Page 128 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

Florence's expression softened for just a moment before the mask of Madam Tansley slid back into place. "I'm in the middle of—"

"You've been in the middle of something for six hours." He crossed the room, plucked the pen from her hand, and set it deliberately out of reach. "Your son would like to see his mother. As would your husband."

"My husband can wait."

"Your husband has been waiting. Patiently. For six hours."

Sylvia was hiding a smile behind her medical reports. The other women had developed a sudden fascination with the wallpaper.

Florence sighed. "Ten minutes."

"Take thirty." He pulled her to her feet. "The revolution will survive without you for half an hour."

Their son was three months old and had his father's lungs.

Matthew could hear him from the hallway. That indignant wail that meant he was hungry, or wet, or simply offended by the state of the world. Fair enough. Matthew had felt the same way at that age. Still did, some days.

The nursery was warm and bright, afternoon sun streaming through the windows. The wet nurse looked relieved when Florence appeared.

"He won't settle, ma'am. Fed him not an hour ago, changed him twice. He just wants—"

"His mother." Florence reached for the squalling bundle. "I know. I'm here now."

The moment she lifted him to her shoulder, the crying stopped.

Matthew leaned against the doorframe and watched.

His wife. His son. His family.

Three years ago, he'd been a man with nothing. No name worth claiming, no future worth imagining, no understanding of what it meant to love or be loved.

Now he had everything.

"Stop staring," Florence murmured, swaying gently with the baby. "It's unnerving."

"I'm not staring. I'm admiring."

"There's a difference?"

"Admiring is more respectable."

She snorted. The baby made a contented sound against her neck.

"What's his opinion on the petition?" Matthew asked.

"He thinks we need more signatures."

"Wise boy. Takes after his mother."

"He has your stubbornness."

"That's not stubbornness. That's determination."

"It's stubbornness." She pressed a kiss to the baby's downy head. "He also has your appetite. And your talent for making demands at inconvenient times."

"I don't make demands."

"You demanded I leave my study."