Page 77 of The Countess Caper

“I’m mostly sure.”

“I’ll have men watch him until the babe is born.”

She blinked. “You will?”

“Certainly. And if it’s a boy, we can devise a new plan. Something to keep them safe. I’m not convinced he wouldn’t murder a child to remain the earl.”

Roarke leaned over suddenly, tugging her forward and then onto his lap as the carriage rumbled on. She landed on his thighs. “What are you doing?” She wanted to curl around him like a cat.

He tucked her into his side. “I’m feeling anxious.”

“I don’t think you are.” She peered up at him doubtfully. She could not remember the last time she had been cradled, surrounded by the kind of strength she could rely on. And it was not the physical kind—though she was rather enjoying the hard, warm planes of his body against hers. “And I am not either, if that’s what worries you. I don’t need to be coddled.”

It was a bit nice, though.

“He had a knife to your throat, and I wasn’t there,” Roarke replied darkly. “I am feeling a great deal more than anxious.” He pushed her head gently down onto his shoulder. “Now hush.”

She bit back a smile. “Yes, Lord Dartmoor.”

“Roarke,” he growled into her hair. “You call me Roarke.”

She would have, had she not already been drifting off, warm and comfortable. She felt his lips in her hair, his arms tightening around her.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

When Noni came bustling down the stairs with a basket of cloths, Tessa knew the Kensingtons’ was not the only house party to offer surprises.

“Holly?” she asked immediately.

“Perfectly well,” Noni assured her and Roarke. “The babe came last night, a couple of weeks early but nothing to fret over.” A tiny, incensed wail drifted down behind her. She smiled. “Very strong.”

Tessa darted up the stairs, Roarke behind her. “Thank you, Noni,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Don’t let her eat any more pickled cucumbers!”

“I’d as soon be able to stop the sunset,” Tessa muttered as they came to Holly’s room.

She was sitting up in bed, a bright smile on her exhausted face and a tiny, fussy bundle in her arms. Rue perched beside her, hair coming out of her pins, eyes also tired but happy. Fergus stood behind, proud as a peacock. They made quite the picture. Tessa saw the way they leaned toward each other, the care and affection that glittered like a silver ribbon winding around and between them. Interesting. Unexpected.

“I was barely away two days,” Tessa teased.

“She could not wait,” Holly replied.

“She?” Relief released the knot in her stomach. “Do you mind very much? Not having an estate or an inheritance for her?”

Holly shook her head, tracing her daughter’s tiny nose. “If she’d been a boy there would have been a target on his back for his entire life. But Beville does not care about girls.”

“Roarke punched Beville in the face and broke his nose,” Tessa offered cheerfully.

Holly’s eyes misted. “What a lovely birthday present for her. I shall tell her about it when she is older. Every year on this day.”

Roarke’s ears went ruddy. It was so endearing that Tessa couldn’t help but beam. Not enough people saw this side of him.

“But I’m not naming her Fennel,” Holly muttered. “No matter how Marigold begs.” She paused. “Comfrey, perhaps.”

Rue’s expression dared them all to react. To say a single thing that was not enthusiastically complimentary. Even as she stifled an eye roll. Or two.

“Parsley and Comfrey,” she said. “They shall be like sisters.”