Jo counted the days again, sure she’d made a mistake. When she came up with the same number, she tried a third time, and a fourth. Her menses were never this late. Maybe a day or two, but this was several days. Almost a week.

She stared into nothing while her mind tried to make sense of this. Nora had always tried to tell her that it was possible she wasn’t barren, but Matthias had convinced her so completely. If she was with child…

Happiness exploded in her chest, forcing a strangled sound from her that was part sob and part exclamation of joy. She covered her mouth, her lips spreading in a smile.

Ever since she’d read the letter from Bran’s father several days ago, a feeling of dread had lingered within her. She knew their time was temporary, but she had no idea when the dream would end.

And it was a dream. Days with Evie and often Bran, feeling like a family. Nights with Bran in which she felt more treasured than she ever imagined was possible. For the first time, her life was full and she was terrified it would vanish into nothing.

Now she had hope. Her first inclination was to tell someone—Nora, of course—but she was instantly afraid. What if this was nothing? What if there was no child, and her body was simply playing a cruel joke?

Surely fate wouldn’t be that unkind to her. Didn’t she deserve some happiness?

Her gaze settled on the clock sitting on the mantel in her room. Oh dear, she was late getting upstairs. Becky was likely already here.

A few minutes later, Jo entered in the nursery to find that Becky had indeed already arrived. She ran to hug Jo. “Aunt Jo! We’re drawing, come see.” She started to pull Jo toward the table where Evie was seated.

Jo laughed. “One moment, Becky.”

Becky rolled her eyes but let go and returned to the table.

Jo turned to Mrs. Poole. “Sorry I’m late. I’m sure you’re more than ready for a respite.” This was the time of day when Mrs. Poole had luncheon.

“It’s no bother. The girls are such a delight.” Mrs. Poole nodded toward them, smiling. “See you in a bit.”

She departed, and Jo joined the girls at the table. “What are you drawing?”

“My horse,” Evie said without looking up from her paper.

Becky sighed. “You’re so lucky to have a horse. Papa says he will teach me to ride this summer when we go to Lakemoor.”

Evie looked at her friend now, her lips pouting. “That’s so far away.” She turned to Jo. “Do you know how far away that is?”

It was the Kendal seat in the Lake District. Several days’ ride from London. “Yes, I’ve been there many times.”

Evie frowned. “Whatever will I do without Becky?”

“Mayhap you can come with me.”

Jo appreciated that the girls wanted to be together. They truly reminded her of the closeness between her and Nora when they were young. “I should think that Evie’s father would want her to see their ancestral home. It’s in Wales, just over the border.” The girls’ expressions settled into begrudging acceptance. “But perhaps we can arrange a visit.”

Both girls practically bounced in their seats, instantly animated. “That would be wonderful,” Becky said. “I’ve never been to Wales.”

“And I’ve never been to the Lake District.”

“Of course not, silly,” Becky said. “You’ve never been anywhere in England.”

“No, I haven’t.” Evie started drawing once more. “But Papa said he would take me to the ocean soon.”

Bran had mentioned that to Jo a few nights ago, asking her where he should take Evie. Jo had only been to the ocean once and hadn’t any helpful advice to offer.

Jo leaned toward her niece. “And what are you drawing?”

“My family. With the new baby. I want Mama to have another girl.”

A family. Jo’s heart squeezed. It was hard not to think that she might have a child growing inside her right now. How she prayed that were true. She pressed herself to focus on the girls, and not lose herself in what could be a fantasy. “She may have a boy.”

Becky shook her head. “It’s a girl’s turn. First me, then Christopher, now another girl. It’s only fair.”

Jo missed the naïveté of youth. “Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way.”

Becky looked up from her paper. “I’m still drawing a girl. If I wish hard enough, it will come true.”

How Jo wanted things to be so easy!

“How come you don’t have any children, Jo?” Evie asked, her attention still on her horse.

It was, in retrospect, surprising that they hadn’t asked her that before. Jo searched for the right way to answer that with five-year-old girls. “I just don’t.”

“Wouldn’t you like them?” Evie asked, glancing at her.

“Yes, but as I said a moment ago, life isn’t always fair, and wishing for something doesn’t always make it come true.”

Both girls stopped drawing and looked at her. “That’s sad,” Becky said, her brow furrowing.

Jo feared she was stealing a bit of their innocence. She reached out and touched Becky’s hand. “But you mustn’t stop praying for things—it does make a difference, I think.” Or so she wanted to believe.

“Won’t you marry again?” Becky asked. “Mayhap you’ll have children then.”

The hand that was still in Jo’s lap gravitated to her stomach, her palm pressing against the flat plane. “Perhaps, but I’m quite content being a governess. It’s very satisfying to be helpful to others, especially children.”

“Yes, but you could be helpful to your own children if you got married,” Evie said. “I think you should consider it.” She exchanged a look with Becky, who nodded in agreement.

Jo couldn’t help feeling amused by their advice. “Thank you, I shall.”

And for the first time in nearly forever, she actually was. If Bran was still interested in making her his countess. He would be, wouldn’t he? Hadn’t he said that he’d marry her if she was with child?

She had an urge to tell him, but it quickly died in the face of her doubt and fear. She’d be patient. For a week at least. Yes, she could keep the secret for a week.

The girls continued drawing, and Jo went to tidy the bookshelf.

“What are your favorite foods?” Evie asked, drawing Jo to look back toward the table.

“Let me see… I’m quite fond of pheasant and cod.”

“I like cod,” Evie said.

“And I love pheasant,” Becky added.

Jo walked back to the table. “I think my favorite vegetables are carrots.”

Evie looked up from her paper and made a face, her tongue darting out. “Yuck. I don’t like vegetables.”

“But you like fruit,” Jo said. She’d discussed Evie’s food preferences at length with Bran.

“Yes, but most of it isn’t here or is hard to find. Just another reason Barbados is better.”

“It isn’t,” Becky said firmly. This was the only thing the girls argued about.

Evie’s eyes narrowed. “It is so. It’s warmer. It’s sunnier. It’s prettier. And it smells better.”

Jo couldn’t dispute that London possessed interesting smells. “When you go to the country this summer, Evie, you’ll see how lovely England can be.”

She didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see.”

Jo sought to divert the conversation. “My favorite sweet is trifle.”

“I like rum cake,” Evie said. “I haven’t had it since I came here, but our new cook said she would try to make it for me.” Her eyes glowed with excitement.

Becky continued drawing. “I like ices. Lemon is my favorite.”

“I like those too,” Jo said.

Evie cocked her head at Jo. “So you like pheasant and cod and carrots and trifle. Is that right?”

“Yes. I like many other things too, but those are my favorites.” Jo wondered if there was a point to this conversation. Perhaps Evie was ready to sample some new things. “Would you like to try my favorite carrot recipe?” she asked Evie. “I can have Cook make it.”

Evie winced. “Oh no. Thank you,” she hastily added. She went back to drawing.

Jo spent the afternoon with the girls, giving them a sewing lesson, and then they made up silly songs until Nora arrived to fetch Becky.

The urge to tell Nora her suspicions was almost overwhelming, but Jo managed to not say anything. Once she was gone, Bran arrived home, and again the desire to share her secret bubbled inside her like an insistent pot of water. Instead, Jo pasted a smile on her face and tried her best to behave normally.

When Mrs. Poole took over command of Evie, Bran summoned Jo to his office.

She stepped inside as he was removing his waistcoat. He was entirely familiar to her now in nothing more than his shirt on his upper half. In fact, when he was fully dressed, it gave her a bit of a start. He was incredibly handsome no matter how he was garbed, but in truth, she preferred him wearing nothing at all.

Bran leaned back on the edge of his desk, his gaze sweeping over her. He never failed to look at her with a hunger that stirred her desire. “I wanted to speak with you about decorating. Specifically, my bedchamber. I know it’s, ah, probably unseemly, but I think we’re past that, aren’t we?”

Most definitely, but the request still unsettled her. He’d asked for her opinions in various rooms—selecting a new carpet and draperies for the sitting room to remove some of his mother’s stamp, replacing the wallpaper in the dining room, which would be happening soon, again to delete his mother’s influence. In this case, however, because it was his chamber, it did feel rather unseemly. She wasn’t his wife. Furthermore, she’d never even been inside his chamber.

“I’m not sure I’d have anything of import to contribute. It is, after all, your bedchamber.”

“True, but I’d still appreciate your opinion. You’ve been instrumental in helping me make the house feel more like a home, such as adding plants. I wouldn’t have thought to do that.”

They’d added potted greenery to every room, including several palms, which Evie adored. She even had one in her chamber.

“Would you believe,” Bran continued, “that my mother suggested I import plants from Barbados for the conservatory at Knight’s Hall?” He shook his head as if he didn’t believe it.

“That’s an excellent idea.”

“I’ve been considering adding a small conservatory here to the back of the house. It would take up a bit of the garden, but then it would just be an indoor garden. What do you think?”

It was likely the closest Jo would ever get to the home he and Evie adored. Hearing them speak of it, she found herself missing it almost as much as they did, and she’d never even been there. “Evie would love it.”

“Especially if we could grow some of the fruit that she misses.” He pushed away from the desk. “I’m going to do it. Perhaps Kendal or West can recommend an architect.” He’d become rather friendly with Nora’s husband and the Duke of Clare. Jo supposed he would also have befriended Dartford and Sutton if they weren’t constantly traveling back and forth between their homes outside London. They were quite busy tending to their responsibilities in town while anxiously awaiting the arrival of their children, which were expected at any time.

He came toward her, and she flicked a gaze at the open doorway. Seeming to catch her silent cue, he paused before he got too close. Still, the air between them crackled with longing, as it always did. “Will you help me with my chamber?”

“I don’t know what I can do. What do I know of a man’s bedchamber?”

He considered her question, or seemed to. “Why are you so hesitant?”

Because it felt too intimate. She wasn’t his countess, and while she currently harbored a fervent hope that might actually come to pass, she was afraid to overstep. Indeed, maybe because it was now in the realm of possibility, she was feeling a bit superstitious. Which was absurd. Nevertheless, she couldn’t do it.

“I’m not sure it’s my place. In any case, just add a plant or two and lighten the bedclothes. You did say the darkness is what bothered you?”

“Yes.” He reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers. “Perhaps if you came to see it tonight, you could offer more insight.” His gaze sparked with intent.

Jo’s insides melted, and despite knowing better, she leaned toward him.

Just as a maid stepped into the office and stopped short with a loud “Oh!”

Jo whipped her hand from his and pivoted from him. Bran backed up to the desk and leaned against it once more.

The maid dipped a curtsey to Bran. “My apologies, my lord. I came to light the fire for the evening. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“It’s quite all right,” Bran said, gesturing toward the hearth. “Please.”

Jo stepped from her path and went to the door. Turning her head, she told Bran she’d see him at dinner.

As she made her way upstairs, her hand drifted again to her belly. One would think she would feel better with this potential turn of events, but until she knew for certain, everything seemed far more tenuous than it had yesterday. She had only to be patient.

And pray.

* * *

Bran paused in the doorway to the drawing room where he was meant to dine this evening. The dining room was in disarray with new wallpaper being installed, so dinner for him and Jo would be served here. Normally Evie would join them, but she had gone to Becky’s for the night.

Only, the room had been transformed. White linens that reminded him of the mosquito netting they used in Barbados hung from the ceiling. He’d no idea who had put them there or why. They’d added several plants to the room, but more—from other areas of the house—had been added. There were also drawings pasted around the room—of flowers from Barbados, birds, and, of course, a turtle. Clearly, Evie had drawn them. And perhaps Becky. They did like to draw.

A table was set near the center of the room, amidst several drapes of the white gauze. He belatedly realized that Jo was already seated.

He strode toward her. “What is all this?”

Jo looked up at him, her hands folded in her lap. “The girls were here this afternoon. Evie wanted to recreate her home for Becky, so they enlisted Bucket and Hudson to help them. She asked Hudson specifically, since he’s the only one of the staff that’s actually been there.”

“It’s extraordinary.” He kept looking around the room, enchanted. “It really does remind me of home. Of Barbados, I mean.” He sat down opposite Jo at the small table.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

“I don’t know.” His chest tightened. He hated thinking he’d never see those beaches again. But leaving it a second time would be torture.

“I hope you do,” she said softly. “It’s so much a part of you.”

The footman entered with the first course, which included cod and carrots as well as a soup. Bran poured wine—a madeira—as the footman served them.

They discussed their day while they ate and when the second course came, Jo laughed.

Confused, Bran asked why.

“There’s pheasant.” She looked up at the footman. “Do you know if there will be a dessert?”

“Trifle, madam.”

Jo laughed again briefly. When the footman retreated, Bran said, “I’m very confused at what is so amusing.”

“Evie and Becky quizzed me about my favorite foods the other day. I told them cod, carrots, pheasant, and trifle.”

“I still don’t understand. Is it your birthday?” He was going to feel horrible if he’d missed such an occasion.

“No. I’m not entirely sure what they’re up to, but they’re very dear.”

He looked around at the room again. Barbados for him. Favorite foods for Jo. It was a stretch, but were they trying to play Cupid? No, that seemed preposterous. They were children for heaven’s sake.

Bran shook the nonsense from his head and focused on his beautiful companion. “You look particularly lovely this evening. I admit I always look forward to seeing you at dinner.” She dressed more formally than during the day when she was performing her governess duties. The gowns she wore exposed more of her, and he had to admit he enjoyed the view. But it was more than that tonight. There was something about her, an inexplicable sparkle that seemed to come from within her.

“Are you certain it’s not your birthday?” he asked.

She laughed again. “I think I would know. My birthday is in September.”

“Well, you seem in particularly good spirits.”

She seemed to consider his statement before nodding with a smile. “I am, thank you.”

“I think it’s working out very well with you here, don’t you?” It hadn’t even been a month yet, but they’d settled into a pleasant routine, which included him visiting her chamber most nights.

He’d worried that the maid had seen him holding Jo’s hand the other day in his office, but when he’d queried Hudson, his valet had assured him that there was no gossip amongst the staff. Bran had argued that he might not be privy to it, but Hudson said he was close enough with a few of them to know. Bran had accepted his reassurances.

When the dessert course came, Bran had an idea. “I think netting on my bed will remind me of Barbados. Yes, that may be just what my chamber needs.” He was suddenly excited to order it. He finished his madeira. “I want you to come see it tonight.”

She looked puzzled. “The netting? You won’t have it.”

He smiled. “No, my chamber. I want you to come tonight.” He was afraid she was going to refuse. She hadn’t wanted to help him with the refurbishment. Well, she had given him advice, but she’d declined coming to his room.

“All right.”

Anticipation curled through him. “I think I’m finished eating. And that I’ll retire early.” He gave her a meaningful look.

Her answering stare was full of heat as she finished her wine and rose from the table. “Good evening.”

He stood and bowed. “Good evening.”

He waited a few minutes before he practically ran upstairs. Hudson wasn’t even waiting for him yet. Bran summoned him, not necessarily because he required assistance, but so he could tell him that he didn’t wish to be disturbed.

Garbed in only a silk banyan, Bran poured two glasses of rum and set them on a table near the bed. Then he paced until he heard a soft rap. He dashed toward the sound and threw open the door. Without speaking, he curled his arm around her waist and pulled her inside. He closed the door swiftly and then pressed her back against it, his mouth covering hers.

She clasped his back, and several minutes passed before he drew away. Her lips were full and reddened from their kisses, her eyes dark with desire.

Taking her hand, he led her toward the bed. “I’ve a special treat tonight.” He let go of her and picked up the two glasses from the nightstand. “It’s rum from my plantation. I thought you might like to try it.”

She took the glass and held it up to study the rich brown color. “It’s so dark.”

“It’s aged in barrels that contribute to the color. This one was aged for a few years.” He took a sip. “Just take a very small taste to start. Actually, smell it first.”

She did just that, inhaling the brew. Her nostrils flared, and she blinked.

He smiled. “It’s a bit strong.”

“Yes. I’m not sure I’ll like it.” She held the glass to her lips and took a small sip.

He waited anxiously for her reaction. She didn’t visually flinch or otherwise reveal her opinion. “Well?”

“It’s sweeter than I imagined.” She gave him a wry half smile. “I daresay it’s more than a ‘bit’ strong.”

He laughed before taking another drink and setting his glass down. He took hers and put it next to his.

She looked around at the chamber. “It is dark in here. You should remove this wallpaper too.”

He arched a brow at her. “But where will I sleep while they’re doing that?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t sleep in my chamber. Would you even want to? You rarely linger…after.”

That was true. He’d done that in the beginning because it seemed as though he shouldn’t stay. And he definitely didn’t want to be seen leaving her room, or worse, caught in her bed. He realized he hadn’t ever stayed because he’d never slept with someone before, and he wasn’t sure he knew how, as stupid as that sounded. But he’d invited her here tonight. That meant he’d have to ask her to go or…leave it up to her.

He drew her into his arms next to the bed. “I’ve never slept with anyone before. Stay as long as you like.”

She kissed him, her lips molding against his. She opened his banyan and ran her hands down his chest, her nails raking over his flesh. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in the length of her hair. She lightly skimmed his stomach and found his rigid cock.

With one hand, she cupped his sac and with the other she stroked his length. He closed his eyes and buried himself in her touch. She was quite good at this, having brought him to orgasm several times. He realized, however, that she’d never taken him into her mouth.

Gripping her head, he drew her lips to his again. After kissing her thoroughly, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Take me in your mouth.”

Her hand stopped, and he instantly recognized that something was wrong. His eyes came open. She was staring at him, her eyes stark with…fear.

Apprehension tore through him. “Jo, what’s the matter?”

“I…I can’t.”

He cupped the sides of her head and looked into her eyes. “You don’t have to. I…I’m an ass.” He’d been caught up in the moment. Maybe she didn’t know how or didn’t like it. Hell.

She touched his chest, laying her hand over his heart. “You aren’t. I’m just…a little broken, I think. I had to do that a lot. It was often the only way Matthias could reach completion. Not that he ever cared if I did.

“After I discovered that he preferred men, I concluded that it was perhaps the only way he could find pleasure with me.” She looked away from Bran. “I know it was the only way—he told me so often. Well, not the only way. Occasionally, he would make me get on my knees. He liked it that way too. He always told me I didn’t deserve to look at him.” She shuddered.

Every muscle in Bran’s body screamed with tension. “Your husband was a bastard. None of that was your fault.”

Her gaze found his once more, and in it he saw gratitude. “I know that now. Thanks to you. I own I never expected to find so much pleasure in the bedchamber. You’ve shown me things I never imagined.” She took a deep breath. “I trust you. I’d like to overcome this…problem or whatever it is.” She reached for the rum on the nightstand. Lifting the glass, she took a hearty drink. She twitched as she swallowed, then repeated the act, except for the twitching.

She pressed her chest to his and kissed him, her rum-soaked mouth devouring his with heat and desire. Stripping his banyan from his shoulders, she let it drop between him and the bed, then she pushed him back onto the mattress, breaking the kiss. He had to hitch himself up slightly to lie back, but as soon as he did so, she grasped his cock once more. He went completely stiff, blood rushing to fill the shaft.

Then her mouth was on him, her lips and tongue gliding over his flesh. He cast his head back and closed his eyes, all his senses fixed on what she was doing to his cock.

“Jo.” He moaned as she expertly worked his shaft with her hand and her mouth. He didn’t think he’d ever experienced such exquisite ecstasy. He pumped his hips up, and she clasped his backside, her fingers digging deliciously into his flesh.

God, he was going to come, and this was not what he’d envisioned. Plus, he didn’t want to do that. Not this time, at least. He wanted this to be different for her. He hoped it was different.

He reached for her shoulder and tapped her flesh. “Jo.”

She moved faster, her hand stroking and her mouth sucking furiously. His balls tightened, and he was afraid he was lost. “Jo!” He leaned up and grabbed her hand, pulling it away from his flesh.

She stopped and looked at him with dismay. Her cheeks were flushed. “Did I do something wrong?” She sounded so worried. Maybe even a little afraid.

Dammit. He winced. “No.” He sat up and tugged her onto the bed with him. “On the contrary. You were too perfect. I didn’t want to finish like that. I want you beneath me. Writhing. Panting. Moaning my name.”

Her lips curved into a saucy smile. “I like the sound of that.”

With a growl, he tore her robe free and tossed it from the bed. Then he pulled her beneath him and kissed her, his tongue diving into her mouth. She clutched at his neck and shoulders and opened her legs, inviting him to settle between her thighs.

He moved his mouth to her breast, suckling her flesh as he found the wet sheath between her legs. She was hot and ready for him, so he didn’t wait. He slid into her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

He buried himself as far as he could go and devoured her breast. She moaned his name, just as he hoped she would. He withdrew, then plunged forward once more, driving into her with fierce precision. This was no mild coupling. This was wild and passionate. He wanted to erase any memory of her past and promise her a spectacular future.

They moved together, their bodies in perfect harmony. Her muscles contracted around him, and she let out a series of whimpers followed by a low moan ending with his name over and over and over again.

He let himself drown in the sounds and feel of her. The orgasm he’d managed to stave off before crashed into him. He cried out and buried himself deep inside her. He kissed her again pouring all of himself into her.

Minutes later—or maybe hours, he’d completely lost track of anything but her—he slowed and rolled to his back, throwing his arms over his head, panting.

She lifted the covers and slid beneath them, then snuggled into his side, her own breathing harsh and ragged.

He put his arm around her shoulders and stroked her arm. “You’re amazing.”

“So are you.” She lifted her head and looked up at him. “Thank you for your patience.”

“Thank you for your courage. Not just for tonight, but for the way you’ve given yourself to me. After everything you’ve endured, I can’t imagine it’s easy.”

She stared at him a long moment, and he was sure she was going to say something else. She didn’t, however. She laid her head back against his side and nuzzled him. He felt her yawn and then yawned himself.

“You don’t mind me staying for a while?” she asked, her voice heavy with impending sleep.

“No.” He continued massaging her bicep, his fingers gliding along her flesh.

With his free hand, he pulled the covers up. He brushed his hand along her head, smoothing her lush brown hair. He’d been certain she meant to say something else, and curiosity ate at him.

Could it be that she was going to tell him she loved him?

Idiot, why would you think that? What experience do you have with that emotion?

None, with the exception of his daughter. But this would be a different kind of love, the romantic kind. He’d felt deep affection for Louisa, but this was definitely not the same. Maybe he suspected Jo was in love with him because he was in love with her. How would he know? He’d described the love he felt for Evie as an emotion that, once experienced, had forever altered his soul. He realized that was precisely how he felt.

Tonight he’d envisioned a future with her, not some nebulous possibility, but a real future where she never left his chamber at night. He leaned his head down and kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

But he knew she was already asleep.