She maneuvered Lucy’s head into the crook of his arm and made sure he was holding the baby correctly before backing away. Lucy smiled and waved her tiny fist in the air, and there was nothing Philip could have done at that moment to stop from grinning. She was lovely, warm and snug, with the longest lashes he’d ever seen framing a pair of light blue eyes.
His stomach tightened and reality dawned. He wanted this. For years he’d told himself this was for others, that he didn’t need a wife or children, that the risk was too great. But that was because his dream had been tainted by the wrong woman. So perhaps, just maybe, if he chose the right woman, everything would be different, and he could fill his home with love.
Love.
Yes. That was what he wanted. It was what he’d had as a child even though his parents had struggled to make ends meet. But their home had been happy, supportive, and there for him, even during the hardest times of his life.
Lucy chortled and Philip’s eyes misted as he laughed back, turning away from the women so they wouldn’t see how undone he was. Because of a baby. Because of Leonora. “She’s perfect,” he said, speaking of both.
“That she is,” Lady Lockwood said.
She’d come to stand at his shoulder, and as he glanced up and his eyes met hers, the smile she produced informed him that she knew precisely whom he was talking about. “Allow me,” she said, taking Lucy back in her arms. “Have you breakfasted yet, Mr. Dalton?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Neither has Leonora. Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to keep her company while I return my daughter to the nursery?”
“I’d be delighted to,” Philip said, and since he’d not yet encountered his friend today, he asked, “Do you know if Lockwood has risen yet?”
“Oh yes. He rode out to visit with some of his tenants an hour ago and probably won’t be back until luncheon.”
Philip was impressed. It was only eight o’clock and considering they hadn’t retired until two in the morning, he’d imagined Lockwood would still be in bed. But apparently duty called and that was something Philip respected.
He turned toward Leonora, who’d risen from her position on the sofa, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She stepped toward him slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure of the wisdom in keeping him company. But then she straightened her spine and raised her chin, and when she met his gaze again, hers was bold.
“Indeed,” she murmured, accepting the invitation with the same kind of courage he imagined she’d apply if she rode into battle.
Her touch was soft but firm, confident and sure. Heat flared to life at the point of contact, racing up his arm and across his shoulders before diving deep beneath his skin where it settled into a slow burn.
“I will see you both later,” Lady Lockwood said as they parted ways. She disappeared ’round a corner, in the direction of the stairs.
“I trust you slept well?” Philip asked Leonora once they were alone.
Her fingers flexed ever so slightly against his arm, and the burn turned into a blaze. He did his best to concentrate on walking forward in a straight line instead of doing what he really wanted to do, which was push her against the nearest wall and explore her mouth with his own.
“Yes,” she said. “And you?”
What?
Oh right.
“I stayed up late with Lockwood.” They entered the dining room, where a footman stood ready to serve them. “We haven’t seen each other in quite some time, so there was some catching up to do. But I slept well once I retired.”
“How do you know each other anyway?” she asked as he pulled out a chair and helped her sit.
He took the seat across from her, and the footman brought them their drinks: tea for her and coffee for him. “We met at a social event years ago and immediately struck it off.” Toast was served with jam, eggs, bacon, and kippers while they spoke. “He shares my wicked sense of humor.”
She gave her attention to her food, but he could see that her lips were twitching. “The sort that would prompt a gentleman to call a stranger his wife?”
He spooned some jam onto his toast and spread it with his knife. “We once convinced an earl and his wife that I was a Russian prince.”
Laughter erupted inside her and since her mouth was now full of food, she snorted. “Really?” she asked as soon as she could manage to get words out.
“Da. I make very good impression, ya?”
For a second he feared she might choke in response to his affected accent. Tears streamed down her cheeks, which were now round and pinkened by mirth. Her mouth was wide, unrestrained, and the source of the most melodious sound he’d ever heard.
