Page 53

Mayfair, London, England

May 1811—morning

Resting his head on his elbow, Evan trailed a finger over his sleeping wife’s ivory shoulder. She stirred but didn’t wake. As was typical, he’d awakened with a raging cockstand, but his pregnant wife needed her rest. So, despite the angry member throbbing between his legs, he contented himself with feathering touches on velvety skin as she slept on.

His exploration of her silky flesh took him lower until he skimmed his fingertips over the lush contour of her hip and slipped behind her knee.

She giggled and swatted at his inquisitive hand. “Stop that, you rogue. I’m sleeping.”

Chuckling, Evan flipped her over, pinning her to the mattress.

Still groggy, Sophronie smiled up at him then yawned.

“You're awake early, Evan. What time is it?”

She tried to turn her head to see the clock on the nightstand.

“Time for me to show my lady duchess how much I love her.” He ran his tongue over the delicate shell of her ear and was gratified to feel her shudder beneath him. Sophronie was as uninhibited and daring between the sheets as she was in every other aspect of her life.

“I think, my lord husband, that will soon be obvious for all to see.” Pointing her attention between their bodies, she lovingly caressed the slight mound of her belly.

Evan grinned and flexed his hips against hers. “I’m as proud as any man who ever breathed for the world to ken ye will bear my child.” He placed his palm atop Sophronie’s much smaller hand. He kissed her tummy. “Good mornin’, bairn.”

“I was positive I wouldn’t mind being pregnant for the Season, but now I’m not certain. The Duchesses of Bainbridge, Asherford, and Westfall have chosen to abstain from the Season, and I am further along than they are. I do want the babe born at Balston House with our family.”

The current high waistline in women’s gowns hid Sophronie’s condition from all but the most discerning. Braced on his elbows, Evan studied his wife’s face. He knew her better than himself, and the wee furrow between her eyebrows gave her away. “Did something happen at the ball last night?”

She glanced to the side, then puffed out a little frustrated breath. “I ran into Leah Wesleyan in the ladies’ retiring room.”

“I dinna ken she’d be there.” Evan grunted and flopped onto his back, one hand across his waist and the other above his head. “I dinna think to ask the host beforehand.”

Sophronie lifted a shoulder as she placed both hands upon her stomach. “If we come up to London, it’s inevitable that we’ll run into her from time to time.”

“What did she do?” Evan had no doubt the bitter hell-cat had bared her claws. He should’ve told her to leave the continent, or he’d make known her crimes.

“Let’s just say she’s not forgiven either of us, and I found myself fearing for our child should she learn I am pregnant.” She gave Evan a sidelong look. “I know it’s silly.”

Not after what Leah had done to George Slater, it wasn’t.

He made a mental note to change his plans for the day. He would call on Leah Wesleyan and suggest she would be better served in Paris or Rome or Timbuktu. Anywhere but England or Scotland. He’d give her a week to make herself scarce.

“We can return to Scotland today if ye wish, sweetheart.” Evan drew Sophronie against him and cradled her head upon his shoulder. Running his fingers through her hair as he’d imagined doing all of those months ago, he said, “My man of business can handle most everythin’ for me.”

Sophronie wrapped an arm about his naked waist and laid a slender thigh across both of his. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not running away ever again. I’d rather stay and face my fears.”

All the more reason to see Leah Wesleyan out of the country.

“That’s my brave, bonnie lass.” Evan kissed her tenderly.

Her enthusiastic response caused the ember he’d kept in check to ignite, and within seconds he was deep inside her woman’s warmth. As he rocked into her, relishing her whimpers and moans, he whispered words of love and passion into her ear or rained hot kisses over any bare flesh he could reach with his mouth.

“Ev-an!” Clutching his shoulders, Sophronie went taut and found her release.

His followed a half-second later.

As he smoothed her damp hair from her forehead, he thanked God again for this woman. “I love ye, Roni.”

Expression contemplative, she linked her fingers with his.

“My father was right about us.”

“George Slater was a wise man.” Evan kissed her temple.

“If you’d let me have my way about an annulment, we’d never have known this happiness.” Sophronie gave him a smile that melted his once-hardened heart. “I cannot promise not to be mulish and obstinate in the future. I’m afraid it’s my nature.”

Evan gathered her hand in his and kissed each fingertip. “I’m countin’ on it. I like the makin’ up afterward a great deal.”

“As do I.” She giggled. “Perhaps I shall deliberately provoke you.”

“Wanton wench,” he murmured, sliding her atop him and slipping home. “What am I to do with ye?”

“What you are doing right now will suffice very nicely,” she said between gasps of pleasure.

Then words fled them as Evan took them to heaven’s gates once more.