“Daddy,” she interrupted where only he could hear, placing her fingers against his lips. “Your little one is ready for you to take her home.” A faint smile curved her mouth.
A startled laugh escaped him, rusty with disuse.
“James,” he called loudly over his shoulder, “see to Reynolds. I’m taking my wife home.”
Victor swept Olivia into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he carried her from the cottage. She nestled against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, her hand resting over his heart.
“My little one,” he whispered against her hair. “First, I am going to remind you who your Daddy is, and then .. . I’m going to make up for all of the times I haven’t allowed you to come.”
She clung tighter to him. “Please, Daddy.”
“That’s my good girl.”
Epilogue
Two months later
Olivia
Two months had passed since the night Victor had rescued her from Reynolds’ clutches, their relationship transformed by the revelation of love they had both allowed themselves to admit.
Olivia stood by the window of their chamber, watching as the gardeners gathered the fallen leaves from the south lawn in preparation for the harvest festival Victor had suggested they host upon their arrival to their country home.
It would be a huge success if their dinner party had been any indication. The dinner party had been everything Victor had promised it would be—a strategic masterpiece that had firmly established her place in society. Even Caroline Atherton had been civil, though Olivia suspected that had more to do with the steel in Victor’s gaze whenever the woman approached his wife than any genuine change of heart. By the evening’s end, invitations had begun flowing to other social events, and the transformation from scandalous duchess to respected hostess was complete.
“Your father’s letter arrived,” Victor said, entering the room with the day’s correspondence in hand. “He accepted our invitation to visit next month.”
Olivia turned from the window, almost swooning at the sight of her gorgeous husband. “I’m glad. It’s time we put the past behind us.”
“You’ve forgiven him, then?” Victor asked, setting the letters on his desk and approaching her with deliberate steps.
“I have,” she confirmed. “His methods were severe, but without them, I would never have found my way to you.”
Victor’s lips curved in that rare smile that would never cease to make her heart flutter. “A fortunate outcome from unfortunate circumstances.” He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “And how are you feeling today?”
Olivia hesitated, then placed her hand over his. “I was sick again this morning. For the third time this week.” She met his gaze steadily. “I think it’s time we summon the doctor.”
Something flickered in Victor’s eyes, a mixture of excitement and protectiveness. His hand moved to rest lightly at her waist, the touch both possessive and reverent.
“Are you suggesting what I think you are, Duchess?” His voice dropped to that velvet command that never failed to send heat between her thighs.
“Perhaps,” Olivia replied, seeing the hope he tried to contain behind his usual mask of control. “Though I suppose confirmation will have to wait for the doctor’s visit.”
Victor’s eyes darkened with raw, animalistic hunger. “Indeed.” With swift movements, he crossed to the door, locking it with a click before returning to stand before her. “Come here, little one.”
The familiar hunger in his voice sent a shiver of anticipation through her. Olivia’s gaze never left his as she approached.
He spun her around and began to remove her dress. “Daddy is going to take special care of his good girl.”
The gown slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground. Victor circled her slowly, his gaze cataloging every detail of her body before he removed her chemise, leaving her naked before him.
“Turn around, little one,” he commanded softly. “Hands on the bedpost, feet apart.”
Olivia complied, assuming the position that had become familiar in their months together. She heard the rustle of fabric as Victor removed his coat and waistcoat, the soft sound of his cuffs being unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up in preparation.
His hands, when they touched her, were warm and certain, skimming down her back to cup her hips with possessive pressure.
“The thought that you might be carrying Daddy’s babe,” he murmured, one hand sliding around to rest on her abdomen, “makes me want to claim you in every way possible.”
