“Then read. Something calming.”
“Fine.” She picked up the nearest book—Catherine’s abandoned gothic novel. “Perfect. Nothing more soothing than mysterious counts and crumbling castles.”
Adrian frowned. “That might be too stimulating. The suspense could affect the baby.”
“Adrian Blackwell, if you do not stop this instant, I shallaffectyou with this book—to the head.”
“Violence. Definitely too stimulating.”
She hurled a cushion instead, which he caught easily before sweeping her into his arms.
“I can walk!”
“I know. But I like carrying you.” He sat with her on the sofa, his hand immediately finding its habitual place over her stomach. “How long before we can feel it move?”
“Months yet.”
“But it’s there. Growing.” Wonder softened his voice. “Our child.”
“Are you going to be this astonished for the entire pregnancy?”
“Undoubtedly. Is that terrible?”
“No,” she said gently. “It’s rather wonderful in fact.”
Some while later, Catherine and Lord Timothy returned, both of them glowing with happiness and intellectual stimulation.
“How was the museum?” Marianne asked.
“Educational,” Catherine said, in a tone suggesting it had been anything but.
“Enlightening,” Lord Timothy added, his gaze fixed solely on her.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Thomas, report.”
“They discussed architecture, Your Grace. And mathematics. And art.” Thomas’s expression was perfectly neutral, which only made the subtext clearer.
“And?”
“And Lord Timothy was a perfect gentleman.”
“But?”
“Nobut, Your Grace.”
Adrian looked doubtful but let it pass. Lord Timothy took his leave with promises to call again on the morrow, and Catherine floated upstairs in a happy daze.
“She’s falling in love,” Marianne observed.
“She’s falling into something,” Adrian replied darkly.
“You fell too—rather quickly, if I recall.”
“That was different.”
“Because it was you?”
“Because it wasus.” He drew her close. “We are permitted to be exceptional.”
