She was exquisite.

Turning onto his side, Stephen allowed his gaze to slide over the woman sleeping next to him. He studied her openly, unabashedly. She was beautiful—not in the conventional sense, but in a natural, unembellished sort of way.

He pulled back the sheets gently, careful not to wake her. The silky fabric sliding down her body to expose the curve of her stomach. It was a mere suggestion of a bump, but nestled within was a babe.

His babe.

He remembered only snippets of his time with Emily in Scotland. Mere images, really. Her naked breast, the warmth of her breath on his skin. To imagine that they’d created a life in that short time was unexpected, but now that he’d had time to process it, not at all unwanted.

He placed his hand on her stomach and imagined what the babe would look like. Would he have his mother’s smile, or her headstrong personality? He hoped so.

With a faint moan, Emily blinked open her eyes. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Good morning, my lord,” she said playfully.

“Good morning, ma’am. How is it you look so fetching this early in the morning?”

Scrunching her nose in the most adorable way, she shook her head. “You are teasing. How exceedingly unkind of you.”

“I am most assuredly not teasing.”

She settled against him, resting her head on his chest. He pressed his nose to her hair and inhaled her lemon scent, something like happiness filling him.

“I must apologize for last night.”

“Truly? I thought you were rather extraordinary. Though, to be entirely truthful, I have little to compare you to.”

“Little to compare me to?”

“Very well. Nothing to compare you to.”

“I was apologizing for what transpired with my father. Over the last several months, his illness has worsened. At times, it seems he is adrift in a sea of his own imaginings.”

“But surely he is not lost entirely. He must be aware of his surroundings.”

“He can recall my mother’s face and name, but little else. He lives in the past, trapped in near constant delusion by his illness.”

She lifted her head and rose up onto her elbow. “What does the surgeon say?”

Stephen shook his head. “That my father will steadily worsen as the days pass.”

Her fingers had found the fine hairs on his chest and twirled them idly. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to see your father in such a state.”

“Indeed, he’s always been a force to be reckoned with and now…now he doesn’t know his own son from Adam.”

“And the gossip,” she hedged. There was something odd in her manner, a hesitation that was out of place. “Could there be any truth to it?”

“No,” he answered. “This is the Duke Arlington’s doing. He as much as admitted it to me.”

She was all attention now. “You met with him?”

“I ran into the Duke and Lady Evelyn four days past at a chocolate shop in Piccadilly Street.”

“Well, I would say he is not capable such cruelty, but I worked in his household for two years. He was a fair man, but brutal when crossed. I daresay he was not pleased with your fleeing to Scotland with his sister.”

“Indeed, he was not,” he said.

“It’s unfortunate your father is ill, otherwise he could refute the claims and all would be well,” she said.

“No doubt the timing was by design. A man who is addled cannot defend himself against false allegations.”

“Are you and your father close?” she asked.

Stephen pushed out a breath. “We were close, yes. Nearly inseparable when I was younger. He would often take me fishing, or shooting, or riding, much to my mother’s aggravation.”

“Why should she be aggravated by a child spending time with his father?”

“I could not tell you,” he said. “Perhaps she felt cast aside.”

“Well.” Emily laid her head back down on his chest. “I’m sure Mr. Morris will discover the truth and put an end to the rumors—”

“Morris?” His muscles tightened. “How could you know I’d hired Morris to look into my family’s affairs?”

He had told no one, save for Grant, about hiring Morris.

She sat up, gathering the sheets against her chest. She stared at him a long moment before answering. “Of course you would hire a man. It would have been remiss not to investigate such malicious gossip, if only to salvage your father’s reputation. And I happen know Mr. Morris is the best in London.”

He relaxed a degree. For some strange reason, he wondered if she knew more than she let on. Perhaps it was Grant’s proclamation that all women were nefarious creatures in pursuit of their own comfort that fed his mistrust. But that wasn’t Emily. She was far too wide-eyed and innocent to be so calculating.

“Tell me about our first time,” he said, directing the conversation toward a more agreeable subject.

“My lord?”

“I have only vague recollections, scraps of imagery. I wish to know the whole of what transpired between us.”

She glanced down at her lap and avoided his gaze. “You will think me a light skirt.”

“Look at me,” he said. She looked up at him. “What transpired between us is ours to share. You are not to blame.”

She dragged in a heavy breath. “We were returning home from Glasgow in a private carriage, and you were mended, but still a little delirious from the laudanum—though your manner was unaltered, your speech was a little slurred.” She glanced down, twisting the sheets in her hands anxiously. “We were discussing the benefits of farming one’s land in a crop rotation, when you asked me to come closer. So I settled into the seat next to you. At once, you leaned over and kissed me.”

Yes, he could easily imagine doing such a thing, especially with laudanum eddying within his veins, subduing his moral restraints. What few he possessed. She had a kind of sorcery about her. She possessed a charm and ease that drew him back to her again and again. That kiss had been inevitable.

“Continue,” he said, reaching beneath the sheet to stroke her thigh. Her gaze fluttered up to meet his and she swallowed.

“You kissed my jaw, and my chin, and the tops of my breasts…” He glided his fingertip along the inside of her thigh, savoring the texture of her soft, warm skin.

Sitting up, he leaned close and mimicked her words, tasting the tops of her sweet breasts. “And then…?”

“And then hooked your arm around my waist and pulled me onto your lap.” Her breath came harder, faster as she dropped the sheet and allowed his tongue to sweep across her nipple. “My skirts bunched up when I straddled you.”

“Yes…” he growled, shoving the sheets aside and tugging her on top of him. “What else?”

“You kissed me again, quite deeply and we stayed that way for a long while. At length, you reached between our bodies and unbuttoned your breeches.”

He kissed her then, sliding his tongue into her mouth as his hands found the globes of her backside. She straddled him, her wet slit cleaved lengthwise by his cock. His shaft jerked in anticipation.

“What next?”

She moaned a little, squirming against him. “And then, you entered me.”

Lifting her slightly, he shifted his hips and adjusted his angle, his cock poised at her entrance. “How did it feel?” he asked.

Her hands fell to his shoulders. “It felt tight, full.” Her nails dug into his skin as she rocked her hips forward. It was agony. “Painful, at first. But gradually the discomfort eased and I began to enjoy it.”

“Enjoyed it, did you?” he laughed. “And now?”

She arched her spine and tilted her head back, thrusting her breasts into his face. Christ, yes. This woman was a damned miracle. His tongue snaked out and flicked her nipple.

“Now I am beyond enjoyment. Now I want you with a desperation that’s painful and unrelenting.” Her nails dug deeper into his skin. “Please, Stephen.”

His cock ached with the need to sink into her. “Please what, Emily?”

She pushed out a frustrated breath, as though the answer should be obvious. “I want you inside me.”

“Ah, ah,” he said, moving his hands to grip her hips. “If you want it, love, you will have to take it.”

With a low, erotic growl of her own, she sank down onto his shaft, seating herself to the hilt. The heat of her core surrounded him, clutching his cock so tight he was sure he glimpsed heaven. A low, guttural moan emerged from his throat and he lifted his hips, taking her even deeper.

“Christ,” he rasped, pulling out, nearly all the way, then thrusting back into her. “Emily, you feel so damned good.”

“Faster,” she panted. “Move faster.”

Any hope he had of taking things slow, of savoring his time with her, was lost the second she took control. Her knees tightened around his ribs as she rocked against him, her breasts bouncing as she moved.

He was forced to oblige, taking her hard and quick, thrusting into her with wild, primal intent. A handful of thrusts and she cried out, her core tightening like a vice around his cock. “Oh, dear God, Stephen.”

The clenching of her inner walls drove him to the edge of the abyss and his own climax slammed into him. Another groan was ripped from his throat as he drove into her, hard, thrusting over and over again until every last drop of seed was drained from his cock.

Finally, she sagged and then collapsed on top of him, a fine mist of sweat coating her skin. He slid out of her, and rolled over, pinning her to the mattress, careful not to put any weight on her belly.

“You. Are. Extraordinary,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss on her lips.

She smiled. “You had better leave before Bess comes in with my breakfast tray.”

Rolling to the side, he trailed a finger down the valley between her breasts to her navel. She was so soft, delicate, and yet the strongest woman he knew. “When does she come?”

“Half past seven.”

Turning, he glanced at the timepiece on the nightstand. He turned back to her and smiled. “Twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen,” she countered. “You must allow for time to return to your chamber.”

Reaching up, he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Such a clever woman,” he said, more to himself that to her. “My God, Emily, what have you done to me?”

She blinked up at him, the look in her eyes uncertain. “I dare not speculate.”

He leaned in and brushed his lips over her jaw. “Then perhaps I should show you.”

She laughed, shoving at his chest half-heartedly. “You must go.”

A then, as if by design, there was a knock on the door.