Axbridge Hall, July 1818

Jade bounced across the grass chasing the butterfly, which was just out of her reach. She vaulted, leaping higher than ever before, and nearly caught her prey. As she landed on the ground, she gave up her pursuit with a mad cleansing of her fur.

Emmaline chuckled as she turned and walked back toward the house. The garden was coming along quite well under her supervision and would be a riot of color and fragrance when everyone arrived for their house party in a few weeks.

She could hardly wait to see her friends and their families. Her hand instinctively moved to her abdomen. She wasn’t certain but suspected she and Lionel would be joining them all in parenthood next year.

Jade followed her inside, where it was cooler without the summer sun blazing down. She’d been outside for some time and decided a refreshing bath was in order.

Making her way upstairs, Emmaline looked at the portraits lining the walls. Her favorite was in the center of the gallery at the top. She strode to it and stood for a moment gazing at Lionel with his parents.

He was perhaps five years old, each of his hands clasping one of his parents’. His father crouched to his left, and it was a far more charming likeness than the one in Lionel’s office in London. Here, the former Lord Axbridge looked so much like his son that it made Emmaline’s heart ache. His blue eyes danced with mirth and love as he smiled at Lionel.

Lionel was turned toward him, clearly laughing. But it was the joy on Lady Axbridge’s face that struck Emmaline the most. She was part of the trio, most definitely, but this was a moment between father and son that perfectly captured their close bond. His mother looked down at them both, her features alight with a rapture Emmaline had only recently come to know for herself.

The reason the portrait was so unique and so stunning was because it had been painted by Lionel’s mother. She’d sought to illustrate the love of their family, and she’d done so with absolute perfection.

As Emmaline continued on to her chamber, she thought about how her own family might not have come to be if Mullens had been successful in killing Lionel. Sometimes she felt a pang of sorrow for Geoffrey. This was always followed by a wave of guilt because she was so incredibly grateful for her current happiness.

Then she would remind herself that Geoffrey had made a very bad decision to trust the wrong person. Mullens was a devious criminal and, unlike Geoffrey, had survived his wound only to be transported to a penal colony on the other side of the world. He wasn’t alone however since his sister had opted to join him. Emmaline was glad she’d never have to see them again.

Once in her chamber, she rang for Lark, who arranged the bath in her dressing room. Sometime later, Emmaline lounged in the tepid water, trying to work up the energy to rise.

Yes, she had to be pregnant. Ivy had warned her of an incessant need to nap, particularly in the beginning.

Yawning, Emmaline sat up.

“Where are you going?” Lionel’s deep voice halted her.

“How long have you been standing there?”

He pushed away from the doorjamb where he’d been leaning. “Long enough for my cock to grow completely and irrevocably stiff.”

“Irrevocably?”

He knelt beside the tub. “I’m afraid there’s no help for it. If you can’t help me defuse the problem, I shall have to take matters into my own hands.”

Emmaline laughed, never tiring of her husband’s wit, even when it was painfully silly. “I suppose I can be persuaded.” Indeed, desire already pulsed through her.

Lionel reached into the bath and caressed her breast. Sensation danced along her flesh. He was ruthlessly gentle, his fingers barely skimming her nipple before moving along her belly and descending between her thighs. He stroked her folds, and she sucked in a breath as need pooled in her core.

She took in his half-dressed state. He’d discarded all his garments except his shirt and breeches. “Your shirt is soaked.”

“So is your sex.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, mostly because his teasing was driving her to the edge of frustration. “I’m in a bath.”

He shook his head. “Inside.” He thrust his finger into her, filling her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, gasping.

Then he was lifting her out of the water. She opened her eyes in shock and wrapped her hands around his neck. Water sluiced from her body, and now he was entirely drenched.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, though she was certain she knew.

“Heaven.”

She bit at the lobe of his ear, then ran her tongue along the tortured flesh.

“Don’t stop,” he said, carrying her into their bedroom.

He paused near the bed and frowned. “We’re going to get the bedclothes quite wet.”

She arched a brow at him. “Is that really a problem?”

He tossed her onto the bed, and her hand fluttered to her belly.

He’d started to remove his shirt, but froze, staring down at her. “Are you expecting a child?”

“I think so. I’m not quite sure yet.”

He put his knee on the bed and cupped her breasts with his hands. “You must be. These are different.” He bent his head and suckled one and then the other.

She laced her fingers into his hair and moaned with pleasure. Then she pulled at his shirt since he’d failed to remove it and drew it up his back. He tossed it over his head, then shucked his breeches with great speed.

Joining her on the bed, he stretched out beside her. He traced his finger across her breasts, down past her navel, and into her curls once more. “Are you happy?” he asked.

“About the child?”

He nodded, seeming a bit unsure. His gaze drifted to her belly.

“Ecstatic.” She wrapped her hand around his neck and applied a bit of pressure, provoking him to look at her. “Lionel, aren’t you happy?”

He stared at her with tears in his eyes. “I am overcome.”

She pulled him down to kiss her, pouring her love and passion for this man into him so he could feel just how much he meant to her. Their tongues clashed and joined as his fingers coaxed her arousal to the edge of bliss. Before she could reach it, he rolled between her legs and replaced his hand with his shaft.

He filled her with one long, hard stroke. She groaned into his mouth as their bodies strained to please the other. She wrapped her legs around him and held him tight as he drove into her.

Her orgasm came hard and fast. She cried out, gripping him with her arms and legs until he too reached completion. He shouted her name once, then repeated it over and over, the volume growing softer until he whispered it against her lips.

She kissed him again, so in awe of the power of the love they shared.

He slowed, but didn’t leave her. He brushed her damp hair from her face and stared down into her eyes. “I hope it’s a girl as beautiful as you.”

“I hope it’s a boy so you can love him as much as your father loved you. And we’ll call him Benedict.”

“That you would name our son after my father fills me with joy and immeasurable love.” He kissed her again. “And gratitude. I am not worthy.”

She frowned up at him and tugged at his hair. “We’ve discussed this. You are not allowed to talk like that.”

He grinned. “I only do it so you admonish me. I like it when you tell me what to do.”

She slitted her eyes up at him as she moved her hand down to caress his backside. “Then pleasure me again.”

His eyes darkened with desire. “Always.”