The only man in her life she could trust was Roland.
Roland was nothing like George had been. His was not an oily, easy charm. But rather…real. That was the best word Pippa could conjure to describe him. He loved genuinely and deeply. He fought to protect those who needed it; he cared about justice and fairness and right from wrong. He was an honorable man. A true gentleman. And most astonishing of all, he still loved her.
And he loved her daughter as well.
The two of them came bounding back to the blanket, Char-char’s peals of laughter sending her to her knees in an unladylike heap. And Roland sank down next to her in a decidedly less than ducal collapse.
How Pippa loved the both of them. Deeply and fiercely. Gratitude soared. She had done nothing to deserve the wondrous gift of a second chance at a family, but she was seizing it with both hands.
“We were unsuccessful in catching any of the birds,” Roland reported, grinning, unaware of the emotions rising within her, like a high tide.
“Char-char no catch bird,” her daughter repeated, frowning with almost comical dramatics.
“I do believe your efforts ought to be rewarded,” Pippa said, giving Charlotte a wink. “What would you say to one of the strawberry tarts remaining from luncheon?”
“Yes!” Her daughter’s response was as instant as it was enthusiastic. “Pwease, Mama!”
“Excellent manners,” she praised as she occupied herself by searching through the hamper for the leftover sweets. “Thank you, Char-char.”
She presented her daughter with the tart, and Charlotte seized it. “Thank you, Mama!”
She instantly began consuming it with gleeful abandon.
“Am I to be rewarded with a tart as well?” Roland asked.
Pippa adored this soft, teasing side of him.
She adoredeverypart of him.
For such a physically strong man, he possessed a tenderness that she never would have suspected.
“Would you like a tart as well, oh brave knight?” she returned, smiling back at him.
“After my heroic attempts at capturing a bird for the fair Princess Char-char, I think it only right.” He glanced toward Charlotte, who was already sporting strawberry around the corners of her mouth, to say nothing of the crumbs on her dress. “What do you think, Princess?”
“Yes,” Charlotte declared around a mouth of pastry. “Tart for Duke!”
Dukewas what Charlotte had begun calling Roland, for it was a far easier mouthful. One day Pippa hoped she might call himPapa. She had introduced Charlotte to the notion recently.
“The Princess Char-char has issued her decree,” Pippa said with mock solemnity, relieving another tart from the picnic hamper and presenting it to her husband. “I declare you Sir Bird Catcher.” She allowed her fingertips to graze his shoulder, making certain the tart did not brush his fine country tweed. “And I present you with the gift of this strawberry tart.”
She held it to his lips, and he took a bite, his teeth gently grazing her skin. Their gazes met and held, a wealth of passion and remembrance of their endless lovemaking sessions together passing between them, unspoken.
He chewed, and Pippa found herself admiring the strength of his jaw. He had not shaved that morning, mostly because they had made love at dawn and she had lingered in his bed, hating to leave just as she had every morning this past week. Thus, necessitating an abbreviated morning ablution with his valet. She had no regrets. The morning had been wonderful, and the whiskers shading his jaw made her long to run her fingers over it.
Or to feel it on her breasts.
Or lower still.
But that was a thought for another time. Not when they had an audience.
“Bird!” Char-char exclaimed, pointing in the direction of a nearby young yew tree where a small bird was perched on a low-hanging branch.
“Shall we attempt to catch her, Char-char?” Roland asked, having swallowed his mouthful of tart.
“Char-char catch her!” she exclaimed, rising to her feet and racing in the direction of the bird.
The fowl in question was bound to fly away well before Charlotte neared it. And even if it did not, Char-char was far too short to reach the branch. However, Pippa had no wish to quell either her daughter’s determination or her excitement.
