kanolukhwásla.”
He had taught her the term for love in his mother’s father’s language, and she had remembered. She was not certain if she was using it in its correct form, and nor was she certain she had pronounced it correctly. Her English tongue had the devil of a time wrapping around the consonants and vowels her husband formed so smoothly. However, she was trying her best.
Because her announcement was important.
She had spent the last few days wondering and fretting over the perfect moment and means to deliver it to him. But here and now suddenly felt right.
“Love,” he said, kissing her sweetly and tenderly. “You remember.”
“I try.” She kissed him in return, then paused, leaning back so that she could meet his gaze and drink in his entire countenance. “Roland, I am with child.”
He stilled. “With child?”
“Yes.” She tried to read his expression, but in her sudden burst of nerves, she failed. “Char-char shall have a sibling in about six months, if I am not mistaken.”
“My God.”
“It is soon, I know. We are just settling into being married, and being a father to Charlotte is still new to you, but, I hope you will be pleased.” The words fled her in a rush.
“Pleased?” he repeated, incredulity in his tone.
“You are not pleased, then?”
“Lord no.” He cupped her face, the smile on his face one of utter happiness, so wide and deep it stole her breath. “I am ecstatic. There is nothing I would love better than to see our family grow, and if I know our Char-char, she will be more than happy to be an older sister.”
Relief hit her. And love. So much of it that finding her voice required a few moments of searching.
Finally, it returned.
“She will,” Pippa agreed, humbled to her core.
What had she done to deserve this man, this happiness, this family, this love? Nothing, she was sure. But she would claim it all the same.
And claim him, just as she should have that long-ago day in Oxfordshire. Life had taken them on different paths. It had torn them apart, and then it had brought them together again. It had made them weak and then fashioned them strong.
“Are you happy, Sunshine?” Roland asked her, his gaze searching.
“More than words can convey.”
His grin deepened. “Good.”
Her wicked husband’s hand slipped beneath her skirts, finding her slick flesh.
