Page 109 of A Figure of Love

“Yes, that was one idea.”

“I’m so sorry my reputation and connections will not bring you all the influence you hoped for.”

“You don’t understand, you will give me the strength I need to persevere. I don’t need to marry an aristocrat’s daughter; marrying to secure political influence is a coward’s way.” He turned her in his arms, until her breasts pressed against the sleek hardness of his chest. “Sleeping alone in a blazing room was another act of cowardice.” He kissed her when she opened her mouth to demur. “No, do not argue and try to make me feel less of a fool. I cannot promise I will not wake you up with my shaking and yelling some nights, but I will not let the thought of it unman me—certainly not at the expense of doing without you in my arms.” He covered her with kisses and she never wanted him to stop. But she still had one last thing to tell him.

“Gareth? Darling?”

“Hmm?” he murmured from somewhere near her right breast.

“You’ll need to be extra gentle with them for a while, Gareth.”

He stopped and his head pushed up from beneath the covers, a pucker of concern between his beautiful gray eyes. “Have I been too rough?”

She smiled and stroked his jaw. “No, they are just very sensitive right now.”

His head cocked. “Is aught amiss? Should I call back Doctor—”

She laughed. “No, if I am correct it is nothing he can cure.” She hastened to assure him when she saw the horror in his eyes. “It is nothing bad, do not look like that! It might be nothing at all, but I think—” she broke off, now wishing she had said nothing at all.

“What? You think what?”

“It has only been three weeks but the last time they became this sore I was with child.”

His expression was beyond comical. And he’d stopped breathing.

“Gareth? Gareth?” She shook his shoulder.

He blinked. “I’m going to be a father.”

“Well, possibly. Probably, if I am reading the signs correctly.”

“I’m going to be a father.”

She laughed. “You seem to have become stuck in something of a rut.”

“Oliver is going to have a little brother or sister.”

“Well, those are the usual two options.” She paused, drinking in the beauty and strength in his face. “I love you, Gareth.”

His lips began to curve, not stopping until he was grinning. “You have made me a very happy man. I love you, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Lockheart.

“Oh?” she teased, as his rare and beautiful smile melted her heart into a puddle. “How much.”

Still smiling, he slowly backed away, until he disappeared under the covers. And then he commenced to show her just how much.

Epilogue

Three Weeks and Two Days and Nine Hours Later . . .

Declan sealed the brief note with one of Gareth’s wafers and propped the envelope against his inkstand, where he would be sure to notice it. He’d celebrated Gareth and Serena’s wedding with true gladness in his heart. Even a blind fool could see the two were madly in love. But now he needed to take his misery and anger and burning desire for drink somewhere far away—someplace where he wouldn’t taint his best friend’s hard-earned happiness. His note said he needed time to himself, but he told Gareth not to worry and promised he would be here at Christmas.

He was making his way out of the vast library, which no longer blazed with half a hundred candles, when he heard a distinct burp, followed by a groan.

As usual, he let his curiosity get the better of his sense—he needed to be off, but he apparently needed to see who was in the library even more. He retraced his steps to the big desk and then to the long brown leather settee that faced the barely glowing hearth.

The Earl of Avingdon lay stretched out, a champagne glass balanced on his chest. His eyes swung lazily up to Declan.

“Champagne always gives me gas.” The aristocrat swung his feet onto the floor and his body into an upright, if wobbly, position. He gave Declan an engaging grin. “Sit and have a drink with a man soon to be shackled?”